Page 43 of Anthony Hawk

Anthony kept his revolver trained on him. “Maybe not. But this fight is. One wrong move, and it’s done.”

Suddenly, Abigail’s voice rose from above. “Anthony, more movement down the far end! Could be others from Vanburgh’s crew!”

“Then we finish this fast.” He fired a controlled shot that forced the man to drop behind a crate. Another ricochet chipped wood, splintering it.

“You think you’ve won?” the man shouted, panicked now.

Anthony moved cautiously, forcing the man to retreat. Step by step, he drove him toward a narrow pinch in the canyon floor. Dust hung in the air, mingling with the sharp smell of gunpowder.

Finally, Anthony cornered the man. He was bloodied and breathing hard. His eyes were wild.

“You . . . you think this stops Vanburgh?” he asked. “You’re crazy!”

“Maybe. But I’ve got better aim,” Anthony said, tightening his grip.

The canyon was still for a moment, the tension thick. Then a sudden crack. A bullet ricocheted off the rock wall, whistling past Abigail. She ducked instinctively.

“Stay down!” Anthony said, pressing his back against the nearest wall.

The man in front of him groaned and raised his hands. “All right, all right...you win this round, Hawk.”

“I said end of the line,” Anthony repeated. “You’re coming with us. We move fast, or the canyon gets messy.”

Abigail’s hand rested on his arm, whispering urgently. “Anthony, look! They’ve spotted us!”

His eyes narrowed. Dust swirled and shadows shifted along the canyon walls. Another shot rang out. Abigail cried out as the sound tore through the canyon. Anthony’s heart leapt at the sound.

It was hard to keep sights on everybody. It was like everything happened at the same time.

As the bullets continued to fly, everybody moved. Abigail threw herself toward the nearest form of cover. The bandit took his chance to shuffle away. Anthony tried to make himself as small as possible, using the canyon wall as his only shield.

He didn’t know if more men had arrived at the canyon. He didn’t even know if Vanburgh was here.

One thing was for sure—Anthony had bitten off more than he could chew.

Chapter 19

The canyon fell silent, broken only by ragged breaths and the echoes of retreating gunfire. Anthony held his ground as he scanned the trail. Something was wrong. Abigail wasn’t beside him.

“Abigail?” his voice cracked. “Abigail! Answer me!”

A faint groan carried from somewhere below. He dropped, eyes sweeping the shadows until he spotted a dust-smeared scarf and pale skin tucked behind a boulder.

“Anthony, I’m hit!” she gasped, pressing her hand to her side.

His chest clenched. He scrambled to her, searching for the wound. A thin graze along her ribs. It was bloody but not deep. Still, fear squeezed his throat.

“No,” he muttered. “You could’ve been killed.”

She winced, forcing a breath. “Not dead. Not yet. But we can’t stay here.”

“Can you walk?”

“Slowly,” Abigail replied.

She tried, then crumpled with a hiss of pain.

Anthony’s jaw tightened. This was on him. He’d dragged her into Vanburgh’s war, convinced himself he needed her mind beside his gun. Now, she was bleeding because of it. He should’ve left her in Silver Cross. It was safer there. Smarter. This was his mistake, not hers.