Rules of Protection (Tangled in Texas #1)(97)

“Take the gun with you,” he said adamantly.

“But Charlie—”

“Charlie is preoccupied with digesting his snack,” he said, making me cringe. “I’ll be fine. You take it. Chances are, you’ll need it more than I will.”

“I’ll try to hurry.” I gave his hand a comforting squeeze and picked up the gun.

I let my perpetual fear drive me, running faster than I ever have. The closer I came to the house, the lower I got to the ground until I was practically crawling on all fours. Then someone moved in the shadows near the bird pens, forcing me to duck inside the barn.

The barn was dark, riddled with shadows and moonbeams, but my eyes adjusted to the limited lighting. I searched for a quick hiding place, but the stall closest to the barn door belonged to the ornery colt. I didn’t have time to slip into another one. I barely had time to unlock his gate when someone grabbed me from behind, threw me against the railing, and knocked the gun from my hand.

I slid to the ground, but turned enough to see Curtis Manning standing over me with a sneer of sheer pleasure and a large high-caliber handgun. Horses lurched skittishly in their stalls, snorting and clopping their feet. I scrambled backward in a crab crawl as Manning pointed his gun at me.

“Die, bitch.”

I closed my eyes, flinching, as the shot rang out.

I’d always heard pain doesn’t register when you’re in shock. Because I hadn’t felt the impact, I wasn’t sure where I’d been hit. My eyes flew open as Manning fell to his knees, his dead eyes fixed on me. He dropped to the ground at my feet with a single, gaping hole in his forehead. A kill shot.

It meant only one thing. Jake!

He stood behind me to my left, his arm still posed in firing position. My legs wobbled as I ran to him. I threw my arms around his neck as relief washed over me. Overwhelmed, I broke down, clutching him to me and whimpering softly. Jake lowered his weapon, holding it at his side, while wrapping his other arm around me, pulling me tighter against him. When Jake spun me around, I thought he did so out of joy.

But I heard what sounded like an overblown balloon popping. The impact knocked Jake’s body into mine, throwing us both off our feet. Uninjured and stunned, I sat up quickly to see Frankie Felts walking toward us with his weapon drawn. My breath caught in my throat as the last ten seconds dawned on me.

Dutifully, Jake had shielded me from a bullet that had torn into his right shoulder. He was lying next to me, holding his arm as blood seeped through his fingers. His gun had flown several feet away from us.

I scrambled for it and got to it at the same time Felts did. We both struggled for control of Jake’s weapon while he kept his gun trained on Jake, who tried to get up. By sheer accident, Jake’s gun went off and a bullet grazed Felts’s leg. He cursed and backhanded me, knocking me farther away as he snatched the gun from my fingertips. I could taste the blood in my mouth from my busted lip. I scurried closer to Jake.

The shot had spooked the horses, each circling and kicking around in their stalls with sheer panic. As Felts came closer and shoved his weapon in my face, a stall door flung open behind him. The frightened colt bolted from his container. Felts limped out of the way to avoid being trampled as the colt ran out the barn door. Felts again pointed his weapon at me.

“Joseph Keller,” Jake called out, his teeth gritted in pain.

The distraction worked, making Felts pause reluctantly. “What about him?”

Jake smiled proudly. “He was my father.”

The mobster turned his eyes, and his gun, on Jake. Obviously, it was Jake’s intention to keep the heat off me, though it would only be a temporary solution. After Felts killed Jake, I’d be next.

“You damn river bottom country hicks,” Felts said, readying his finger on the trigger. “I have a rule about people who put their noses where they don’t belong. Like father, like son.”

“Nooo!” I screamed. It sounded more like an animalistic growl ripping from my throat, but my voice wasn’t heard over the loud blast.

Jake’s body jerked instinctively to shield me and push me out of harm’s way. But, instead, Felts flew through the air. His body slammed against the stall door and sank to the ground, smearing blood on the wood all the way down.

Hank stood at the entrance of the barn holding a double barrel shotgun. “I have a rule too, you sonofabitch. Nobody messes with my family.”

“Jake!” I scurried back to him, getting there seconds before Hank. I sat him up and quickly unbuttoned his shirt to get a better look in the moonlight. The finger-sized bullet hole oozed with dark blood. Hank handed me a work rag off a nearby table I was sure wasn’t entirely sanitary. But I wadded it over the wound and applied firm pressure.

“Are you all right?” Jake asked, touching my face.

“I can’t believe you’re asking me that when you’re the one who’s been shot.”

Hank placed a hand on my shoulder. “Emily, where’s my girl?” he asked, his voice wavering. “Where’s Floss?”

“She’s in the woods, somewhere past the compost pile. She’s okay, but her ankle is hurt, probably broken.”

“And Cowboy? Is he with her?”

Before I could answer, a noise came from behind Hank. He swiveled, pointing his shotgun in its direction.

Ox and Judd froze in the doorway, holding weapons of their own pointed in our direction. “Whoa! Don’t shoot!” they yelled out in unison.