I screamed when the blood spatter hit my face.

Jones fell.

Chapter Twenty-Six

People Like Us

Cher

Marksmanship trophies.

Oh yeah, my man was badass.

“I love you,” I called, standing on my stoop, a dead man at my feet.

Merry lowered his gun.

“No shit?”

I pressed my lips together because that was the least romantic thing a man could say in this situation (or any situation), just as it had been the last time he’d said it.

But still, I was this close to crying.

Because I was alive to hear him say it.

(Not to mention, he’d just shot a man in the head for me.)

I controlled the tears.

Then I turned and raced into the house.

“Cher!” Colt called.

“Ryker! He’s been shot!” I shouted back while I sprinted through my living room.

I hit my knees on a slide right through a puddle of blood toward Ryker in my kitchen. When I stopped, I twisted, doing it awkwardly to get my hands, which still were tied behind me, on Ryker to see if I could find a pulse.

“Please have a pulse. Please, badass motherfucker, have a goddamned pulse,” I begged, searching for it.

“Man down. Send paramedics to our position. GSW,” Merry said.

I looked to him to see him moving swiftly into my kitchen, his phone to his ear.

“Three,” I told him. “Three of them.”

Merry’s eyes flared.

“He’s been hit three times,” he said into his phone. “Unconscious. Significant loss of blood.”

I lost sight of Merry behind me. Then my wrists were lifted, I heard the snap of a knife cutting through plastic, and my wrists were freed.

I turned, going back for Ryker’s pulse as Merry shifted, crouching across from me, shoving my hand aside and reaching in himself.

Colt, Mike, Tanner, Cal, and Sully came into my kitchen.

“Shit,” Sully whispered, eyes to Ryker.

Colt got close and crouched.

“Pulse. Weak,” Merry muttered. “Cher, get some towels.”

Pulse.

Weak.

Thank God.

I moved out. Mike moved in. By the time I got back with towels, they had Ryker on his back.

Men nabbed towels from me, went for a wound, and pressed.

I felt a hand on my arm and looked up at Cal.

He had one of my kitchen towels. He turned into me and his eyes watched his hand as he wiped blood off my face. He didn’t take a lot of time doing it before he caught my chin with his fingers and looked into my eyes.

“You good?” he asked.

I nodded.

He studied me.

Then he grinned. “Tough chick.”

“You bet your ass.”

He shook his head and dropped his hand.

I started to move to Ryker, catching sight of Tanner as I did.

There wasn’t a lot of room, especially with Ryker’s big body sprawled on my floor, but Tanner was pacing what was left of it, eyes glued to his bud, movements agitated, face set in stone.

They were tight, Tanner and Ryker. And don’t ask me how I knew, I just knew that Tanner was fighting the urge to drill the body on my stoop with more holes.