Conspiracy Game (GhostWalkers, #4)(45)

“I’m going over the roof, Tyrel, and get behind him.”

He glanced back at her, his expression furious—protective. He could see the sweat on her body, the toll of violence already ripping at her. Pain shot through Briony, but at the same time she was humiliated to think that in spite of her all special gifts, her capabilities, her brothers had to protect her because she was unable to use her speed and agility or marksmanship.

“No, you’re not. These people are playing for keeps. Seth and Ruben and Jebediah will be here any minute and we’ll get you out of here. Just stay put.”

Luther was moving, trying for a better angle on Tyrel. Briony couldn’t stop to think about it, the emotions of all the men swamping her. Anger. Resolve. Luther had an eagerness to destroy—to kill. He was really angry with her—not because of the syringe, but thinking Tony was the father of her baby was somehow a blow to his ego. It made no sense to her, but he was broadcasting loud and clear.

Briony crouched and leapt straight up to the roof, bending low to stay out of sight, running lightly and leaping to the next roof and then the next. From her vantage point she could see the crowd gathered around the tiger’s cage and Randall, the other trainer, inside. Jebediah stood outside with a tranq gun and the tiger lay, sides heaving, head lolling from the knockout shot. Randall bent down to pull Tony’s body away from the big cat.

Below her and just to her right was Luther. He lay flat on the ground, gun in both hands, arms extended, determined to line up a shot on Tyrel.

Beside him, Ron cursed and moaned, holding his kneecap. “I think my leg’s broken. She broke my leg, Luther.”

“Idiot. Why do you think they picked her to mother the kid? I warned you, but you had to fall for her big brown eyes,” Luther spat contemptuously. “Go to the car and get it running. We’ll need to get out of here fast. She can’t hold out much longer, and when I shoot her brother, she’ll go down hard. I’ve been studying her for a while.”

Luther had been studying her? He thought her knew her capabilities and her weaknesses? Briony wiped a smear of blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. He didn’t know the first thing about her determination. The man wasn’t killing her brothers, and he sure wasn’t getting her baby. She lay flat on the roof, anchoring herself as the wind and rain slashed at her, making the roof slick.

Briony focused on the gun in Luther’s hands. Ron began to inch his way back through the brush, toward the car running a few feet away. He dragged his leg, cursing every few feet. She refused to allow her mind to wander, holding to one thought, one action, her entire being focusing on the metal object Luther clutched so tightly.

The metal appeared dark in the rain and shadows, but as she continued to stare at it, it took on a slight glow. Luther suddenly swore and dropped it in the grass. The gun shone with hints of yellow and orange through the gray of the rain. Luther looked around, a small smile suddenly appearing. You’re good. Better than we thought—or hoped. Come home where you belong.

The voice was pitched low, and the vibration running through her body made her stomach knot. Alarm spread through her. What was he doing? It was an attack—but not on her—on the unborn child. Stop it. Feeling desperate, Briony pressed one hand to cover the baby and clutched at the roof with the other to keep from slipping.

The baby should be mine. Come with me or I won’t stop and the useless kid you’re carrying is going to die.

Briony didn’t bother to argue. She could feel Luther’s resolve. He wouldn’t stop until he had Briony. She blocked out her fear for the baby and for herself and concentrated once again on the gun.

You’d better listen to me. I know you can hear me. You were promised to me—meant for me. Get in the car or I’m killing your brother. You know I can do it too.

The gun wiggled in the grass, began to rise, and dropped back to earth. Briony took a deep breath and forced calm into her mind. It didn’t matter what he was thinking or feeling or saying. Only the gun mattered. It was the only thing in her world. It rose slowly, and swung around until the muzzle was aimed straight at Luther.

The most difficult part was to keep the gun in levitation while she focused on the trigger. She’d never actually fired a shot this way, but anything was possible.

Luther turned his head, the movement catching his eye. He rolled out of the line of fire, his hand snaking out so fast it was a blur, knocking the gun back to earth. You should have listened to me.

Briony saw the determination on his face as he slipped back into the bushes. He was going after Tyrel. Without hesitation, she rolled backward, straight off the edge of the roof, turning in midair the way she did during a performance, to land on her feet. Sprinting around the corner of the trailer, she raced back toward her brother.

Luther burst out of the shadows, slapping the gun out of Tyrel’s hand, knife gleaming as he sliced viciously at his jugular. The blade missed by a scant half an inch as Tyrel stumbled back. He did a series of back springs to put several feet between them, but Luther was just as fast, covering the distance in a single leap, the knife slashing fast, over and over, cutting Tyrel’s arms as he tried to defend against the unbelievably fast attack.

Blood splattered in all directions—drops hit Briony as she burst from the garden to strike Luther with the heel of her hand flat on his chest, putting her weight behind it and using every ounce of adrenaline and enhanced strength she had. He slashed with the knife as he fell backward. Briony felt the bite of the blade along her forearm, but she kept going straight at him, kicking at his hand to try to get rid of the blade. She missed his arm, but nailed him in the ribs.