Bad Wolf (Wild Men 4) - Page 153
Holy fucking shit, the police.
The cars skid into the yard outside before I even have the chance to step back out. Cops pour inside, guns trained on me.
“Put the gun down. On your knees! Hands in the air!”
Shit. I comply, placing the Glock carefully down, holding my hands up. “I have to find my brother,” I tell him. “There was a shoot-out.”
A cop come to stand over me, a dark shadow. “We will check that out. You stay here.”
“No fucking way. I’m going to find Seb—”
The cop aims his gun down, right at my head. “Don’t fucking move. Hands behind your head.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck…
I lace my hands behind my head as more cops pour inside.
Time slows down, stretching like molasses, crisscrossing the night. I’m caught like a fly in a web, unable to move, unable to think. I barely feel the cold, or the hard concrete under my knees.
Seb will be fine. Yeah, he’ll be fine. They?
?ll escort him here, we’ll talk, and I’ll convince him to walk away. Leave the gang. Turn over a new leaf.
Paramedics pushing gurneys go past us, and I stare at them. Of course. Shooting. Bullets. Blood. The wounded have to be taken to the hospital.
“Don’t move,” the cop says. “What’s your name?”
“Jarett.” My teeth are chattering. I clench my jaw. “Jarett Fenris.”
“And your brother’s name?”
“Sebastian Lowe.”
He doesn’t comment on the different family name. “Stay put.”
Seems like an eternity and a half has passed before there’s movement behind me. I twist my head to see, and my vision blurs.
The paramedics are returning, pushing the gurneys. Loads of gurneys, the bodies on them bloody and still.
I start to get up, but the cop beside me barks at me to stay down, his gun still trained on my head. My breathing rattles in my chest, in my ears, like I’m the one dying.
More gurneys pass by.
Another cop approaches, grabs my arm and hauls me to my feet. “Come on,” he says, grabbing my wrists, clapping cuffs on them, and pulling me toward a car.
I jerk away from him. “No. Where’s Seb?”
“Who?”
“Sebastian Lowe. Where—?”
And then I see him. On a gurney. His eyes are open and unblinking.
My knee gives way, and I drop back down to the concrete as they roll him by.
“No,” I whisper. “No. Dammit, no.”
Someone shouts something over my head. I can’t make out the words. It’s all white noise. I shiver. Suddenly I’m so damn cold I can’t feel my legs, my body.
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