Page 124 of One Last Rainy Day
Covering Tyler, I shift when a man appears in my peripheral just outside the tree line. It takes a split second before I identify him, my gun already trained on him.
Not a bird.
Squeezing the trigger, he goes down in a heap.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.
Most of the gunfire comes from inside the house, a window shattering as we approach, and another figure enters my peripheral. I turn to see Jeremy backing away from the gate, eyes trained as he lifts his gun.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Another down.
He turns to me just after and gives me a dip of his chin, expression murderous, but the message is clear—he’s got our six.
Making my way to the back door, Tyler already inside, I start to toe it open and hear a struggle ensuing on the other side. After rolling in, guns raised, I catch sight of Sean on the kitchen floor, feet ahead. He’s straddling one of the Miami crew, blood lust in his expression as he presses his gun against the fucker’s throat in an effort to crush his windpipe.
It’s no mystery why he wants to prolong his death. He wants him to suffer the way he is—the way we all are.
Dom.
None of us will ever be the fucking same.
Tossing away the threatening grief for when I can allow it in, I fight to stay hyper-focused, scanning the massive double kitchen. Anxiety spikes when I see one of Miami’s creeping in from the hall, gun trained on Sean. My fear is quashed when, without looking, Sean lifts his Glock and fires two shots, taking him down. Losing the advantage with the man beneath him, Sean takes a right hook and grits his teeth before turning back and raining down a few death blows before delivering a point-blank shot to his head. Standing, Sean kicks his lifeless body, his thirst nowhere near satiated as his eyes briefly meet mine. What I see in his return gaze is beyond anything I have before. In the next second, Sean disappears from view, no doubt in search of more.
Glancing to the other side of the kitchen, I spot Tyler rushing toward an overturned kitchenette, one of the Miami crew barricaded behind it. As Tyler moves in, the asshole frantically fires around him.
Tyler stalks toward him, not stopping his footing, even when he’s struck by a stray bullet to his vest. Gun lifted, I start to head their way. A second later, Tyler’s there, pushing the table back like it weighs shit and cornering the fucker against the wall. Within a blink, Tyler hovers directly above him, unloading both his guns.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.
Sensing me behind him, Tyler turns, guns trained, but it’s his expression that has me retreating a step.
Goddamn.
Tyler disappears within a breath as the need to stake my own claim overruns me. A few steps into the corridor thatleads from the kitchen to the foyer, I spot one of the Miami crew cowering in a coffee station. Sneaking up behind him, I make my presence known with a tap on his shoulder. The second he turns, I shove my gun into his gaping mouth and fire.
The sight of his body hitting the tile floor does nothing to prevent the ache in my chest.
He’s gone. My closest friend. Fuck, my only friend.
Stalking toward the foyer, I see the front door ajar just as a few of the Miami crew slip out. Lifting my gun, I stalk toward them when I hear a bullet expelled from a silencer above, and an unmistakable “thunk” follows.
Pitching forward in a race to get to those out front, I’m stopped by the sight of a falling body before it crashes into the table a few feet in front of me. The man groans as he rolls off and hits the floor.
Miami.
I move in to finish him off and am stopped with a growl, “he’s mine.” Turning toward the source of the voice, I spot Tobias slowly taking the stairs, dragging the lifeless body he just silenced behind him by the collar. Expression lethal, Tobias’s eyes remain fixed on his target, who’s now using his forearms to army crawl toward the open front door. Hitting the foot of the stairs, Tobias discards the body, stepping over another to get to the screaming asshole trying to crawl away. Within two steps, Tobias is crushing what vertebrae the guy has remaining with his shoe. He screams out in agony as Tobias rolls him over before silencing him forever.
Pop.
“They’re trying to run!” Russell calls from somewhereoutside. Tobias’s head snaps toward the driveway before he stalks out the door, grabbing a discarded M16 lying on the porch as he goes. Tyler appears at his side in an instant, flanking him. Trailing them both, I walk backward from the house, gun lifted and scanning as more birds emerge from all sides, mimicking my stance. Russell joins me to help me cover them. When we’re at a safe enough distance, birds surrounding the house, I turn to see Tobias open firing on the retreating Miami crew scrambling to their cars.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.
“Go,” Russell yells to me, “go help him!”
Running toward them, I catch sight of two cars speeding toward the gate as Tobias gains on the last one, riddling it with bullets. Tyler clears the gate, open firing on the car speeding away.
