ears, nearly drowning out everything else.
“Say. You are. Sorry,” the woman demanded. “Or I will kill you where you stand.”
“You’re going to anyway.”
“I hate you!” Her voice got higher; her hand shook more erratically. “You killed my only brother. The only person who loved me and took care of me.”
Her finger curled around the trigger. Pierce didn’t respond at all.
Clara bared her teeth. “I want you to die.”
She meant that.
Brea’s heart leapt to her throat. She’d never thought she could willfully kill anyone, no matter the circumstance. The good girl in her who loved family, God, and all His living things had never imagined that she would intentionally snuff out anyone. But in that moment, she realized she fucking would. Yes, she might hit Pierce, but if she didn’t try, he would die. It was that simple.
She swallowed, sent a quick prayer up, then aimed. Her heart beat so fast now it inhibited her breathing and threatened to choke her. Her palms sweated. Her entire body trembled. But she focused on everything she’d learned and took a deep breath.
Then she pulled the trigger.
The recoil nearly sent her tumbling back. An instant later, Clara jolted and glanced down at the red stain blooming from her left shoulder. Then she started searching beyond the circle of light. “Bitch! I will definitely kill your man now.”
No, she wouldn’t.
Brea risked creeping a few steps closer as Clara made her way back to Pierce. She held her breath, dredged up her courage, and fired again. This time she was prepared for the kickback and managed to stay steadier on her feet.
A second scream ripped through the air, this one filled with pain. Clara looked down at the stain forming on her yellow sweater two inches closer to her heart. Blood drained from her face. She stumbled back. “No.”
Brea tried to stay strong. She didn’t speak; it would give away her hiding spot in the shadows. She didn’t argue her perspective; Clara had already made up her mind. She simply waited to see what the woman would do—fight to the death or surrender. She prayed for the latter.
“No,” Clara repeated, her voice sounding more like a gurgle. “He dies before me.”
Despite weaving unsteadily, she raised her weapon in Pierce’s direction. Brea tried to fire first, but Clara’s shot resounded in the air a split second sooner. Thankfully, she missed.
Brea didn’t.
The third bullet lodged in the middle of Clara’s chest. She stumbled, then crumpled to the ground, prone and unmoving.
“Pierce!” Brea cried out as she ran across the yard toward him. “Are you all right?”
“Fine. Check her first,” he barked.
Brea wanted to touch him more than anything, but the urgency in his voice reached through her trembling relief. “For what?”
“Kick the gun out of her hand, then see if she’s breathing.”
Brea did. No heartbeat. No exhalations. “I-I think she’s dead.”
Oh, God. She’d killed someone?
Behind her, someone clapped. She whirled to find Matt walking toward her. “I just caught the end of that. You did good, little thing.”
“Did I?” Now that it was over, she felt overwhelmed and dizzy. She felt like throwing up.
Yes, she had killed someone. She had aimed a gun and pulled the trigger on another human being. It was horrible. The shock. The guilt. She wanted to cry.
But what would have happened if she hadn’t?
“Catch her,” Pierce shouted.
Brea heard his voice as if through a narrowing tunnel. The edges of her vision went black. She fell back.
Matt was right there to swing her up in his arms. “You’re okay.”
“I don’t feel so good. And Pierce…”
“Take some deep breaths. He’s fine. Let’s go cut him loose.”
“Got it,” said another voice.
Matt whirled, and Brea caught sight of a tall man with a blond crew cut and a badass vibe.
“I’m Trevor,” the newcomer said with a friendly head bob as he tucked away the gun in his hand. “You must be Walker’s girl.”
She nodded. “B-Brea.”
“I’m Matt. Got a handcuff key?”
He nodded. “On it.”
Brea gripped Matt’s shirt as her head cleared. Her body shook as the adrenaline began to bleed from her veins, but she needed to get to Pierce now that she wasn’t going to faint. At least she didn’t think so. “You can put me down.”
“You sure?” Matt raised a brow at her.
She squirmed. “I need Pierce.”
“And he needs you.” Matt set her on her feet, not letting go until she proved she was steady. “He’s a lucky bastard.”
There was someone out there for Matt, but Brea swallowed back the sentiment. Her first priority was to