Blind Warrior (The Weavers Circle #3) - Jocelynn Drake Page 0,58

and he was determined to keep Grey safe. But he refused to be trapped there. “If you and the others haven’t eaten yet, I’ll make some oatmeal for breakfast.”

Grey wrinkled his nose. “Oatmeal? I was thinking bacon and sausage with a side of pancakes.”

“I thought you were just complaining about the fit of your pants. And what about your cholesterol?”

A snort left Grey, and the man grinned. “The walking makes room for the pancakes, and I don’t think I can die of clogged arteries and high cholesterol now.”

“Freaking cult,” Calder muttered under his breath as he poured water into the coffeemaker.

Grey opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. His entire body became incredibly rigid, every muscle seemingly frozen. His head was cocked just slightly, as if he were straining to hear something in the distance.

“Shit,” he swore softly. “Someone’s coming.”

“What?”

“That…that feeling I got at the beach and the attack at dinner. Like an evil whisper in my brain. It’s here. Something is—”

Grey didn’t get to finish his sentence. There was a loud bang of someone kicking in the front door. A heartbeat later glass exploded as bullets ripped through the rear of the house. Cort grabbed Grey as the man tried to duck but seemed unsure of which direction to move in. Cort couldn’t blame him. They were fucking surrounded.

Crouched behind the kitchen island wasn’t the best position as it offered only minimal cover from those approaching from the rear. His heart was pounding like a thing gone mad in his chest as he searched for safe options for escape. This was insane. Absolutely insane. Hadn’t they just survived an attack when they were trying to get Calder?

Cort kept a hand on Grey’s shoulder while he looked around. Calder was kneeling beside him. To Cort’s right was another pair of French doors that led directly onto the front porch. He couldn’t see anyone outside. They could make a run for it out the front, but he knew even as the thought occurred to him that Grey would never leave so long as his brothers were still in the house.

“The front looks clear, but we don’t know how many there are,” Calder said.

“Five,” Grey instantly replied. “Two coming through the front. Three at the rear.”

“You can see them?” There was a note of surprise in Calder’s voice.

“In my head. Ugly dark marks in our home.”

“Damn…” Calder grumbled softly as he peeked around the island. “Didn’t you say the guy who attacked last time was just a normal guy?”

“Yeah,” Grey mumbled. He ducked down and Cort couldn’t help moving his hand to Grey’s head as if that could stop a bullet. “Why?”

“These guys are wearing full tactical gear and move like trained military. These aren’t some random delivery drivers.”

“Fuck,” Grey swore and Cort couldn’t agree more. Whoever was brainwashing these poor people had gotten a little smarter. Normal people weren’t going to take the Weavers out, so why not grab up some member of the local SWAT team or maybe a bunch of marines from the closest military base?

“We need to—” Cort’s words were cut off when more gunfire echoed through the house. This sounded different, though. Different types of guns. Cort glanced over at Grey to find him smiling darkly. “What?”

“Clay and Dane made it to the billiards room where they keep the guns.”

Cort tightened his fingers in Grey’s hair and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “We need to get somewhere safe. We have no way of defending ourselves here,” Cort stated, raising his voice to be heard over the increased gunfire.

“Oh, I got something,” Calder announced in a low, cool voice. The Weaver peeked around the corner, the tiniest smirk forming on his lips as he carefully moved his hands.

Cort shifted to try to see around the safety of the island to where Calder was looking. When he got a glimpse of the backyard through the broken doors, his breath was caught in his throat. It was as if the water in the pool had climbed onto the concrete patio and rolled up into a giant ball. Currently, a single man floated within the ball, his legs frantically kicking while he attempted to claw at the sides to free himself. He was going to slowly drown, and it was terrifying.

“What’s going on?” Grey snapped.

“Calder is using the water from the pool to hold someone,” Cort explained in a trembling voice. He didn’t want to wish this on anyone, but he knew that