Page 40 of With A Little Luck

Chapter Thirty-Three

Hartley

C ool air rushes the cab of the truck as the entire vehicle jostles from Ridge climbing out.

I keep an eye on them as Quincy waddles toward the house. The tall wooden gate is the only break in the brick wall. The gate swings open, and Quincy heads in first with Ridge hot on her heels.

The house has two sidewalks on either side that run parallel to the fence.

I can’t see where the one on the left leads, but the one on the right hits another small fence that seems to lead to the front yard.

The right side also has a small cutoff with stairs downward that must lead to the basement entrance.

I’ve never been back there, but the fenced-in yard looks cozy.

“Motherfucker!” Trigg hisses and types furiously on his phone screen before tossing onto the seat between us like it burned him.

“I’ll bet that fool didn’t even gear up after the doctor.

” He leans over, digging under Ridge’s seat.

“Step out and call them back to us, but stay calm. I don’t care if Quincy pees her pants.

You get them back here, but don’t let on that anything is wrong. ”

My heart rate picks up.

“Is something?” I ask, even though…it clearly fucking is.

“Now, Hartley!” he barks.

I’m not expecting it, and my body snaps into motion. I don’t even bother grabbing my jacket off the floorboard. I throw the door open and climb out, jogging around the front of the truck and through the open gate.

A flicker of movement catches my eye near the hedges that line the left side of the fence. It’s obscured by the end of the house, but I don’t think that was a bird or other wildlife.

“Trigg said we have to go. We’ll come right back, but he has to pick up…” I frown, trying to multitask as I scan for a weapon or any other adversaries. “A prescription. He said it’s an emergency. He’s been waiting on it to be restocked for days.”

Ridge goes rigid, wrapping an arm around Quincy’s middle.

Fuck.

Hopefully he got her right under the breasts to protect the baby.

“I’m literally about to pee myself,” she sobs, struggling against his hold as he turns them toward me.

He doesn’t have any mercy, walking her toward the gate with long strides. He keeps her held in front of him, using his body as a human shield.

A man in a ski mask pops out from the stairs to the basement, making my eyes widen.

Fuck.

I’m not cut out for this kind of life.

I’m still not going to stand by and do nothing.

Or even worse…run.

When I was at peak performance, I could throw a football consistently between fifty and sixty miles an hour. It’s like a shot to the gut if you’re not prepared for something flying at you with that kind of velocity.

The only weapons I can spot are the small bricks lining the sidewalk. They’re half buried in the snow-covered gravel that separates the fence and the walkway.

Adrenaline ravishes through my system, just like it used to before a big game.

“Behind you,” I say, keeping my voice low as I drop to a crouch like I’m about to tie my shoe. I make a mad grab for a brick instead, prying it out of the ground and testing the weight in my hand.

“Run,” Ridge growls, dropping Quincy. She hits her feet, and he gives her a solid push. She stumbles, barely keeping herself from falling.

A low whooshing sound breaks through the air, and Ridge flies forward.

His low growl follows, but he keeps his back to the threat, continuing to block Quincy with his massive form.

The bright red blood that spills from his shoulder makes Quincy scream, but I refocus on the man in the mask. He raises his arm—about to take another shot.

I don’t hesitate.

Bringing my arm up, I rear back and throw the brick as hard as I can, aiming for the side of the man’s head.

It flies through the air, connecting with a vicious crunching sound that I doubt I’ll ever be able to forget.

The man slumps against the wall as another bullet flies from his gun, but this one lands in the dirt a few feet away from Ridge.

Quincy runs into my chest, and I let out an oomph as she knocks the air from my lungs.

I struggle to catch a breath and grimace, spotting how badly Ridge is bleeding.

He’s right-handed—I know from us assembling furniture yesterday—but he raises a gun in his left hand, shooting toward the area on the left side of the house where I initially saw movement.

“Fucking adrenaline. That shit is not actually helping.” He continues cursing and brings his right hand up to stabilize his left before taking another shot followed quickly by another. “Anyone else want to pop out and get their head taken off? Because I can do this all damn day.”

“Get her into the vehicle,” Trigg growls, walking by with a gun in his left hand. He aims at the guy I hit with the brick, pulling the trigger three times.

I take a step back, yanking Quincy with me with my arms still locked around her back.

Trigg is fucking terrifying. His face remains placid—unbothered, almost—and that shit is not normal.

I make the mistake of looking at the guy I pegged, and his blood and brain now cover the wall.

Well, either I didn’t kill him, or Trigg was just making sure he’s super fucking dead.

I blink, trying to force myself to move, but I’ve never seen this kind of carnage before.

Quincy trembles against my chest, and I’m still frozen, staring at the gore.

“I said, get her out of here !” Trigg barks.

My head whips to the side just in time to catch Ridge stagger.

He hits a knee on the ground, holding his gun up like he’s still appraising for threats. “Fuck, this one might be worse than I thought.”

With all the blood?

Jesus Christ.

I need my phone.

We’ve got to call 9-1-1.

We need medical assistance now .

Not to mention, there could be more of them.