Chapter Two #3
Jessa’s pulse pounded, but she didn’t answer. Because she wasn’t sure which danger concerned her more—Wynn in the trees or Corbin Knox standing ten feet away.
“We’re leaving,” she said, her voice low and edged with steel. “Deacon needs medical attention. We don’t have time for this.”
Corbin’s eyes narrowed, but he stepped back, giving them room to move, though the tension in his shoulders said he wasn’t thrilled about it.
She hooked her arm under Deacon’s again and guided him toward the SUV. Every step felt like pushing through ice, the cold biting harder now that adrenaline was wearing thin. Deacon’s weight dragged more heavily. He was running out of strength. Out of time.
The SUV was twenty yards away. Fifteen.
Almost there.
Then, a single gunshot split the night open.
“Down!” Jessa shoved Deacon toward the ground as a bullet tore past them, splintering bark off the tree behind her.
Deacon hit the dirt with a grunt, and she dropped beside him, rolling to shield his body with hers.
Another shot. Then another.
A hail of bullets rained through the clearing, ricocheting off rocks, punching into tree trunks, spraying shards of bark.
“Son of a—” Deacon’s words were swallowed by the thunder of another volley. He pulled his gun up, breath ragged. “If this is Wynn,” he growled, “we might not be able to keep the bastard alive.”
Jessa’s heart slammed into her ribs. “Don’t you dare give up on that,” she hissed. “Not now.”
He tried to rise, to brace himself enough to return fire, but the moment he lifted his head, a bullet snapped through the branches above them, showering them with leaves.
“Jess, let me shoot—”
“No,” she snapped, shoving his shoulder down. “We’re pinned. You lift your head again, you’re dead.”
Another barrage of gunfire ripped through the clearing, chewing into the ground inches from their feet. Jessa pressed closer to Deacon, feeling the hot slick of blood seeping from his arm and into her sleeve.
Corbin dove behind a boulder a few yards away, returning a couple of sharp, controlled shots, but the hail kept coming. Whoever was firing wasn’t alone or was using multiple angles.
Deacon grit his teeth, frustration radiating off him in waves. “We can’t stay here.”
“I know,” Jessa snapped.
“We can’t move either.”
“I know that too.”
“So what’s the plan?” he growled.
She swallowed hard, scanning the shadows, the muzzle flashes sparking through the trees. “We survive,” she whispered. “Long enough to make a plan.”
Another bullet slammed into the dirt so close it sprayed her cheek with grit.
Jessa pressed lower, pulling Deacon with her, shielding as much of his body as she could. Bullets chewed through the fallen log they hid behind, splintering wood into their hair and clothes.
“Jess—” Deacon rasped, trying to angle his gun around the log.
“No,” she hissed, dragging his arm down. “You fire blind in this, you’ll give them a clean shot at us.”
More rounds cracked through the trees, kicking up leaves, snatching branches off overhead limbs. Corbin returned three sharp shots from behind his boulder, but the barrage didn’t slow.
“Got at least two shooters,” Corbin shouted over the chaos.
Great. Because one wasn’t enough tonight.
Another bullet slammed into the log so hard Jessa was surprised it hadn’t torn right through. Deacon coughed, pain rippling through him, and she tightened her grip on his shoulder.
A beat later, the gunfire faltered, only for a breath, a heartbeat, but enough for Jessa’s instincts to flare. Something was changing. Then, she heard it.
A low rumble. Distant at first. Growing louder.
An engine.
Jessa snapped her head toward the direction of the original muzzle flashes. Through the trees, barely visible between the trunks, a pair of headlights flicked on—high, sharp, slicing across the dark like a blade.
A vehicle. Off-road. Fast.
“Shit,” Corbin muttered from behind his cover. “He’s bolting.”
More branches cracked, heavy footfalls pounding through frost and leaves. Someone running hard, fast, toward that waiting vehicle.
The engine revved. Tires churned dirt and gravel. The roar climbed, echoing through the trees.
Jessa lifted her head just enough to see a dark SUV swing around, fishtail slightly, then shoot toward the old access road. Too far to make out the driver.
Too fast to target.
Her heart pounded, her pulse a fierce drumbeat in her ears as the taillights vanished into the night.
Gunfire stopped.
Silence crashed down around them. Cold, brutal, final.
Corbin rose slowly from behind his boulder, jaw tight, eyes sharp and furious. “Son of a bitch.”
Jessa pushed herself up on shaking arms, scanning the empty clearing where muzzle flashes had once sparked. The night felt hollow now, heavy with the knowledge settling like lead in her stomach.
“He’s gone,” she whispered. “We had him, and he’s gone.”
Deacon leaned his head back against the frost-coated log, breath ragged. “No. He had us.”
He was right. And now Wynn had gotten away. Again. With a head start, and a target still on both their backs.