Their Bounty (Four Mercenaries 1)

Lavender.

Grass.

Hay.

He watched a large spider attempt to repair its web, which had been damaged by the movement of the door.

He tried not to think too much about the bullets flying toward the only people in the world who’d ever given a damn about him. They were professionals. They knew what they were doing. His presence would put them in more danger.

So he waited.

Waited.

Until the dull sound of hurried footsteps made his body hair bristle. For a split second, he hoped it was one of the guys, but even before he spotted the hunched figure in the dark, he knew none of them moved so gingerly. Even Drake.

The person was much smaller too, and Clover noticed heels on her feet before moonlight illuminated her face when she passed the shed.

Diana.

Clover went rigid, instantly breaking out in sweat under Drake’s hoodie and gripping the gun tighter. Was no one following her? Did they even know she was here? If he only had a headset too, he could have informed Tank where their target was, but that wasn’t an option.

Clover bit his lip hard to not scream in frustration when he saw the monster of a woman open her dog’s cage and coo as if it were a baby.

The giant animal yapped with excitement, and while Clover couldn’t see the cage without leaning out of the shed, his hand itched on the firearm in his hand. Diana was about to run. The person Tank said needed to die if Clover was to remain safe was so close Clover could shoot both her and the dog at close range and be done with it forever. Without the means to call for backup, wouldn’t that be the logical choice to make? After all, every rule had exceptions, and if she did manage to get out of here, then he’d forever have to watch his back.

His palms sweated around the gun, but when a bark came from far too close, Clover fell on his ass, backing away from the door. No. He couldn’t do that. He promised he would wait. What if the guys had a plan, and Clover spooked her?

He needed to trust his men and their experience. No matter how much sense it seemingly made not to, he would follow the plan.

The shooting ceased, and in the void that was left, the clicking of Diana’s heels sounded like an onslaught of bullets about to reach him.

Clover’s throat tightened when the dog growled beyond the thin wooden door, and Clover clutched at the gun, ready to pull the trigger if she opened the shed. But only then. Only if his life was at risk and he needed to defend himself.

“What is it Mylo? Come on, we have to go,” Diana insisted, but she approached regardless, the clicking of her heels as ominous as the theme music of Jaws.

Where was a stray cat or mouse to distract her when it was needed?

Clover gritted his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. Killing her, no matter how much of a psycho she was, wouldn’t be easy. Technically, it was, if he aimed right, but he’d never killed a person. Had never taken a life. What would it feel like? Would he even be able to make that choice when faced with another human being, even one as cruel as Diana?

He breathed loudly, unable to calm down, but he was ready to leave the life of an innocent behind if she entered.

Next thing he heard was a click, and then the door burst open, revealing Diana standing there like the goddess of death, one hand holding the collar of the German shepherd, the other—a gun. “Get out with your hands up, and I’ll consider killing you fast instead of letting my dog do the job. How dare you ruin my menagerie? Do you have any idea how many years of work I’ve dedicate—”

One shot was enough to silence her, but he wasn’t the one who’d pulled the trigger. Clover gasped when the side of her head burst, blood spilling where she fell with a dull thud. Her dog dashed to the side, barking like a demon spawn, but he only got a second longer than his mistress before a single bullet put him down.

Clover froze, afraid to as much as breathe as he stared at the bloody scene, but the soft voice coming from outside had him melting into a puddle.

“Clover? You can come out.”

Drake. It was Drake!

Clover scrambled to his feet and burst outside, stepping over the bleeding corpse in search of protection. Drake was a couple steps away from the shed when Clover spotted him, and they reunited in a movie-worthy hug that smelled like gunpowder and cigarettes. Drake, of course, had to spoil the dramatic mood by patting Clover’s bare ass.

“Might have to dress you like this more often.”