“You want to do the next one?” he asked. She shrugged, and I tried to read her expression. If anything, she looked almost bored.
“I think you should just shoot him,” she said, pulling out her gun. “I know you like to play with them, but we don’t have a ton of time. His bitch will probably miss him sooner or later. We should get out of here—they’re waiting for us up by the border.”
“Five years, Talia. Five years I’ve been waiting for this moment. Cut me some fuckin’ slack, okay?”
“Whatever,” she said, pouting. “Want a beer?”
“No,” he said, turning back to Painter. “I want to cut his face off.”
I clutched the gun tighter. Should I try to shoot him? But there were two of them, and Deanna—no, Talia—had a gun, too. Would I cause more harm than good?
Talia started toward the fridge and I saw something move on the floor near her foot.
Duck.
His eyes were open, and he was tracking her. Catching my breath, I watched as the old man struck faster than a snake, catching her ankle and jerking her down to the ground. The gun went flying and he dove for it, raising it smoothly. It went off with a roar and Marsh was down.
Like, down—as in the top half of his skull was just missing.
Talia screamed, rushing toward Duck. She started kicking him as she fought for the weapon, and as I watched in shocked horror, the stain on his pants started to grow.
Rapidly.
Blood was pouring down his leg, running across the floor. A flood of it—bright red arterial blood. He didn’t even seem to notice he was bleeding out, he just kept fighting until his body sagged to the floor, a sinking ship in a sea of red. Talia wrenched the gun out of his hands, raising it triumphantly as she shot him in the chest. Then she whirled around to Painter, raising it for another shot.
I raised my gun faster.
My first bullet caught her in the shoulder, shattering the window between us in an explosion of glass. The second went wide, and the third hit her leg. The fourth punched through the floor about six inches from Painter’s foot, and I nearly dropped the gun, shocked by how easy it would be to accidentally kill him.
Talia was screaming and moaning, rolling around on the floor. Darting around the back of the house, I reached for the door, praying it wasn’t locked. It wasn’t, thank God—about time we had some good luck. Running into the kitchen, I launched myself at Talia, slamming her head into the floor as hard as Todger had slammed mine.
She went quiet.
I stood warily, looking for the gun she’d dropped—it’d skittered across the floor, stopping next to the stove. Grabbing it, I threw it out the shattered window, into the mud. Then I stumbled over to Painter, pulling the gag out of his mouth.
“Are you okay?” I gasped, running my eyes over his knife wound. Didn’t look serious, thank God.
“Yeah, it’s just one cut,” he said. “That was amazing, Mel.”
“I’ve got to get you free—do you know where the handcuff keys are?”
“Tie her up first,” he said. “For all we know she’s got another gun. Then check on Duck.”
Duck was deader than a doornail—I knew that without checking. The old man was toast the minute his artery blew, I thought with professional detachment. I’d freak out later, but right now I had work to do.
“Duck’s gone,” I declared flatly. “He bled out—nobody survives that. What should I tie her with?”
“There’s probably some rope under the sink,” he said. “Duck keeps shit like that down there.”
Crossing the kitchen, I had to wade through Duck’s blood to reach the sink. As I passed, I knelt down for an instant, checking his pulse out of habit even though I knew it was pointless.
Nothing.