Page 96 of Hurt

Guiding the two injured members to the tarp Molly had set up, she cast a glance at him.

“Anyone else?”

“I’m not sure. I need to go back and check.”

Sid looked up from where he was holding an IV bag of fluids above his head. “It’s dark. You shouldn’t go out there alone.”

They were reasonably sure the Vega Cabal had retreated after launching their surprise attack, but the threat level was still high. There was no guarantee a sniper wasn’t hidden away and ready to pick off stragglers in the ensuing chaos.

That’s what Grant would do.

“I need to make sure,” he said firmly, standing back up and looking down at the fifteen or so Weaver members lying on the tarp. Burns, broken limbs, smoke inhalation, and even someone who had to jump from a second-story window. They were his people and his responsibility. He had failed them.

“Grant,” Molly said without looking up at him. “Some of these people need a real hospital.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

Waving over two able-bodied Weavers, he organized transport for those who needed it. As he was instructing them, a car pulled up. Elijah and Jamie leaped from the vehicle, racing toward him. Both were wearing casual clothes—Jamie appeared to be in a dinosaur onesie.

“Where do you need us?” Elijah asked.

Grant was about to answer when a third body got out of the vehicle. Noah Elliott was looking around in wide-eyed horror. He glanced down at the injured and looked like he wanted to retch.

All of his questions about the heir of White Sand Mesa's sudden appearance would have to wait.

“I need you two to look for injured, and then we need to salvage what we can from the house. Look for hard drives, anything that could have information.”

The Weaver orphans nodded as one.

Elijah glanced back at Noah only to find him kneeling with Molly holding an arm up so she could clean a burn. The look of horror was gone, and he was completely focused on his task.

“Be careful,” Grant said, dragging their attention back to him. “We don’t know if there’s any more Vegas out there. Stay sharp. We’ve lost enough today. Don’t do anything risky.”

Jamie grinned, unzipped his onesie, and pulled out an AK-47 complete with night scope from the fleece depths. “Don’t you worry. I’ve got ol’ Honey Mustard here, and he’s just itching for a chance to spread some tangy goodness.”

Grant’s lips quirked up at his comment—a much-needed release of tension.

They took off into the darkness, fast and silent. Two killers that he had helped create. Never before had he considered the consequences of what he had done—plucking two children up from the gutter and raising them into something beneficial for his gang. They had the choice, but how could they choose any other life when this was all they knew?

All these people had trusted him to protect them, to give them a better life, and where had he been? The guilt was almost stronger than the smoke lingering in the evening air.

Rolling up his sleeves, he knelt to help Molly.

The next hour passed in a blur. He didn’t let himself stop to think. Once he finished one task, he was already onto the next. Moving faster than his emotions could run.

Like the Vega Cabal, the Weavers kept their computer mainframe off-site. Hidden. It was likely the end goal for the attack. When the Vegas couldn’t find it, they set the place alight and killed whoever they encountered.

But just how did they know where the house was? And was it a coincidence they attacked when Roland and Grant were away, or did they have some inside knowledge?

A sneak attack like this wasn’t the Vegas style. They were flashy and bold, foolhardy, and run by emotions. This was not their style, and Grant couldn’t quite figure out what was behind the sudden change.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he could feel the soot smudging into his skin. Jamie and Elijah weren’t back yet, but he trusted them. They would be completely thorough.

Blinking against the harsh headlights, he looked over to where Molly was just finishing up treating the least severe patients. Noah had been helping her the entire time, showing a surprising aptitude for treating patients.

“Hey! She said stop moving! Keep your arm still, or I’m going to break it.”

His bedside manner, however, left something to be desired.