Wild Trail (Clean Slate Ranch #1)(92)

“Stop or I’ll shoot!” Colt shouted.

Gunman Two’s response was a wild shot in Colt’s direction. Mack got the old shells out, and then realized he didn’t have any extras on him.

“Fuck me.” The gun was sturdy enough to use as a club if it came to that. He snapped it shut.

Gunman Two tried to shoot again, but his gun jammed. He cursed, threw it and kept running. Mack raced toward the guy, ready to clock him the instant he was within reach. Colt joined him; he still had at least two shells, because he hadn’t fired yet. He shocked Mack by trading shotguns mid-run.

“You’re a better shot than me,” Colt said. No irony, only truth.

Mack accepted the loaded gun, then went down on one knee. Took careful aim of Gunman Two’s right calf. Squeezed the trigger. Flesh splattered and the guy went down on a shriek.

“Mack!” Colt slammed into him as another shot rang out. He hit the hard earth on his side, Colt sprawled on top of him, eyes wide with shock. Colt rolled off. Mack sat up and put the last shell into the chest of Gunman One. The guy collapsed to the ground.

Gunman Two was whining and crying, dragging himself toward the ATV and making no real progress. Mack started toward him so he could restrain the asshole—and then he saw the splotch of red on Colt’s lower back.

“Fuck me, you’ve been shot,” Mack said dumbly.

“No shit,” Colt retorted. “Fuck, that hurts.”

The wound was on his right side, near his spine, and it bled steadily. Mack yanked his shirt off and pressed it against Colt’s back. “Did it come out the front?” Mack asked.

“No.” Colt gasped. “Fucking hell.”

Mack stared down at Colt’s agonized profile. He’d taken a bullet for Mack. The fact that he’d been here at all, a brother in arms, baffled him beyond reason. “Wes! I need you!” His voiced echoed around the valley, hopefully enough so Wes would hear him.

“Get that bastard before he limps away,” Colt said.

“You’re bleeding.” Mack glanced at the bad guy, who had about twenty feet to go before he reached the ATV. Plenty of time for Mack to get to him, but he didn’t want to leave Colt. If that bullet had hit an organ, he could be bleeding internally. They were miles from a wireless signal, and Colt needed a hospital ASAP.

Colt’s visible eye rolled toward him. “Let me bleed. I deserve it, man.”

“No, you don’t.” As angry as Mack was at Colt, the guy didn’t deserve to die. They’d both walked into an impossible situation, led by bad decisions and bad leadership, and Geoff had died. Seeing his friend in visible pain, bleeding because of him, Mack realized he truly did not hate Colt for killing Geoff; he was angry at him for lying about it.

“Mack?” Wes’s voice called out.

“Here!” Mack twisted around. Wes was running down the main street. He bypassed the dead guy with a pained grimace, then came to a skidding stop by them.

“Jesus, Colt?” Wes hit his knees, and Mack put Wes’s hands on the wadded-up shirt.

“Hold that tight, okay?” Mack said.

“Uh, okay. Is it hurting you?”

Colt gave him a weak thumbs-up.

Mack stalked to the suspect, looming over him like a thundercloud. The guy was young, maybe early twenties, and he was scared shitless. Mack stepped on the guy’s bleeding leg and he shrieked. “Who are you?”

“Erik Barnes! He hired me to burn it! I’m sorry!”

He pressed harder, ignoring the guy’s scream. “Who’s he? Who hired you?”

“All I got is his bulletin board handle. He found me online. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you’ll be sorry.” Mack wrestled the kid onto his stomach, and then used his belt to tie his arms behind his back. Then he stole the kid’s own belt and secured his ankles. He could wriggle all he wanted, but he wasn’t getting on that ATV.

Mack stormed back to Wes and Colt. “Hang tight a minute, I’m going to get the car.” Wes tossed a terrified glance at the suspect, so Mack added, “He’s not going anywhere, boss.”

The nickname helped center Wes, and he nodded sharply.

Mack tore ass back to the trailer, seeing the shattered window for the first time. Christ, that had been too close to Wes. All of this had been too close, and he still didn’t know what the fuck was actually going on. Someone had paid that kid to sabotage his restoration, but why? One guy was dead, two more were wounded, and for what?

Who cares? Colt needs a hospital.

He drove the car back to the scene of the crime. Tied up or not, he didn’t fucking trust that stupid kid in Wes’s car, but he couldn’t very well dump him in the trunk. He used Wes’s belt to put a tourniquet on his leg, then got him situated on the front seat, seat belt on, uncaring if he was uncomfortable. Wes helped him load Colt into the backseat, stretched out on his stomach with Wes in the foot well, holding tight to that shirt. The fabric wasn’t soaked through, so that was a good sign.

Then they were on their way back down the road, Mack driving faster than was reasonable given the darkness. He was inching toward panic, and Mack didn’t panic often or well. “As soon as you’ve got a signal,” Mack said.

“911 is waiting for my finger to press it,” Wes replied. “Come on.”