before the man got off a shot at Mike. Mike stumbled and went down. Cam kicked the wounded man’s arm, sent the pistol flying.
Ears ringing, nose and eyes stinging from the smoke, Ben swiftly knelt beside Mike and checked how bad he was wounded. The wound was in the fleshy part of the chest just under his arm, likely not life-threatening as long as there wasn’t infection, but painful as hell.
“How you doing?” he asked casually, pulling his knife from his pocket and slicing off the bottom of Mike’s shirt to make a cloth pad. Taking a pack of blood-clotting powder from the cargo pocket in his pants, he sprinkled some over the wound then covered it with the cloth pad and pressed hard.
“Pretty shitty,” Mike answered, his voice raspy.
“Look out!” Ted half shouted, half groaned. Ben spun on his knee; Patrick had struggled to a partial sitting position, despite the massive wound to his chest, and was struggling to steady his rifle. Ben rolled into the clear, and fired again. Patrick shuddered and lay still, the rifle falling from his limp hand. This time the fucker was dead, but Ben cursed at himself for not checking to make sure the first time. This time, he went over and picked up the rifle, though he was damn sure Patrick was dead now.
Three men dead, and three injured.
Swiftly Ben checked Ted, who had gone still. He was unconscious now, which was probably for the best. Ben tore open his shirt, and cussed under his breath. Ted’s wound was much worse than Mike’s; in different times, with a hospital nearby, he’d have about a 50/50 chance. With only rudimentary medical care available, Ben didn’t think he’d make it. Nevertheless he swiftly did what he could with the same rough first aid he’d used on Mike. Frothy air bubbles in the wound told him Ted’s lung had been hit.
“How is he?” Mike asked, panting as he tried to struggle to his feet.
Ben silently shook his head and took Mike’s arm on his uninjured side, heaved him upright.
Urgency was still gnawing at him. He went over to where Trey was holding a weapon on the other wounded man, and dropped to his haunches beside him. “Where’s Lawrence?”
The man just laughed. That short laugh was followed by a raspy cough, a groan. He didn’t look good, and Ben wasn’t going to waste any clotting powder or sympathy on him.
Mike edged closer, hunched over against the pain. “Come on, Kyle. No point in being loyal to Dietrich, he’d throw you to the wolves without thinking twice. What the hell are you doing here anyway?”
Kyle grimaced. “I always liked you, Mike, but this mess . . . I don’t want to die. I don’t want to starve to death, and I sure as fuck don’t want to sit back and let folks who don’t give a shit about me and mine tell me what to do. Lawrence’s plan seemed like a good one. No point in letting someone else have it all.”
Mike shook his head. “You didn’t want to have to do without your drugs, and you saw this as a way to make sure you didn’t have to. I knew your mama. She’d be ashamed.”
Kyle sneered. If he’d cared what his mama thought, he wouldn’t have gotten in with Dietrich. He cast a glance at Ted, then back up at Ben. “Lawrence thought Parsons there might go soft on us, so we’ve been watching him for the past couple of days. You think you’ve won, but just you wait. Lawrence and Jeremy are taking care of those women.” He laughed again, choked hard, and then he stopped breathing.
Ben surged to his feet, hell burning in his eyes. He hit the door at a run, cursing every second it would take him to get to his truck.
Sela.
Sela paced in Carol’s living room. This had been the longest afternoon of her life. She hated waiting, and she hated worrying even more.
Ben was in harm’s way, and the knowledge filled her with cold dread. He could handle himself better than anyone she knew or had ever known, and still she worried about him. She always would. That was what loving someone meant, and she had chosen to love someone who wouldn’t hesitate when the hard things had to be done. Had anyone ever worried about him before today? He gave the impression that no worry was necessary. He was tough as nails, capable of handling any crisis, he needed