Page 110 of Triple Power Play 3
The door creeps open, and Jax hides behind it, bat raised over his shoulder. Black leather-gloved hands clutching a gun appear first, and I press myself against the wall next to Jax.
He lifts his foot and boots the door.Smart. It bounces off the person with a resounding thud.
They attempt to shoulder their way in, but Jax repeats the action in quick succession—kick, kick, kick, kick—until the individual stumbles forward, collapsing and dropping the gun.
I slide it blindly behind me. Maybe I should’ve snatched it, but in all honesty, I’ve never shot a gun.
Jax goes to town, swinging the bat over his head so fast, it blurs in the air. “My wife says hello,” he grunts.
With every lift of the bat, blood spatters on the white wall beside me, droplets landing on my cheek and bare chest.
Holy. Fuck.And I thought he had a powerful slap shot…
Movement in the doorway catches my attention. Another motherfucker. Another gun. When will this nightmare end?
“Get down!” Reece shouts as someone else yells, “Drop your weapons!”
I release the hockey stick and get to my knees. What the fuck else am I supposed to do? I’m pretty much useless.
Jax keeps swinging, pulverizing the face and skull of a bald man whose jaw is slack, his teeth strewn across the floor. Are those dentures? Is that an eyeball lying there?
A gunshot resonates through the building. I grab Jax by the belt, yank him down to the floor, and shield him with my body.
SWAT rushes in, screaming their demands. From his knees, Reece asserts authority, and officers hurry to his aid. He says hisscapula is fractured along with his humerus; he can’t move his arm. He tells them we were protecting him.
Jax gasps for breath underneath me, his tense body shaking, his haunted eyes staring at Hugo’s lifeless body.
I sit back on my haunches, draw him into my arms, and brush the sweaty hair from his forehead. “It’s over, baby. He’ll never touch you again. It’s over.”
50
REECE
A whirlwind of activity surrounds me like bees swarming an agitated hive, only adding to my confusion.
There’s a method to the madness, I assure myself.Trust the process. You’ve been on countless raids.
Only this time, my life is at stake, and I don’t mean the likely hollow-point bullet that struck me.
Aurora.
I attempt to rise from my knees, lifting one foot at a time as I battle the dizziness.
A forceful hand clasps my shoulder. A jolt of sharp pain lances through my spine and the back of my skull, and I buckle.
“Lie your ass down. You must have lost a liter of blood already.”
Shit, I forgot a member of my team was next to me—an officer-trained medic.
“Mercer?” I croak, asking about Charlie, my throat raw and dry.
She places a knee on my collarbone to reduce blood loss, and black spots cloud my vision. “Units are approaching.” She tears open an IV bag with her teeth.
“Jax…” I fight the agony and turn my head side to side until I find him near the doorway. “Open the gate.”
“Tell them to let me fucking go then.” His blood-spattered face is twisted in a snarl.
At a murder scene, you can’t simply leave. An officer collects evidence from under his fingernails while another takes pictures of his hands. They’ll want to bag his clothes too.
