Page 87 of Rocky Top

He wasn’t fightin’.

He was standin’ off to the side, watchin’.

“Flint!” I hollered. “Get in the goddamn fight!”

He looked right at me and smiled.

Then he pulled his gun onBandit.

Bang.

The brother went down.

“Motherfucker!” I bellowed, lungin’ toward him.

A second later, I was tackled from behind. Two of the enemy slammed into me, one gettin’ a blade across my ribs before I could throw him off. I hit the ground hard, air punched from my lungs.

Pain flared hot and mean, blood pourin’ fast as they continued their assault, slicing me.

My vision blurred.

Then I heard it.

“Rocky!”

Birdie.

What the hell?

I blinked and saw her runnin’ toward the turmoil, duckin’ low behind a burned-out truck, eyes wild, hair flyin’.

“Get back!” I tried to yell, but it came out weak.

She didn’t listen. But the men scurried, taking their knives with them.

Birdie skidded to her knees beside me, hands goin’ straight for the wounds.

“Jesus, you’re bleedin’ bad,” she gasped, voice tremblin’ but steady enough.

I tried to sit up, grabbed her arm. “You gotta go. Now.”

“Not leavin’ you.”

Of course she wasn’t.

Gunfire cracked in the distance. That’s when I saw my brother, Villain, firing back at them. TNT was screamin’ somethin’, Smokey cussin’ a blue streak. A border collie was bleeding out. Bandit had shifted.

And Flint…

I turned my head, and there he was, standin’ smug as sin next to one of the masked bastards.

Traitor.

He locked eyes with me, then vanished into the trees.

“Fucker sold us out,” I growled.

Birdie’s hands were soaked in my blood now. She was tryin’ to press a shirt to the wound.

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