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Can’t see anything but a few confusing electrical sparks.
Something wet drips to my fingers.
Elbow went through the screen.
“Lilac.” JJ moves, and my body hurts in a thousand places. He climbs to his knees, blood dripping from his scalp. “Hurt?”
“Fine.” I cough. “Orion?”
“Shit. Head.” He reaches for my hand. “Who the fuck—”
The sliding door—now our ceiling—bangs.
Door’s stuck.
But someone’s coming.
JJ pulls a gun, and I dig out the one that dented my ribs when we hit the wall.
My right arm’s fine.
Only need one to fire.
Orion grabs a pistol from a busted-open drawer. Our breaths heave, and we synchro-click our safeties.
“Shoot to kill.” JJ shifts, pushing me and Orion toward the back of the mangled van, shielding us with his body.
Voices echo from outside.
Muffled.
Male.
My heart trembles, but my grip is bedrock. “Shoot to kill.”
“Front,” Orion whispers, just as feet come into view through the spiderwebbed, sideways windshield.
A soft, vicious snarl rips from my diaphragm.
I’m this close to nesting and they want to fuck with me?
Nuh uh.
“Windshield’s bulletproof,” JJ murmurs.
“Bet they turned off cams.” Orion shifts against me, pulling out his phone. “No signal.”
“Can we wait them out?” I whisper.
No one has time to answer before the driver’s door wrenches open.
My finger slips closer to the trigger, waiting for boots to drop so I can remove this asshole’s kneecaps like I’m shooting targets at the range.
Instead of feet, something metal clangs into the van.
A hisssssss breaks the silence, then a puff of billowing smoke.
“Shit!” Orion wrenches the drawer. “Masks. Masks. Where the fuck are they? Here.” He fumbles, ripping open a pouch, then clumsily jamming a gas mask over my eyes. “You have to—” he coughs, smoke growing thicker.
