Page 70 of Altered By Lead (Undercover Sinners 2)
There’s a small whistle around my neck, made to sound like the chirping of a common bird. I blow it once, twice, and then the three of us move in.
Hawke stands up from the grass, grabbing the man in front of him by the head and snapping his neck. I haven’t got the size or strength for that, utilizing the Taser tucked in my belt to incapacitate him.
Once he’s down, however, I know that I have to finish him off.
I have to.
The knife trembles in my hand, but before I get a chance to hesitate, Hawke steps forward and slices the man’s throat. He looks up at me, gray eyes dark with the gravity of the situation.
“Don’t say a word to Janet,” he whispers, and my heart does this strange flip-flopping in my chest. It shouldn’t be romantic that Hawke just killed a man—it isn’t, actually—but what is romantic is that he knew I didn’t want to do it, that it’d cost me something I wasn’t ready to give up.
He broke protocol for me, and that means a lot.
Once the guards are dealt with, we resume our positions on our bellies, waiting for that first explosion.
It hits right on time, a cloud of red and orange lighting up the dark woods just beyond the clearing. As expected, the camp scatters into action, and several dozen men go about closing up the trucks and starting the engines.
They’re expecting trouble now, and they’re trying to move their product before it’s too late.
I remove the rifle from my back, hands quivering, and look down the scope, searching out the face of the driver in the lead truck through the windshield.
Killing a man who’s comatose on the ground was not something I wanted to do. I don’t want to do this either, but at least it feels more impersonal, less cold-blooded.
“Take your rifles out,” I whisper, remembering that I’m supposed to be giving orders today. For probably the first and only time. “I’ll take out the lead driver; Hawke the one in the back. Janet, there are men getting on their bikes. Shoot as many of them as you can.”
More affirmative grunts, fingers on triggers, sweat pooling at the base of my spin.
Neither Hawke nor Janet will fire unless I do.
I know that.
And yet, it doesn’t make it any easier.
“On my count,” I say, exhaling sharply. “Three, two …”
Hawke fires first, out of turn, and kills both my driver and his in less time than it takes me to shoot and miss. Glancing over at Janet, I can’t tell if she knows what happened or not, or what this might mean to my approval to join the team, but …
Thank you, Hawke, I think as he continues to shoot with deadly precision. I take aim and fire, too, but I blow the tires off the trucks instead, pepper the ground with bullets.
I’m a coward, aren’t I?
I killed the deer, but I can’t shoot a human being.
The second explosion goes off, also as planned, and we move, crawling across the ground to adjust our position. Soon enough, this area will be crawling with members of the Shady Cove Motorcycle Club.
We head back toward the trees, rise to our feet, and then jog around to meet up near the gate where Mace and Arsen are supposed to be waiting.
Janet’s face is tight, her mouth turned down sharply, but I can’t tell if it’s because of me or if that’s simply the face she wears in high stress situations.
None of that really matters though because as soon as we turn the corner, her right arm explodes in a sea of wet red, spattering me, the sound of the gunshot ringing in my ears. She goes down, and I’m not sure she’s ever getting back up.
Hawke shoves me down, covering me with his body.
He sits up, aiming his weapon, looking for the shooter.
A person drops from the trees above us, dressed head to toe in black. Even their face is covered with a gas mask. Hawke takes aim and fires, but the bullet hits the person in their Kevlar vest, knocking them back a step but doing nothing to drop them to their knees.
Gas fills the clearing in a noxious cloud, blinding us, making me cough.
Hawke takes my hand, dragging me to my feet, and we run.
Even outside of the gas cloud, I can feel the effects, and my steps become stumbling, uneven messes.
Hawke hauls me up and into his arms, teeth gritted as he heads back in the direction of the Navigator. Whoever that was, I’m guessing their interference was not according to plan.
“One of the bikers?” I manage to choke out, but Hawke’s tight expression says that’s not it. “One of my father’s men?” Fear spikes through me a violent wave, helping to chase away at least some of the effects of the gas.
