Page 65 of Tag

Kyle saw us coming and started dragging himself across the ground.

“Headshot,” I instructed my brother.

Cade leaned further out the window. “A bit more to the left.”

I corrected our angle, holding the wheel steady, and we closed in on Kyle. Angela whistled through the air, smashing into the side of his skull. A deep, hollow crunch echoed across the field. I hit the brakes, laughing as we slid to a stop again.

We sat in silence, watching him. Kyle jerked once. Twice. Then went still, limbs flopping limply. His head lolled at an unnatural angle, an indent oozing dark streams into the dirt.

“Perfection,” Rook murmured as if admiring a masterpiece.

“That’s a clean hit,” Nick agreed.

Cade’s grin stretched ear to ear, like he’d just clinched a championship. Lindsey, once choking on sobs, fell mute. Her hazel eyes glazed, fixed on Kyle’s shattered body, her lips moving without sound.

Rook leaned between the seats, peering through the windshield. “Think that’s enough?” he asked, feigning curiosity.

I stared at Kyle’s crumpled figure for a heartbeat longer, then lightly tapped the gas pedal. The truck accelerated slowly, and I maneuvered it with precision over Kyle’s legs. Though the cacophony of the engine masked much of the sound, I could feel the satisfying crunch of bone and flesh beneath us.

“Now he has,” I stated with an icy detachment.

Lindsey broke.

The sob she had been desperately holding back erupted from her throat like a long-suppressed scream, raw and primal. She twisted away as if trying to disappear into the seat, her entire body trembling like it might splinter apart. Rook grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her closer to him, his hand coming down over her mouth yet again.

“Stop fucking screaming,” he ordered calmly.

The look on her face was everything. She’d thought this was a game. They all had. I bet it didn’t feel so funny anymore. I turned the wheel, guiding the truck away from Kyle’s broken frame.

“What next?” Cade asked, still riding his post-hit high.

“DeAndre,” I said simply, scanning the field. “He’s still out here.”

It didn’t take long to spot him, staggering through the field, hunched over, his movements jerky and panicked.

“Cade.” I glanced over at my brother. “Why don’t we give Nick a shot?”

He nodded and passed the bat off with a flourish. “Let’s see what the hockey star can do off the ice.”

Nick took Angela with both hands and a cocky grin. “Please. I’m good at everything I do.” He leaned halfway out the window, tapping the bat once against the truck’s rubber foot mat like he was lining up for a slapshot. “Gimme some speed.”

I hit the gas.

The truck surged forward, headlights lighting him up like the target he was. “Ready?”

“I’m ready,” Nick confirmed, focus zeroed in.

DeAndre’s figure grew larger in the beams, every step a struggle, every breath probably burning in his chest. I adjusted the wheel, narrowing the angle just enough to line it up.

Nick swung—and missed.

“Are you kidding me?” he barked, nearly toppling from the window. “How the fuck did I miss? He’s running like his knees are on backwards.”

“Strike one,” Rook drawled, holding the back of Nick’s hoodie in one hand and Lindsey by the hair with his other.

Nick wasn’t the least bit discouraged. If anything, the miss fired him up. He rolled his neck and regripped the bat. “Alright, let me go again. Perfection takes time.”

My brother laughed. “Ego hurting, Nicky?”

---