I knew I wouldn’t get all three of them, but I might be able to bring down one or two. And once I did, I was going to make him talk.
I levered myself up and leaned against the side of the boat, letting my forearms rest on the top as I took aim with my .45 at the guys who were frantically watching the surface of the water for my body to start floating.
Just as I lined up my shot, one of the guys saw me and they all drew their weapons.
The first shot I fired hit one of the guys in the shoulder; the bullet slammed into him and sent him spiraling backward until his ass hit the dirt. One of his buddies looked down to help him, and I fired off another shot, catching him in the calf.
It was sick, but I enjoyed watching the bullet pummel his flesh as drops of red burst outward and speckled his skin. A couple shots came in my direction, one of them close enough that I felt the heat from the metal as it whizzed by my head.
I shot a couple more, causing the two guys who weren’t lying on the ground bleeding to scatter backward.
The magazine in this gun only had about fifteen bullets in it, and I wasn’t sure how many I already fired off. Five? Six? I didn’t know, but I knew I only had so long to run these guys off.
The sound of sirens drew closer and I knew it would work to my advantage. The kid with the bleeding calf dragged himself over to the passenger side of the nearest SUV and scrambled inside. I shot the ground where he was standing to make him rush.
The remaining uninjured guy fired off a shot at me and I leapt back as the bullet grazed the top of the boat. Taylor made a sound of distress, and my back teeth slammed together. It pissed me off she was in danger again.
The guy in the car was yelling for the other one to hurry, but he was slowed down by the fact he was trying to drag his bleeding, whining friend along with him. I shot at the ground again, scattering a little bit of earth up into his face. He dropped his buddy and looked up. I shot again, this time catching him in the hand gripping his gun.
He yelled and dropped the weapon. He didn’t even glance back at his buddy this time. He just jumped in the SUV and drove off, leaving his “friend” to look out for himself.
Not only was he a killer, but he was dishonorable as well. It just went to show how desperate Snake was to get rid of me because he sent a loser like that to finish me off.
As soon as the dust flew up behind the getaway car, I shoved the gun in the back of my water-logged jeans and dove off the top of the boat. As I swam quickly toward shore, I felt the stitches in my side rip open, the sting of an open wound an unwelcome guest to this party.
By the time I made it to the bank, the abandoned crewmember had staggered to his feet, clutching the shoulder that hung unevenly from his body as it gushed copious amounts of blood. I hadn’t really meant to hit an artery, but I wasn’t sorry about it either.
I gave the guy ten minutes if he didn’t get medical attention.
Ten minutes remained of his life, but I only needed about three.
I stalked the short distance from the bank and plowed into him. He stumbled and would have fallen, but I grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked. This time, he would have fallen forward, but my fist stopped him.
I plowed it into his jaw, enjoying the burst of energy I felt move through my body when my fist rammed his flesh.
He made a groaning sound and fell onto his back, rocking a little, trying to stop the pain. I leaned over him, grabbing his blood-soaked shirt once again. “Where’s Snake?” I demanded.
He coughed, little drops of blood scattering over his face.
“Where. Is. Snake?” I ground out again.
“I don’t know.” He lied.
I shoved my thumb into the bullet wound. He screamed. The squishy flesh felt spongy beneath my finger and blood oozed anew.
“Tell me!” I roared, pulling back my fist to hit him again.
I wasn’t above torture. These were criminals. Known druggies, killers, and thieves. They were tough, but I knew how to make them talk because I learned from them.
His lip split when I punched him, and his head snapped to the side.
“Downtown Raleigh,” he said, coughing and spewing more blood.
“Where?” I gave my fist a rest and just glared down at him.
“25th street. Apartment A.”
I yanked him up a little farther so I could stare directly in his face. “You better not be lying.”
He grinned; his teeth were outlined in red. “We both know I’m dead either way. Might as well take down the guy who sent me here.”
“Enjoy hell,” I spat and tossed him onto the pavement as two patrol cars ripped around the corner with their lights flashing.
“See you there,” he whispered as I turned away.
His final words would likely haunt me. Not because they were threatening, but because they were true.
The cop cars skidded to a stop and they both flung their doors open and crouched behind them, raising their guns at me.
“I’m officer Brody West,” I called, lifting my hands. “Two of the perps took off that way in a black SUV. One of the passengers is shot.”
One of the officers jumped back in his car and drove off in the direction I pointed.
The other one lowered his gun and walked cautiously around the hood of his car. “What the hell is going on, West?” he said, and I recognized him as one of the officers who was part of the bust at the old gas station the other night.
“My cover is blown. Thanks to Snake, I just became the most wanted cop within the organization.”
Officer Newman shook his head and bent down to check the pulse of the man lying on the ground. “He’s dead.”
“I shot him after he opened fired on me and my girl.” Thoughts of Taylor had me dismissing the case and spinning toward the water where I left the boat.
Fear spiked in my veins as I imagined the worst: that she got hit again and was bleeding out or drowning while I was over here beating a guy for the last moments of his life.
What the hell kind of man was I?
But Taylor wasn’t dead.
She wasn’t floating in the water or bleeding out.
But she wasn’t hiding under the boat anymore either. Instead, she stood in front of it, soaking wet and pale, looking toward me and the officer with a drawn look on her face.
I knew then she saw what I had done.
She saw the way I got the information I needed.
And she didn’t like it.
Suddenly, I felt like some adolescent kid who brought home four D’s and an F on my report card and I was standing there silently awaiting judgment by my mother.
Fuck that.
I was a grown-ass man and sometimes I had to do things most people would think were shitty. But I did them because they needed to be done. Because sometimes getting answers required getting my hands dirty.