Warrior (First to Fight #1)(36)
There are a dozen or more cars between us and safety, but I know our chances are better in there than out here with a gunman stalking us. I take a ragged breath and gather Cole more closely in my arms. I hear the squeal of brakes and the click of a car door behind me.
I use the advantage of surprise and stagger to my feet. I don’t chance glancing behind me because it will only make me hesitate. Instead, I shoot toward safety, Cole’s little body bobbing against mine as I sprint.
Another shot sounds behind me. I feel the heat of it graze my side, but I don’t stop. The only thing that matters is getting Cole to safety. I don’t even feel any pain. Sweat blurs my vision. Blood rushes in my ears, and I can’t seem to catch my breath. The race to the door takes an eternity.
Footsteps pound the pavement behind me, and my heart lurches into my throat. Faces white with fear appear in the glass panels of the door.
“Open the door!” I scream, my voice breaking with the force of it.
Thankfully, they hear me and the door slams open so hard a pane of glass shatters around us. A few feet away and I think we’re going to make it. It’s going to be okay.
Then another shot comes, but this time it doesn’t miss. I feel the bullet tear through my shoulder as though I’m watching it happen to someone else. The force of impact catapults me off of my feet.
I collapse half-in and half-out of the doorway, my head smacking against the unforgiving surface of the tile floor. I feel my body being dragged across the floor and then I lose consciousness, the sound of Cole’s screams following me into the darkness.
MY FAMILY HAS lived in the same house for forty years. I don’t think anyone could pry my father away from his custom garage or my mom from her renovated kitchen even if they had a million dollars. No matter how much my siblings and I attempted to coerce them to host a huge yard sale for their collections and knick-knacks, they wouldn’t budge. Now that I’m older, I thank them for it.
I find my two younger brothers, Mitchell and Garrett, wrestling over the gaming system in the living room. The now seventeen-year-old twins had been a surprise to our whole family after my parent’s fifteenth anniversary. They both pause in their argument to toss off an acknowledgement my way.
My mother is in the kitchen, steam pouring from the oven and smelling a lot like heaven. She grins up at me over her boiling pots.
“Your father said you would blow off tonight, considerin’. But I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t be so dumb. I should have known.” She shakes her head at me and points a steaming wooden spoon in my direction. One I had been well acquainted with in my youth. “I don’t even know what to say to you now, so you just sit there until I’m ready to deal with you.”
I have no idea what the hell I’ve done this time, but around here? It could be anything. The twins were probably foisting the blame on me for something or another. My older sister Amanda could also be the culprit. As she had married a Marine—something I still get hell about on occasion—and moved away years ago, there wasn’t anything I could have done to her.
Instead of worrying about it, I stuff my face with a piece of fried cornbread. I’d long since learned there was no use in arguing with a woman, especially if that woman was your mother.
The slide of our back door announces my father, and he steps in wearing his signature grease-spattered boots and simple T-shirt. His hair has thinned even more over the past year so only a single tuft is left at the top of his head.
“Benny boy!” he says in greeting.
My mom turns away from the stove to glare at him. “Don’t you start ‘Benny boy-ing’ him, Lewis Hart.”
Dad holds up his arms, a wide grin still pulling at his lips. He winks at me over Mom’s turned back and heads to the sink to wash his hands of motor oil. Still clueless as to what has her mitts in a twist, I stuff my face with another piece of cornbread and grab a soda from the fridge to wash it down.
“Go wash your hands, too, Ben. Tell the twins to set the table. Dinner’s ready.”
I go to comply, but stop to press a kiss to her forehead first. I mumble, “Love you, Momma,” into her hair before heading off.
Once I corral the twins into doing Mom’s bidding, we sit down at the table and spoon up the food. I’m so lost in the comforting smell of a home-cooked meal that I dig in as soon as my plate is in front of me. I’m halfway through my second rib before I notice that no one else is eating.
I wipe my face with a napkin and direct my attention to my mom, who is giving me a death stare. “What?”
“Don’t you ‘what’ me, Benjamin Thomas Hart.”
I cringe at her use of my middle name. “Honestly, I don’t know what I did this time, but if Mitch and Garrett are involved, it wasn’t my fault.”
The twins snicker and my dad cuffs Mitch on the shoulder so they both quiet down. My mom sniffs daintily and takes a sip of her soda. “It’s been all over the news. Did you think we wouldn’t notice? How could you keep something like this from us? I expect more from you, Benjamin.”
“All over the news?” My stomach drops. Certainly a small town like ours wouldn’t have picked up the coverage. The last thing I need is another story about the attack that killed my friends. I break out in a cold sweat. My easy-going, relaxed response to being back home disappears. “What are you talking about?”