Devil's Game (Reapers MC, #3)(97)

“It’s dark, there’s freezing rain, and all you have is a handgun,” Hunter replied, his voice dry. “Nobody’s a good shot under those conditions. Just stay low, sweetheart. I’m gonna try and get loose, but I’m thinkin’ they’ll have to cut me out of this one. If I die in this truck, don’t tell Skid I got my ass kicked by a tree, okay?”

I snorted, then giggled. Obviously he’d lost his mind. I tried to stay quiet but another giggle broke free. Then Hunter stuck out his tongue at me, and I laughed out loud, tears rolling down my face.

“You’re crazy,” I said, wiping my face with the back of my hand.

“Maybe,” he said, giving me his crooked smile. “But nothing burns off tension like a laugh. You think you can reach my seat belt?”

I leaned out of the footwell and dug around through the pine needles, ducking my head down to get a better look. In that instant, a bullet punched through the windshield into the passenger seat, passing through right where I’d been just seconds before.

I froze.

“Goddammit,” Hunter said, suddenly thrashing to get free. “Holy f*ck, I cannot believe this.”

I fumbled for his seat belt urgently. Crap. CRAP. Just because I knew how to shoot a gun didn’t mean I was ready for a f*cking firefight. Another shot tore through the glass, this time closer to Hunter’s head. So much for all that cover … Or were they just shooting randomly? I couldn’t figure out how they could possibly see us.

“Back in the footwell,” Hunter ordered, and his voice didn’t leave any room for negotiation. “Keep the gun handy. I don’t know if you’ll get a chance to shoot, but if you do, I want you ready.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, a sniper’s not gonna come in close unless he has to,” Hunter said. “Which means ideally—from his perspective—you’re dead without ever making eye contact. Right now this one doesn’t have a clear target, so that’s in our favor. We just need to hold on for a couple minutes, until the Reapers get here.”

Another bullet came through, winging Hunter’s ear.

“Fuck,” he muttered as blood started pouring out.

I gave a sobbing gasp.

“Emmy, you have to hold your shit together,” he said, his voice sharp. “I love you, babe. I can’t hide or defend myself, so I need you safe in that footwell. Then if he hits me you’re alive to save me. Hold your shit together for me, sweetheart. I need you to hold it together.”

I took a deep breath and nodded, although I knew he was lying again. If the sniper hit him, it would be a headshot—Hunter wouldn’t have a chance. He was just trying to protect me. Ridiculous. Like a footwell would stop a bullet, anyway? I racked my brain, trying to think of some way to protect us.

This was insane—I had to do something or we’d die out here. I looked up through the rain at the open passenger window. We needed a distraction. I eased out of my hidey-hole.

“Stay down, Em,” Hunter said, his voice cracking like a whip. I ignored him, checking the gun to make sure it was ready. All good. I slid into position expecting another shot to hit any second, crouching with one foot on the side of Hunter’s seat and the other on the inside wall of the well. I counted to three, then popped up and shot four times into the darkness.

I dropped back down, gasping.

Hunter blew up.

“What the f*ck was that about?”

“I want him to know we’re armed,” I said. “Playing possum only works if they don’t know what they’re doing. I’ll bet a hundred dollars his orders are to make damned sure we’re dead, and I’m not just going to sit and wait for some * to put a bullet in my brain.”

“He could’ve shot you, Em.”

I stared at him, trying not to let out the hysterical laughter I felt bubbling up deep inside.

“Seriously, babe? That’s your argument? That’s a f*cking bullet hole about an inch from your face, and let’s not mention the ear. Getting shot is almost a given at this point, more of a when than an if. We need to hold out for Dad, and now that our sniper knows we can fight back, he’ll have to be more cautious about approaching the truck. That’ll slow him down, which might make the difference for us.”

“So your solution is to play Whac-a-Mole with a murderer?”

“Hunter?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s done.”

“Fuck, but you piss me off,” he muttered. His body twisted, and then he kicked out, hard. “Fuck!”

Long seconds passed, and I started shivering as the icy rain soaked my shirt. Maybe I should shut the window? No … At least this way maybe we’d hear something if they got too close.

Hunter kicked the truck again, rocking it slightly.

“Well, let’s look on the bright side,” I said, deciding he needed a distraction.

“Don’t.”

“The good news is that we’ll probably be either rescued or dead before we have to worry about serious hypothermia. There’s always a silver lining, Hunter.”

He growled at me again.

Men.





Chapter Eighteen


HUNTER


I don’t think I’ve ever been so pissed off in my life.