Lace & Lead

He fired blindly over the wall, satisfied to hear grunts of pain as his bullets hit their marks and reloaded, hollering back, “Nice of you to join me!”

“One minute out, boss!” Kai was yelling.

One minute was enough. I can hold them.

He emptied the new clip over his shoulder and began reloading. Shards of stone glanced off the wall. He hit his stomach, realising the guys from inside the house were finally making it out into the garden. They had the perfect angle on him.

He grunted as a stray bullet glanced off his upper arm and he rolled toward the last segment of the wall before the hill down to the garage. Hopefully Emma had found something that would start.

Breathing out half a prayer, he took off down the hill.

They hadn’t seen her. Emmaline still couldn’t believe it. She had barely managed to close the door behind her. She was so torn to see Peirce firing up the hill, silhouetted against the burning house. He’d make it to her. He had plans.

Plans that involved kids. Marriage.

She didn’t know the garage well since her father had never let her in it, but in the half dark, she saw the hulking shapes of old farm equipment, the vehicles the servants must have used on the outlying land during the harvest season. Judging by the lack of dust on their hoods, she gathered Peirce had only worked on two during his last stay at the estate: an ancient Brumby that looked like it had seen better days and some kind of truck that was in equally poor condition.

The truck looked sturdier, but the Brumby would probably be faster. The gunfire was getting closer. No time to deliberate.

She had the Brumby started and was strapping into the passenger seat, holding her pistol at the doors in shaking hands, when they opened and a familiar form ran inside.

“Good choice, honey,” he complimented once he was inside. She’d never been so glad to see that arrogant face.

“Are they—?”

“Oh, they’re coming.”

He kept the rifle between the seats, threw the vehicle into gear without bothering to buckle in and tore out of the garage. Emmaline braced herself against the dash and door. She saw a flash on the road up to the house—a Stallion with mounted gun laying down cover fire.

“’Bout damn time,” Peirce grumbled, keeping the Brumby from sliding out as they hit the main road.

“Douglass and Kai?”

“In the flesh.”

“I don’t understand why my father would do this—”

“He didn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

Peirce was opening his mouth to answer when his eyes went wide and he jerked the wheel hard to the side.

As they spun, she could see it—

The flash.

The smoke trail.

And she couldn’t even get enough air to scream when Peirce slammed into her, halfway out of his seat as the Brumby spun them away. As the RPG slammed into the back panel.

A horrific rending of metal and shattering of glass. The world flipping on itself. Glass pelting her, that heavy weight clinging to her, her head slamming against the seat, against something hard—

And comforting blackness.

Damn, his head hurt. And his shoulder. And back. And ribs. And arms. Hell, if he was going to acknowledge it, every part of him hurt.

He coughed, chest feeling strangely light, and managed to crack open his eyes. The daylight outside was blinding. He knew from the stabbing in his skull that he had a bitch of a concussion to deal with at some point. Too many explosions too close together.