“No idea.” They had either already been killed, or they were caught up in another battle. There were a lot of men on both sides, both fighting to the death. Bodies were in the middle of the street, their blood draining into the gutters.
Just when the car holding Conway was about to pull out, Crow appeared. With a semiautomatic, he emerged from the other side of the street and blasted the front passenger door, putting rounds into the bulletproof glass. Out in the open and completely vulnerable, he was about to be shot any second.
“What the hell is he doing?” Max asked.
“His last-ditch effort.” I prepared to run into the street. “He knows he’s gonna be taken down. But he’d rather die than let them get away with Conway.”
“Still—”
“Cover me.”
“Are you insane?”
I was already gone.
The car came to a halt, the hot tires squealing against the asphalt. The driver popped the door open and pointed his shotgun over the hood of the car, aimed right at Crow. Before he could fire, Crow shot first.
Headshot.
The guy fell quickly.
Crow moved to the car, desperate to get Conway out.
Another door flew open, and a man shoved his boot into Crow’s body, making him fall back and hit the street. The gun left his hands.
Crow scrambled for the gun, but he wasn’t quick enough.
The man kicked the gun away then pointed his pistol right at Crow’s face, his finger about to squeeze the trigger.
Instead of being afraid, Crow stared down the barrel of the gun, embracing death with the dignity of a true man. His life probably flashed before his eyes, thinking of his wife and kids. But not once did he beg for his life. Not once did he even grimace.
The man smiled before he pulled the trigger.
But I got there first.
The bullet hit me right in the shoulder, and at point-blank, it hurt like a bitch. I felt my body shift back with the momentum of the bullet. The firepower was immense, and even though I’d been shot dozens of times, this hurt the most. It was the first time I’d taken a bullet meant for someone else.
Maybe that was why it hurt so badly.
I recovered quickly, the adrenaline stronger than the pain. I felt the blood explode out of my body, felt my muscle weaken from the tear in my flesh. I pointed my gun right up to the guy’s neck and fired, killing him with three bullets that made his body go limp.
I didn’t have time to help Crow to his feet or retrieve the gun he’d dropped. I pulled the pistol out of my holster and tossed it at him without even making eye contact with him.
I heard him catch it.
I yanked the back door open and found Conway inside, barely conscious. I turned around to Crow. “Get in and take off.”
Crow aimed the pistol and shot the man who was coming out of the other building. Another came at us, but Max got him. He turned to me, only half paying attention to me while his mind was on the chaos around us. “You’re gonna bleed out and die—”
Two men swarmed us at that moment, and together we shot them down in their tracks. Another group of men came at us, all with semiautomatics and shotguns.
I kicked the car door shut, protecting Conway with the bulletproof casing.
The rage I’d been born with came into play. I’d just taken a bullet for a man that I hated, my brother was risking his life to save this family that viewed me as trash, and the pain in my shoulder was agonizing. The bullet must have hit an artery because I slowly started to grow weaker.
And I hated feeling weak.
I took out all of them by myself, kicked the gun away from one guy on his knees, and slashed his throat with my blade. I enjoyed every second of it, enjoyed watching him scream for his life as the blood muffled his words.
I kept going, taking down every single asshole who’d brought this hell upon us.
Crow stayed with me, shooting down the men on the other side of the street. Between him and Max, they were able to cover so I could mutilate everyone who was stupid enough to challenge me.
When there were only a few survivors left, I didn’t listen to their pleas for help. I didn’t grant them the mercy they asked for. Now that I’d lost everything, I didn’t understand what compassion was anymore.
I snapped the neck of each one, loving the crack of the bones in my ears.
I stared at the limp bodies at my feet, saw the graveyard I’d created. I took out more men than anyone else, simply because I enjoyed it the most. I had nothing else to live for. Whether I lived or died, it didn’t make a difference.