Page 129 of Luck of the Devil

I continued my ascent, pushing deeper into the woods. It was harder to see them through the trees, but another man appeared at the edge of the tree line.

Hiding behind a tree trunk, I slowly lifted my rifle. The trees obscured my shot—until the man stepped forward, exposing his chest and head.

“Grayson!” he shouted, just as I pulled the trigger.

He fell in a heap, but he was close enough to the clearing that his buddies saw him fall.

A storm of bullets rained on me.

I flattened against the trunk, praying it was wide enough to give me complete cover. My heart raced as I listened for footsteps.

“Got him!” a voice yelled.

My heart dropped.

I chanced a glance and saw two men carrying a lifeless-looking James toward one of the SUVs.

I never should have left him.

Panic surged through me. I tried to line up a shot, but the shooters to my right fired again, forcing me to take cover.

I struggled to think clearly through the panic. If they got away, I might never find him, and I had no doubt they wouldn’t let him leave alive.

I drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.

I couldn’t let them take him.

More bullets sprayed around me, wild and unfocused. They were shooting blind, hoping to get lucky. I decided to take a risk and trust the cover of the trees. Darting up the hill to a larger trunk about five feet away, I pressed my back to the rough bark and tried to catch my breath.

The men were slightly below me now, advancing. I raised my rifle and waited. When one of them peered around a tree, I took my shot.

He cried out in pain, but he didn’t drop.

I shot a glance at the SUV. They had the back passenger door open and were lifting James inside. I wasn’t sure I had a clear shot, and even if I did, they might drop him on the asphalt. What if they dropped him on his head? I didn’t know much more damage his head could take.

Before I could act, they tossed him inside and slammed the door. One guy moved toward the front passenger door. The other circled around the front of the SUV, out of view.

I lowered my rifle a few inches. Maybe I could take out a tire. I tried to get it in my sights, but bullets slammed into the tree I was hiding behind, splintering the bark in every direction. I dropped lower, hugging the trunk and praying I was still out of sight.

I was in serious trouble, but so was Malcolm.

What the hell was I going to do?

I’d lost track of how many shots I’d made. I popped out the used magazine, dug a fresh one from my pocket, and slid it into place.

Just as I heard the soft click of it locking in, a face appeared to my right. A man grinned at me, smug that he’d snuck up on me.

We were too close to use our rifles, but mine was already in hand. I rammed the butt into his gut, then whipped it up to smash his nose.

He doubled over, howling. Seconds later, more shots rang out, and the man next to me dropped.

His own partner had shot him.

That didn’t bode well for Malcolm. My urgency increased.

I spotted the revolver of the man on the ground next to me, hanging from a holster on his waist. I dropped to a squat and reached for it, hoping I didn’t take a bullet. More shots hit the trees around me, but I yanked the gun free and ducked back behind the trunk.

Just in time to see the SUV peel away from the shoulder.