No Ordinary Day , Tate, Harley [ebook offline .TXT] 📗

her cheek with it. She blinked her eyes open.

Emmett staggered above her, blood blossoming over the sleeve of his denim shirt, a hole where his bicep used to be.

Who on Earth? Emma twisted in time to catch a black-clad figure dart between the trees.

John. Was he trying to... save them?

Emma didn’t have time to think. She scrambled away from Emmett as Ma struggled to her feet.

“My boy! My baby boy! Who did that? Who shot you?”

Ma lurched forward, waving the revolver in one hand as she reached for her son. Emmett still stood, dazed and off-kilter as he stared at his wound.

Emma seized the opportunity and dove for the revolver, wrapping her hands around it and Ma’s arm. The old woman shrieked and yanked, trying in vain to dislodge Emma. But Emma refused to budge. Tearing at the woman’s gnarled fingers, she wrenched them one by one loose from the grip.

Another shot rang out and Emma flinched, fighting anew as Ma tore at her hair with her free hand. They stumbled to the ground, Emma landing hard on her knees, the old woman twisting and crashing onto her hip. Ma cried out in pain and her grip slackened.

Emma grabbed the gun.

Chapter Twenty-Three

John

John cursed. Apart from the first shot at the idiot in the denim shirt, he’d not managed a clear opportunity. He couldn’t explain the drive to protect Emma and Holly. They meant nothing to him apart from a mission to complete. But watching them kneel on the hard ground… Watching Emma plead for her life...

It twisted his insides and hardened his heart against anyone who might try to hurt them. Dane might have given him the order to kill Cross, but in that instant, John knew he could never do it.

She wasn’t a murderer or a drug dealer or someone who committed a heinous act for the sake of greed and control. She was a beautiful, innocent woman who deserved to keep breathing.

He intended to make that happen.

The man he’d shot stumbled around, dazed and in shock from the bullet wound to his arm. It wasn’t close to fatal, but gunshots had a way of incapacitating even the best man. This guy did not seem like the best.

John turned his attention to the younger woman. She scanned the trees, searching for the source of the gunfire. With his aim, he could take her out from there, but he’d need a clear shot. Something the melee on the ground failed to afford.

Emma scrabbled with the old woman, fighting for the gun. John couldn’t take his eyes off them. What if Emma lost? What if the old woman shot first? He needed to give her cover. Protect her from the what-ifs.

As Emma dragged the old woman to the ground, she reached for the gun.

John turned to the younger woman. She scanned the trees and he shifted position to take the shot when a door slammed.

He fired, aiming for the woman’s shooting arm, but she jerked at the noise and the bullet went wide, clipping her sleeve, but nothing more

Another shot rang out. John fell to the ground. A bullet lodged in the tree above his head.

Someone else was armed and closer to the main cabin.

He cursed and scrabbled back behind the tree. Emma and Holly were too exposed. They would be dead in moments if he didn’t do something. Visions of dirt floors and convoluted compounds and the hunter insurgents filled his mind, but he pushed the memories back.

He’d vowed to never relive those chaotic moments. To always be in control. To always have the upper hand. It was the main reason his current occupation appealed to him: he owned the situation and controlled the narrative.

But this? This was going to shit.

John spun, gun up, and fired toward the woman still holding the rifle. She fired back, missing by a mile.

He shouted to Emma and Holly.  “Run! Run and I’ll give you cover!”

Emma jerked at the sound of his voice, searching the trees for his location.

She spotted him, and for a moment he swore she was about to shoot him. Instead, she reached for Holly, dragging the girl up by her armpit before hurrying for the far side of the compound.

Another shot rang out, this time from the cabin.

John twisted and caught sight of the shooter. Blonde hair, slight frame. Shirt three sizes too big. A girl no older than Holly.

He cursed again. He didn’t want to kill these people, especially not some girl who didn’t know any better. But he wanted to get out of there alive and he wanted Emma and Holly to do the same.  John calmed his nerves. Took a deep breath. Centered his focus.

Immobilize the woman, scare the girl into backing off. Easy.

He stepped onto the other side of the tree, putting eight inches of solid hardwood between him and the girl. The woman with the rifle had retreated to her mother, crouching on the ground over the old woman. Now was his chance. He took aim, zeroing in on her shoulder.

“Drop it or I blow your brains out.”

John glanced up. The man he’d shot stood ten feet away, rifle propped against his good shoulder. He wavered as he stood, gun barrel vacillating a few inches in either direction. He’d either shoot John square between the eyes or find nothing but air.

John shifted. “You’re bleeding out. If you don’t get a tourniquet around that arm, you’ll drop like a sack of potatoes before you ever get a shot off.”

“Drop the gun.”

John held up one hand and made a show of lowering the gun with the other. As he neared the ground, he shifted, about to fire, when another voice stopped him still.

“Don’t even think about it.” He turned to see the girl no more than ten feet from him, freckles dotting the bridge of her nose and a look of pure determination in her eyes. She aimed a rifle straight at his chest.

“Do what Daddy says or I’ll put you down just like a