Devil’s Game (Reapers MC #3)(79)
Author: Joanna Wylde

“You’re crazy,” I said, wiping my face with the back of my hand.

“Maybe,” he said, giving me his crooked smile. “But nothing burns off tension like a laugh. You think you can reach my seat belt?”

I leaned out of the footwell and dug around through the pine needles, ducking my head down to get a better look. In that instant, a bullet punched through the windshield into the passenger seat, passing through right where I’d been just seconds before.

I froze.

“Goddammit,” Hunter said, suddenly thrashing to get free. “Holy f**k, I cannot believe this.”

I fumbled for his seat belt urgently. Crap. CRAP. Just because I knew how to shoot a gun didn’t mean I was ready for a f**king firefight. Another shot tore through the glass, this time closer to Hunter’s head. So much for all that cover . . . Or were they just shooting randomly? I couldn’t figure out how they could possibly see us.

“Back in the footwell,” Hunter ordered, and his voice didn’t leave any room for negotiation. “Keep the gun handy. I don’t know if you’ll get a chance to shoot, but if you do, I want you ready.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, a sniper’s not gonna come in close unless he has to,” Hunter said. “Which means ideally—from his perspective—you’re dead without ever making eye contact. Right now this one doesn’t have a clear target, so that’s in our favor. We just need to hold on for a couple minutes, until the Reapers get here.”

Another bullet came through, winging Hunter’s ear.

“Fuck,” he muttered as blood started pouring out.

I gave a sobbing gasp.

“Emmy, you have to hold your shit together,” he said, his voice sharp. “I love you, babe. I can’t hide or defend myself, so I need you safe in that footwell. Then if he hits me you’re alive to save me. Hold your shit together for me, sweetheart. I need you to hold it together.”

I took a deep breath and nodded, although I knew he was lying again. If the sniper hit him, it would be a headshot—Hunter wouldn’t have a chance. He was just trying to protect me. Ridiculous. Like a footwell would stop a bullet, anyway? I racked my brain, trying to think of some way to protect us.

This was insane—I had to do something or we’d die out here. I looked up through the rain at the open passenger window. We needed a distraction. I eased out of my hidey-hole.

“Stay down, Em,” Hunter said, his voice cracking like a whip. I ignored him, checking the gun to make sure it was ready. All good. I slid into position expecting another shot to hit any second, crouching with one foot on the side of Hunter’s seat and the other on the inside wall of the well. I counted to three, then popped up and shot four times into the darkness.

I dropped back down, gasping.

Hunter blew up.

“What the f**k was that about?”

“I want him to know we’re armed,” I said. “Playing possum only works if they don’t know what they’re doing. I’ll bet a hundred dollars his orders are to make damned sure we’re dead, and I’m not just going to sit and wait for some ass**le to put a bullet in my brain.”

“He could’ve shot you, Em.”

I stared at him, trying not to let out the hysterical laughter I felt bubbling up deep inside.

“Seriously, babe? That’s your argument? That’s a f**king bullet hole about an inch from your face, and let’s not mention the ear. Getting shot is almost a given at this point, more of a when than an if. We need to hold out for Dad, and now that our sniper knows we can fight back, he’ll have to be more cautious about approaching the truck. That’ll slow him down, which might make the difference for us.”

“So your solution is to play Whac-a-Mole with a murderer?”

“Hunter?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s done.”

“Fuck, but you piss me off,” he muttered. His body twisted, and then he kicked out, hard. “Fuck!”

Long seconds passed, and I started shivering as the icy rain soaked my shirt. Maybe I should shut the window? No . . . At least this way maybe we’d hear something if they got too close.

Hunter kicked the truck again, rocking it slightly.

“Well, let’s look on the bright side,” I said, deciding he needed a distraction.

“Don’t.”

“The good news is that we’ll probably be either rescued or dead before we have to worry about serious hypothermia. There’s always a silver lining, Hunter.”

He growled at me again.

Men.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

HUNTER

I don’t think I’ve ever been so pissed off in my life.

Em frustrated me so much I wanted to strangle her, maybe save our sniper the trouble. I was angry with myself, too, because I should’ve been able to control the f**king truck. Now instead of protecting my woman, I was stuck watching her crouch over me with a gun, ice building up in her hair as her lips turned blue.

All because I’d been captured by a f**king tree.

Another shot rang out, although this time it didn’t hit the truck. At least that was something . . . Although if I died tonight without protecting her, I hoped to hell I’d find a way to come back and haunt Picnic Hayes. I’d use my ghostly powers to make him desecrate my useless f**king corpse.

More shots. Then shouting.

“Em!” I heard someone yell. She rose slightly.

“No,” I said, voice cracking. “Stay down until they find the shooter. Just call out. Let them know we’re okay, but under fire. Safer that way.”

“We’re safe!” she bellowed, so loud it hurt my ears. “The sniper hit the truck at least three times, so be really f**king careful. Also, I have a gun. Identify yourselves before coming too close, or I’ll shoot you myself.”

“Hang tight, kiddo,” I heard a deep voice yell back. “We’re comin’ for you.”

He sounded familiar . . . Then I placed him. Duck. Old guy I’d met when I negotiated with the Reapers for Em’s release.

“Do you think they’ll be able to find him?” Em asked. Her teeth started chattering. Shit, at least I had my pine needle blanket . . .

“No idea,” I told her. “If he’s smart, he’s already taken off. He could stay out there and try picking them off, but weather like this sucks for everyone.”

Then I noticed her hands had started trembling. From the cold or adrenaline—didn’t matter which.