Move the Sun (Signal Bend #1)(79)

There was no movement or sound for some time—twenty minutes or so—and then she heard the sharp report of a pistol. Nothing more. One shot, and then silence again. Leaving her pack tucked in a cluster of rocks and grass, she took her Sig with her and stole down to the house.

She checked under the house as she sidled up to it—clear. The room in the middle of the house had a large window that must have gone almost to the floor. Curtains closed off all but the middle couple of feet.

Her back pressed snugly against the splintered, cracked siding, Lilli tried to get a view into that room. She was barely able to make out a body lying on the floor. She couldn’t see enough to know who it was, whether it was Hobson or whoever had been here from the Horde—his brother maybe? She hadn’t met his brother. But she couldn’t see Isaac letting the brothers leave the clubhouse together.

She had no idea whether the shooter was friend or foe. As she continued carefully along the house, she heard something—a crack or a creak. She paused and listened, trying to place it. The sound didn’t repeat.

She took another soundless step—and then her feet were yanked out from under her. Her head slammed hard on the rocky ground, and the world got loud and dim. Before she could drag full consciousness back to the fore, Hobson was looming over her, filthy and covered in cobwebs, a wild look in his eyes. Her head cleared then, and she understood that he’d gone under the house to get to her. She’d been colossally stupid not to check again.

Now he was straddling her, one hand holding down her wrist, immobilizing her gun hand. His knee pressed down on her other arm. With his free hand, he had a gun of his own under her chin.

“You f*cking gash! You come after me? Why won’t you get out of my HEAD?” He cocked the gun.

In a flash of vivid thought, Lilli made a decision. She could try to back him down, or she could just f*cking go for it. Her chances of survival here were nil, either way. One of them was dying today. Perhaps within the next few seconds.

She kicked her legs up and put everything she had into an effort to dislodge him and come up on top of him.

She succeeded, but he pulled the trigger. The gun had shifted in their struggle, though, and instead of going through the soft underside of her chin and into her brain, the bullet glanced off the side of her neck, taking a painful, hot gouge with it. She could feel the blood soaking her top, but she ignored it. She slammed his hand down then, and the gun skidded from his grasp. He still had her wrist in a desperate, iron grip, so she punched him hard in the side of the head. She felt something break in her hand, but she’d dazed him at least momentarily. He moved to roll her.

He was still dazed, so the move didn’t have the power it should have. As he tried to get her back on the ground, his grip on her loosened, and Lilli took the opportunity to flip over and away. She ended up on her knees, free of him but unarmed. He’d dislodged her Sig from her hand; her right side, where the bullet had slit her throat, was going weak. She was losing blood, and the fight wasn’t helping. She was concussed. But she pulled it together, not bothering to fret about how hard it was to do so. She saw his pistol—an old Colt revolver—and stood to go for it.

The standing did her in. She went to her knees as her vision swirled and glittered. She looked down and found herself fascinated by the dark crimson dyeing most of her top.

It was going to be her that died.

She didn’t even care enough to try to get off her knees.

Hobson limped up to her. “You know what? I don’t want you dyin’ fast. You been torturin’ me for years now. I want you goin’ slow. There’s shit you owe me, cunt.” He bent down and tied something snugly around her neck, like a bandage.

Her last thought was disappointment.





CHAPTER TWENTY


Isaac charged into the dorm room. Len had Wyatt against a wall. LaVonne was curled into the corner, cowering, her mouth bleeding heavily. Isaac spared her a glance, then turned to Dan, coming up behind him.

“Dan—get her outta here. Get her some ice or something.” He advanced on Wyatt. “What the f*ck did you do, Wyatt?”

“So I hit a woman—back the f*ck off!” Wyatt struggled hard against Len’s grip, but Len was bigger and stronger.

Len handed Isaac a phone; must have been Wyatt’s. Isaac checked outgoing calls—none recent. He checked outgoing texts—one, to Ray. It read: get out now pilot after u cant explain go back 2 camp.

He tossed the phone on the bed behind him. Leaning down into Wyatt’s face, looming over him, Isaac snarled, “That’s the stupid shit I wanted to keep you from doing. If Lilli gets hurt because of this, I will end you slow.” He shifted his eyes to Len. “Put him in the Room. Chain the f*cker down. We’ll deal with him later.”

Isaac felt panic. He didn’t think he’d ever felt panic before, but it was on him now, compelling him to move, move now, find Lilli, keep her safe. But he had to think. He’d tried to call her several more times, to no avail. Something bad had gone down, he could feel it in his very cells. The question was where.

Wyatt’s text hadn’t given Ray any information about where Lilli was. Rover had taken him back to his place. Most likely, then, that was where trouble was. But he needed to be sure. His men were at his back, waiting to know what he wanted. No one had made any suggestions, not even Show. They were waiting for him to work it through. When Len came back from the Room, Isaac knew what he wanted.