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“Says who?”
“You’re refusing to let her leave,” I reason.
“How would you know that?”
The second guy hisses, “You were talking to the cops, you piece of shit?”
A piercing scream sounds from inside the bar, loaded with fear and pain. I fire a warning shot that shatters their front window. “Let her go.”
“She’s my daughter.” The MC’s President is on the premises, then. That’s the first voice. “I brought her into the fucking world, and I’ll be the one to take her out if I want to.”
After last night, that wasn’t the right thing to say. “Sounds like a death threat to me. You’ll get your asses outside or I’ll charge you all with conspiracy to commit murder of a child and child endangerment.”
Razer, the President, lets loose another hoot. “You should get out of here before you find yourself outnumbered.”
That triggers more cheers, making me realize it’s not an empty threat. For whatever reason, that cheer pisses Brogan off even more, which, to be honest, I didn’t think was fucking possible with the racket he’s making.
“Sir?” Dion calls out.
“Backup ETA in four minutes, over,” dispatch declares from the radio.
Ignoring both, I shout, “Amy, are you there?”
“Don’t you say a fucking word, girl.”
“I need to speak with Amy.”
“What… and then you’ll fuck off?”
“It’ll go some way to controlling the situation.”
Even from this distance, I can hear the argument my words triggered, and before I know it, the front door’s being shoved open, the kid’s being tossed through the door, but a bullet chases her and finds its target.
As she screams, staggering to her knees, I shout at the bar, “Drop your weapons!” Then, to Dion and Marty, “Call an ambulance!”
All it takes is a split second for the door to close, but instead of shutting, it bounces back. Someone curses as it flares wide.When a gun fires, I shoot too. My bullet finds a mark in a window that shatters, glass exploding far and wide. I use the distraction to lean out from behind my car door and to grab Amy’s arm.
Another bullet’s shot into the ground; this one burrows a few feet away from her leg—too fucking close.
Snarling under my breath, I bring her into the shelter of the car, but we’re in the open and nothing’s guaranteed.
Blood gurgles from her mouth, and though the plea in her eyes is begging me to help her, I know this is beyond my capabilities.
I can only pray that Nunez is on shift today—he’s one of the only guys with any decent medical experience thanks to a couple tours in the Middle East.
Dragging off my jacket and lodging my gun in the holster, I scan her and see the blood blossoming on her upper abdomen. I hold the fabric there, putting pressure on the wound, but her hoarse scream echoes through the parking lot.
The next thing I know, someone else is being hurled through the doors. I reach for my gun, but with one hand applying pressure to Amy’s wounds, I have no time to do much apart from aim at the guy who stumbles out.
He’s no threat, though.
His abrupt departure sees him being chased by a bullet that lands right where it was intended—his head.
As the MC brother’s skull explodes, Dion gags, Marty vomits, and I bark, “Come out with your hands up!”
Finally, I can hear the goddamn sirens as backup arrives, but I know that the only person who’s combat-ready is me.
Razer jeers, “Your boys scared by a bit of blood, marshal?”