Chapter Twenty-Eight
Hunter
The door gives under my shoulder with a crack that echoes like a gunshot in the night. I rush into the shed, gun already half-raised, adrenaline flooding my system so hard and fast it almost makes me dizzy.
My gaze locks on Nancy, gun in her hand. “Drop it!”
Then I see Dylan. Alive. Relief floods my system, knocking the breath from my lungs. He’s on his feet, swaying slightly. His face is bruised and bloodied. One eye is nearly swollen shut. Dried blood stains the skin around his mouth, and the way he holds himself tells me he’s hurting everywhere.
But he’s alive, and goddamn it, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure he stays that way.
“Hunter,” he breathes, and my chest aches at the sound of my name on his lips.
My relief is short-lived. I see another man, Matthew, but he’s barely recognizable, slumped in the corner, chained to the wall, wrapped in Dylan’s coat. His head lolls at an unnatural angle, his body too still.
Standing between me and both men is Nancy and her gun. Her eyes are wide, wild, red-rimmed, like she hasn’t slept in days. Her arm trembles slightly, but her grip on the weapon is tight.
My focus narrows. I could take her out, but if she fires, she’ll hit Dylan.
“Put the gun down,” I say, my voice steady despite the chaos in my head.
Behind me, I hear Linc moving in, boots crunching softly on the dirt floor. Nancy’s gaze flicks between us, something frantic and desperate burning behind her eyes.
“You weren’t supposed to see this.” Her voice cracks.
Dylan shifts slightly, easing himself between her and Matthew.
“Nancy,” he says gently, as if he’s talking to a frightened animal. “It’s over. Put the gun down.”
She shakes her head wildly. “No.” The word echoes in the unnatural quiet. “It’s not. No one can know.”
Sirens wail faintly, rising up in the distance. The police would be here any minute. I keep my eyes locked on her, careful not to make any sudden movements.
“The police are on their way,” I tell her. “It’s over. Put down the gun.”
Her expression twists, and she lets out a dry sob. “They won’t understand.”
“They will,” Dylan insists.
I flick a glance at him.
Even battered, even barely standing, he’s focused entirely on her, his voice calm and steady in a way that makes something tight in my chest loosen just a fraction.
“You protected your kids,” he continues. “That’s what matters.”
Nancy’s fingers curl harder around the gun. “You don’t know what they’ll think when they see me.”
“I do,” Dylan says. “They’ll see a mother who did what she had to do.”
For a second, something flickers across her face. Doubt. Hope. Then it shatters.
“You ruined everything,” she explodes. Her voice rises, sharp and broken, fear and anger spilling out all at once. I tense and take a step toward her.
Her gaze snaps to me, but her gun is still on Dylan. “You came here, asking questions, digging around. Pretending to be something you’re not. You made him panic.”
My jaw tightens. She’d left out some pretty big factors from this situation. Like that Jim had Matthew in this shed torturing him for the past two weeks, and he’d done the same to who knew how many other men.
“Jim was a murderer on the verge of getting caught,” I say. “That’s why he panicked.” I need to get that gun away from her, disarm her, but if I rush her, it might go off and take out Dylan. Cold dread slides through me.
Her laugh is harsh, almost hysterical, and her eyes shine with something raw and ugly. “I knew something was wrong for years. He had secrets, of course.”
She talks about torture and murder as if they were ugly habits instead of atrocities. I try to keep the disgust from my face, but I fail miserably.
Matthew lets out a weak, pained sound from the corner, and Nancy flinches.
“See?” Tears streak down her cheeks, mascara smudged dark beneath her eyes. “See? That’s what the police will think. That I knew.”
“Nancy,” Dylan says carefully. “Look at me.”
Her gaze snaps back to him.
“But you didn’t,” Dylan says. “And we’ll tell the police that. But you have to put the gun down.”
“I didn’t ask,” she admits, voice cracking. “I didn’t want to know.”
She swallows hard. “I had a life. A family. My children were safe and happy. I told myself whatever Jim was doing wasn’t worth destroying that.”
“Your children were living with a killer.” I can’t keep the disgust from my tone, earning a hard look from Dylan.
“I didn’t know,” she cries. Her gaze flicks toward Matthew. “I thought he was having an affair. I didn’t believe Jim was capable of this.”
