This is all your fault. What you deserve. You deserve to die for killing your brother, for killing his father. You caused so much pain.
The little voice of guilt inside her head echoed the taunts Gerald now said, the cruel, callous words that hurt.
Jace, what had Jace said. It’s not your fault, Kara. It was an accident. Conner should never have climbed into the back seat without telling you. Archie Turner should never have run that stoplight. There was nothing you could have done.
The niggling guilt inside her eased, replaced with an odd calm.
“I killed those kids because they overheard Mike telling me you were there with Kara and now was the time to come to the clubhouse. I got there and you weren’t there, but they were and they told me it was too much, they signed up for fun and stealing jewels, but not murder. I couldn’t leave witnesses. Your damn cousin escaped before I could get him.”
“Let her go. It was an accident. It’s me you want, Marcus.” Jace stepped in front of her, shielding her with his big body.
“Oh, you, I’ll deal with you, traitor. The guys will be happy to deliver justice. Right now they’re planting a welcome-home gift in your parents’ house, Kara. Too bad it will blow out half the neighborhood, but I figure they all deserve it, the rich snobs.” Gerald laughed.
A scrabble of paws over rough rock, a furious bark and Darby rounded the corner. Snarling, the dog advanced and leaped at Gerald. Cursing, the man raised his gun. Fired.
Kara screamed. Jace stared at Darby, who was whimpering, lying on the ground.
“You shot my dog,” he said. “No one shoots my dog.”
This was a nightmare, and they were caught in it. No way out. Her terrified gaze flicked to Jace—Jace, who was calm and cool. How could he be so calm?
Gerald kept backing up, close to the porch and wasp’s nest. Jace’s gaze flicked to beneath the porch, where a few wasps flew around.
Gerald raised the gun again.
“Kara, be good.” Jace’s gaze flicked beneath the porch. “Be-e-e good.”
She nodded. Her only chance. Please, let me do this...
Pretending to go boneless with fear, she suddenly lurched forward, and tossed her helmet at the wasps’ nest. Angry insects flew outward, landing on the first object of their fury.
Gerald.
Cursing, he fired, his attention shattered by the wasps flying in his direction. Wasps flew at her, stinging, but she barely felt the pain. Jace uncurled his body and struck.
The kitchen knife hidden in Jace’s pocket suddenly sank deep into Gerald’s shoulder. Clawing at the blade, he snarled at Jace. The two men struggled on the ground, wrestling for the pistol.
Gerald pulled the trigger. The sound was piercing to her ears. Blood blossomed on Jace’s white shirt, but Jace curled his right hand around the knife handle and he yanked it upward. Gerald gagged, as blood spurted. Jace slammed Gerald’s hand against the ground, loosening his grip on the pistol. The man struggled weakly as blood flowed like a burst dam.
“Kara, kick the gun away,” he yelled, straddling Gerald.
Instead, she picked up the gun, and fired, straight into Gerald’s leg. The man screamed.
Jace rolled off him, panting, his shirt stained red. Oh, God, so much blood.
“Watch him while I find something to tie him up.”
He ran into the cabin and returned with lamp cord, winding it around Gerald’s wrists.
Kara handed Jace the gun. “You’re hurt, I have to...”
The sound of motorcycles thundered in the air. Kara’s breath came in little gasps as Jace sank to the ground, the pistol trained on Gerald, who kept moaning.
Motorcycles.
Gerald’s backup.
Bikers. They were toast. But she’d be damned if they didn’t go down without a fight.
For Conner. For Jace, who only wanted to protect and serve.
She ran inside, grabbed Uncle Phil’s favorite gun, the one he used for deer hunting. Bolt action, she’d used it once while hunting with Uncle Phil years ago.
The box of ammo spilled over the floor, cartridges rolling under the bed. Hands shaking, she loaded the .243 Winchester, praying she could at least give them a fighting chance to make it into the woods. Jace, oh, God, Jace, he’d been hit...
Kara ran to the front porch, steadying the rifle on the porch railing as she bent down and peered into the scope. A motorcycle roared down the incline leading to the field, others following. She had one shot at this, take out the head guy and maybe the others would realize they weren’t sitting ducks after all...
Taking a deep breath, she trained the weapon on the first biker pulling into the field. Her finger trembled on the trigger.
Have to do this... I must...
Then she blinked.
Kara went still. Not the snarly face of Mike in the scope. She knew this guy, and behind the bikes she saw several black SUVs and the unmistakable shape of patrol cars...
Standing, she did not lower the rifle, but waited as the bikes pulled up in front of the cabin.
Rafe dismounted the first bike, pulled off his helmet. Clad in black leather and jeans, with a Devil’s Patrol patch on the back, he looked the part. Three other bikers dismounted, and she realized from the flash of gold on their belts that they were agents.
