Mine to Crave (Mine #4)(58)

He put the gun in her hands. She realized he had a second handgun tucked in the waistband of his jeans. “Aim and fire, princess.”

She gulped. “H-how did they find us?”

The growls died away.

Drake put a finger to his lips, then he killed all the lights in the cabin.

Then…

“There’s nowhere to run, Archer! This is the end for you.”

That voice…she knew it. Saxon. Her heartbeat quickened. Jasmine opened her mouth to call out a fierce reply, but Drake’s hand clamped over her lips.

“We know Jazz is in there,” Saxon shouted. “So you both need to come out, now.”

Drake’s hand fell away. He took up a position near the window. Drew his weapon.

Jasmine didn’t want him to get caught in the middle of a firefight. And if Saxon were out there…

I can’t let this happen.

“It wasn’t just f*cking,” she heard herself say because she knew the end was near for her.

Drake fired. The bullet blasted into the night. “Stay the hell back!” he roared.

“It wasn’t just f*cking,” she said again, her voice louder even as her body trembled.

Drake’s head jerked toward her. “This isn’t the time—”

“It might have just been for you, but it was more for me.” Tell him. “I thought I was making love with you.”

Gunfire hit the side of the house.

“I’ve never been in love, Drake, but I think…I really think I came close with you.”

“Jasmine…” Her name was a growl. “We’re gonna talk about this later. When bastards aren’t shooting at us.”

But she knew there wasn’t going to be a later. “I recognize that guy’s voice. It’s Saxon—he’s…he’s good at his job.”

“And I’m good at mine.” He fired again, and she heard a man cry out.

The gun was heavy in her grasp.

“Burn them out!” That bellow reached her ears and sent ice through her veins.

“Oh, the hell, no, they aren’t,” Drake snarled right back. Then he was firing, again and again.

Jasmine peeked through the window. Saw the men getting hit by Drake’s bullets—saw the guns being aimed back at her and Drake.

And she saw the flash of flame. What in the hell were they doing?

Then some of those flames started flying toward the cabin. Something crashed through the window. Exploded.

Molotov cocktail. Flames licked against the floor. Talk about coming dangerously prepared!

“No!” Jasmine ran toward the flames and tried to stomp them out.

Drake tackled her and sent her flying back away from the fire. “Are you crazy?” he demanded. “Dammit, princess, you have to be careful—”

“It’s your cabin,” she whispered. “Your grandfather’s cabin…”

And another Molotov cocktail splintered inside.

“And you’re worth more to me,” Drake said, voice fierce, as he rose with her. His gaze locked on a door to the right. “Come on. We’re getting out of here.”

But Saxon and his men would just be waiting outside.

“Stay close,” Drake told her. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

And she didn’t plan to let anyone hurt him.

Drake rushed toward that door. She followed as closely as she could, still holding tightly to that gun he’d given her. A few more feet, then they were bursting through the cabin’s rear door. The light was bright and hard and men were waiting for them. Drake shoved her to the side just as a bullet blasted right where her head had had been five seconds before.

Then Drake was firing. Firing and hauling her toward the swamp. Drake hit with deadly accuracy. She’d never seen anything like him. Men cried out and fell in his wake, and Drake was easily getting them toward the thick safety of the swamp that waited.

Then he ran out of bullets. She saw a man rising, smiling, as he aimed at Drake.

She fired.

She also screamed.

And she hit her target. As the man fell back, Jasmine and Drake rushed into the swamp. She didn’t know where they were going. Didn’t care if they were headed straight into snake central. They were getting away from Maxwell’s goons when she’d been so sure that it was over for her and— “Hello, Jazz.”

A hand grabbed her. A strong, callused hand. Saxon yanked her against his body and took her gun in an instant.

At the man’s voice, Drake spun back around. His eyes locked on Jasmine.

“Run,” she told him, desperate. “Go!”

But he didn’t. He smiled, a smile that chilled, and took a step toward her.

Jasmine felt a gun press against her temple. “I don’t have orders to kill Jazz here,” Saxon said. “But if you take another step, I will.”

Drake stopped advancing.

“Go,” Jasmine shouted at Drake. “Get out of here!” Why wasn’t he hauling ass?

“Kill her, and you’ll be dead five seconds later,” Drake promised Saxon.

She could hear the thunder of footsteps. The men who could still move were giving chase—hunting them in the swamp.

Saxon has just been one step ahead of the others. He usually was. He’d known they would flee out of the back door. He’d been ready.