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His asshole words settle the rapid beat of my heart and my vision becomes a pinprick, focusing on the man who tried to kill me. “That’s the plan, you prick,” I say, then pull the trigger.
I miss. The shot vibrates through my right arm and broken pinkie. Agony clouds my vision, and I sway.
No! Don’t go down, Evanee! Don’t!
The man with the blunt is on his feet, inching closer to me. “You got two shells left, cunt,” he sneers. “Three of us and your aim is off. You ain’t gonna have time to reload, so you best put the shotgun down and maybe we’ll let you live.”
Mad Max snickers. “Depends how well she fucks.”
The door behind the VP slams open and three more men rush inside the room, guns drawn, grim faces. “What the fuck!” the one in the lead says. He’s focused on the guys I’ve already shot, still moaning, one holding his side, the other his arm.
“Got it in hand, Prez,” the VP says, his eyes still glued to me.
The president. He’d have given the order to destroy my clinic. I swing the gun towards him. “I can’t decide which of you bastards I’ll shoot first.”
The VP throws back his head and laughs. “You can’t hit the side of a barn, bitch. Drop the fucking gun.”
That settles it for me. I aim at the VP’s gut and pull the trigger. The gun kicks high, and I almost miss him, but some of the buckshot embeds itself into his face.
“Fuck,” he screams as he bends over and covers the wound, blood pouring through his fingers. His body hits the floor as the other men look on in shock.
It gives me time to load my last shell.
Crip raises his gun, points it directly at me. “You’re about to take your last breath, bitch.”
I point my shotgun at him. I’m injured, he’s not. My arms are shaky, my ankle is barely holding me upright and my adrenaline is depleted. I’m going to lose this shootout.
Goodbye, Trigger, I whisper as the shotgun slips from my hands.
A gunshot cracks, then I’m falling, falling. Hitting the ground hard. Looking up at the sky, not comprehending.
There’s no pain and for a moment, I have the foolish thought that dying isn’t that hard to do. Loud angry voices swarm around me, then hands roughly pull me over the pavement and around the side of the building.
“Am I dead?” I ask the sky.
“You’re not dead, baby.” Trigger’s voice sounds watery. “But goddamn, when I’m fucking through with you, you’re gonna wish you were.”
I smile as Trigger’s face swims into focus. “I can’t wait.”
He folds me in his arms and crushes me against his body.
CHAPTERFORTY-THREE
Trigger
I’m in the hospital, sittin’ in a chair next to Evanee’s bed. She’s got intravenous in her arm and her face is deathly white, but she’s awake and smiling. “It was justified,” she says to me and Hangman. “They blew up my clinic.”
“You’re a fucking head case,” Hangman snarls at her. “First rule of Hell’s Jury. You don’t fuckin’ go into battle alone.”
She glances from him to me without a trace of remorse. “No one explained the rule.”
I close my eyes as my gut roils at the thought of what could have been. Crip’s bullet caught me on the side of the neck because I opened the door at the same time he pulled the trigger. Evanee fell backwards, puttin’ me in the line of fire. Thank fuck.
I wasted no time getting her to the hospital, leaving my brothers to mop up the damage at the Blackbeards’ clubhouse. The emergency doctor tried to separate us when we got here, but there was no fucking way that was gonna happen. Hell, he barely convinced me to put her down long enough for him to assess our injuries.
Mine was a flesh wound, stitched up and covered with gauze. A nurse washed the blood off, tried to give me pain meds, but I told her to fuck off. I’ll deal with drugs later, when and if I need them.
Evanee was more broken. The doc said he couldn’t believe she was still upright.
