Page 30 of Bullets and Blood (Hunting Hearts #1)

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Scott is dead.” His aunt’s voice was tight. “That cursed Hadley has vowed to spill our blood.”

“What do you mean Scott is dead? Has Zinnia started attacking?” He kept his eyes on the road even though panic wrapped around his chest.

“Nixon killed him.” Mirabella paused. “Where are you? How did Scott find him where you have failed? Or did you get close enough to let him ensorcell you?”

Lance frowned. He wasn’t ensorcelled, despite Nix’s half-hearted attempt.

But he remembered the first time Nix had smiled at him, that moment before they’d realized they were enemies by some old feud that no one remembered the cause of.

The battle Nix no longer wanted to fight.

“How did Nix…on”—he caught himself—“kill him. Isn’t Scott in Melbourne? ”

“Don’t be a fool. He’s been in Western Australia monitoring you for the last few weeks. You could’ve finished the job, but you’re stalling, using my time and money to have a holiday.” She drew in a breath. “And now my son is dead.”

Lance pulled over to the side of the road. He’d packed up everything into the fancy backpack and taken out cash and was on his way to Nix’s. Ready to run. But Scott had attacked Nix. His heartbeat fast. Scott was dead. Nix had to be alive…didn’t he?

“You shouldn’t have sent him. I had the situation under control.”

“If you don’t bring Nixon Hadley in before my back-up does, you will not be blooded, and you will join him at my feet.”

The line went dead.

Lance was still processing what his aunt had claimed. If they had sent Scott after him, they no longer trusted Lance. Another would come and another after that. They wouldn’t stop until he returned to Melbourne with Nix bound. Even then, he was sure they’d share the same fate.

He couldn’t bring himself to feel sad Scott was gone, only that he didn’t know what Scott had told his aunt. Nothing good from her threats.

His resolve to run solidified.

Even though he knew Nix wouldn’t be there, Lance parked and walked up the driveway, dreading the mess he’d find. The door of the granny flat wasn’t locked. The place smelled like bleach. He took a few steps in, but there was no blood and no body. The bed was tidy as though it hadn’t been slept in.

It probably hadn’t been.

Only the TV told the story of the struggle. In the yard was a line of ash, drifting away in the morning breeze. Of course, Nix wouldn’t leave a mess; he was too good for that. He raked his fingers through his hair. He needed to find Nix before his family did.

* * *

Nix had been on the run for over six months, but today was the first time he’d been as afraid as he had been that first day. The first time he’d felt utterly alone since Zinnia had ordered him away.

He’d tasted what it was to live the life he’d always wanted, to have a partner who knew him. He treasured those moments, even though they were razor blades that cut him every time he breathed simply because now he knew what he was missing. And what he’d never have.

As tempting as it was to call Lance and go running to him, that would put Lance in danger.

Over coffee and breakfast—he no longer watched every dollar because he knew his life would run out first—while waiting for the library to open, he’d come the conclusion Lance hadn’t called in reinforcements for the simple reason Scott would’ve known he wouldn’t be sleeping in the bed.

The first thing Nix would do before calling in help would be to update the intel.

Lance hadn’t.

That didn’t mean Lance was safe, though.

He was probably being watched. Lance did have a collection of weapons.

Breaking in and taking a few clips would give him a bit longer, but he couldn’t find the will or want to extend his time.

He’d make a bloody mess and call it quits.

There was no point in dragging out the inevitable.

For all his threats, now the rage was gone, he just felt sick.

All he had were the six bullets in Scott’s gun. He wasn’t going back to Melbourne, but he liked the idea of Mirabella sweating on his return and believing he was a single-minded killer intent on revenge.

But he would kill any Orlan who came after him.

There would be no mercy offered.

His phone rang, and he checked the number before he picked up.

The knife in his heart twisted. He wanted Lance’s optimism, his arms around him telling him it would all work out fine.

That they’d figure it out and unmake this mess.

This time, he’d try harder to believe him because the alternative was his ugly reality.

He forced himself to be cool and calm as though he was in control not spinning out on black ice. “Hello, Lance.”

“Nix.” Lance’s voice was rough, but Nix couldn’t let him get beneath his skin. It wasn’t love; it had been lust and hope. And it had been enough.

It had been everything.

It hurt like busted love.

He’d put himself in the center of too much destruction to not know what that felt like. He didn’t trust himself to say anything, so he sipped his coffee and pretended he was fine.

Everything was fucking fine.

“I didn’t set you up, Nix.”

But he knew what had happened. No doubt Mirabella had called Lance straight after calling Scott and reaching him instead. “How can I believe that, Orlan?”

He believed Lance but needed to push him away.

“I packed. I’m ready to go.”

Nix closed his eyes. If they’d run last night, they’d have had a small head start. Maybe they’d have managed another week or two. “I doubt he was travelling alone.”

“I reported the breach to the Reids. They haven’t granted permission for them to be here.”

“I doubt they’ll do much. They don’t want to be involved, and I don’t blame them.

” He needed to pick the location of the next fight.

Somewhere he didn’t have to spend too much time cleaning up.

And somewhere with a little more class than a granny flat out the back of someone else’s house.

If he could kill another Orlan and take their weapon, he’d get a few more bullets.

He could draw this out a bit and make the Orlans bleed.

That was what he was good at. It’s what he’d spent the last nine years doing, the only difference this time was that no one was giving him orders.

He hated that he was being dragged back into the life he’d walked away from.

Fucking Mirabella had played him, and he’d fallen for it, proving he was a killer at heart. Maybe that was all he was good at. But Lance had seen something else in him, and he’d liked that. He’d almost believed he could be the person Lance deserved.

“I won’t drag you down with me. Go home. Live.”

Lance gave a dark laugh. “I can’t. I have to bring you in or take your place.”

Damnit.

“Run with me,” Lance whispered.

Nix squeezed his eyes shut tighter. He gripped the cup.

He wanted to tell Lance where he was, so they could flee.

But they’d both end up at Mirabella’s feet wishing for death.

“I can’t. I can’t live like that anymore, waiting for the next attack, always on alert.

” His eyes stung. “And I love you too much to do that to you.” He drew in a breath.

“I told Mirabella I’d kill every Orlan I saw.

Tell her… Tell her I’ll be at Conto’s Cliffs at six. ” How many would she send?

He hung up, feeling as though he’d been knifed in both lungs and was drowning in his own blood.

* * *

The library was all but deserted. Nix didn’t bother paying for computer time; he just ensorcelled the lovely lady and logged in. Zinnia hadn’t checked in. His was the last dot, and it was over a week old. He shouldn’t have left her…but they couldn’t have stayed together.

He curled his fingers into fist and stared at the screen, needing to write something but knowing if she hadn’t checked in, she may not even see what he wrote. Were they as close to her as they were to him? Or did they already have her?

I’ve reached a dead end in Whispering River. Sorry. XX

The curser blinked at him, and he wanted to erase the words and write something else. Something filled with hope. But there was nothing else to write and no need to keep his location a secret in case the Orlans had found a way in.

Reluctantly he logged out, closed the window, and cleared the history.

He needed to call the lawyer and tell him that if he hadn’t called him back in twenty-four hours, then he was dead and that he should report his disappearance to the cops in WA, the Feds, and anyone else who might give a damn.

He’d do that after he’d given himself a very nice last meal…

or at least the best he could do in this place.

Then all he needed was a ride out to the cliffs.

There’d be no sunset picnic this time. No gentle touch and kissing and talking.

Just bullets and pain.

Another bloody day.