Guilt floods her expression, twisting it into something almost unrecognizable.
“If he’d just stayed away,” she whispers tearfully. “Everything would be okay now if he’d never come here.”
I assume she means Matthew and try not to roll my eyes at her blaming him instead of her murderer husband.
The sirens are louder now. Closer.
“There’s no way out of this,” I say carefully, “and definitely not by hurting anyone else.”
She looks at me. Really looks, and I see it then, just how far gone she is.
“There is,” she says softly.
My pulse spikes. “Nancy—”
She moves surprisingly fast, turning and swinging up the gun until it’s locked on me. Everything fractures into sharp pieces. The tremor in her arm. Her finger tightening on the trigger. The wild, desperate look in her eyes.
I’m ready to fire, but before I can, Dylan is suddenly there between us.
“Hunter!” he shouts at the same time her gun goes off. He throws himself between us. The sound is deafening in the enclosed space. For a split second, everything goes silent. Then Dylan jerks, his body twisting as the bullet hits.
“No!” The word tears out of me as he collapses.
I’m moving before he even hits the ground, dropping to my knees beside him, catching him as he falls.
“Dylan! Dylan, look at me.”
My hands press against his side automatically, searching for the wound. Blood. Too much blood. It soaks through my fingers, hot and slick, spreading fast across his shirt.
“Hey,” Dylan breathes. His voice is weak, strained, but he’s alive.
“Stay with me,” I say, my voice shaking, and despite everything, I try to steady it. Around me, chaos erupts as Linc takes down Nancy and wrestles away her gun, but I barely notice. All my attention is on Dylan.
“I’m here,” he murmurs.
“Don’t you dare...” My voice catches. “Don’t you dare leave me. Hey,” I say, softer this time. “Look at me.”
His eyes find mine. They’re still clear and focused. He’s still with me.
“You okay?” he asks, checking on me.
A broken laugh escapes me. “You just got shot.”
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Not ideal.”
My chest aches so hard it feels like it might crack open. “Why did you do that?” I demand, my voice rough. My hands won’t stop shaking.
He gives a small, pained smile. “Seemed like the thing to do. I can’t lose you again.”
“You idiot,” I whisper. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His hand shifts weakly, brushing against mine where I’m pressing on the wound.
“I’ve got you,” I say quickly. “You’re going to be okay.”
Sirens scream outside now, right on top of us. Doors slam. Voices shout.
Linc rushes outside, yelling, “Back here!”
Dylan’s breathing is shallow, uneven.
“Stay with me,” I repeat.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs, but his eyes flutter slightly. Panic spikes sharp and brutal in my chest.
“No,” I say, louder now. “Stay with me, Dylan.”
“I’m here,” he insists weakly.
The door bursts open again, flooding the shed with light and noise. Police. Paramedics. Everything happens at once.
Hands on my shoulders try to pull me away from Dylan, but I don’t budge.
“Sir, we need you to step back,” someone says, a paramedic most likely, but I don’t move.
“I’m not leaving him,” I snap.
“We need to treat him.”
I hesitate for half a second, then nod. “Okay.”
I pull my hands away reluctantly, blood slick and warm as the paramedics move in, cutting through Dylan’s shirt, applying pressure, working fast and efficiently.
“He’s conscious,” one of them says. “Gunshot wound to the side. Let’s move.”
A stretcher appears, and they lift him carefully. Dylan winces, a soft groan escaping his lips.
“I’m right here,” I say, moving alongside them.
His hand finds mine for a brief second, squeezing weakly. “I know.”
They carry him out into the frigid night. Sirens blare, lights flashing red and blue across the snow.
I follow, my hands still shaking.
Behind us, Linc has handed Nancy over to the police. Her shoulders slump, and she sobs softly. All the fight has gone out of her. Matthew is rushed out on another stretcher, barely conscious but alive. Linc follows.
I turn my attention back to Dylan. As they load him into the ambulance, I climb in after him without hesitation.
“I’m not leaving,” I say.
No one argues. The doors slam shut, and as the ambulance pulls away, I take Dylan’s hand again and hold on like his grip is the only thing keeping me grounded.
“Stay with me,” I whisper.
Because I’m not losing him. Not again.