Page 67 of Hunted in the Shadows
Everything stopped.
Rhett froze, eyes flashing to the side to find the offender. I didn't have to look to know who had fired.
“Touch him again,” Cliff's voice cut through the tension, “and I won't miss next time.”
Cliff shoved through the crowd to put himself between Rhett and me, Gwen pressed close to his side. Her borrowed handgun was drawn, clutched in a low position between both hands. The faint ripple of surprise that she was defending us, not working against us, ebbed through me.
Rhett’s chuckle chilled me as he glanced between us—a stark contrast to the rage building behind his eyes. “You two are adorable. I mean,wow. Points for entertainment value. I’ll let you keep the wings, how’s that sound?”
He silently gestured for a hunter behind us to move in toward me. Cliff raised his arm and fired off a round that clipped the man’s shoulder. The hunter cursed, staggering back while others began murmuring, gazes shifting between Cliff and me with both wariness and rage.
Turning back to Rhett, Cliff matched the cold smile point for point. “How about you suck my dick?”
Gwen snorted, and I caught Rhett’s glare shift toward her before sweeping over the hunters around him—as though her laughter might be contagious.
Rhett stared at him for a long moment, a vein twitching in his forehead like a sick beacon. “You know, I feel bad for your father,” he ground out, his drawl stripped of its trademark charm. “God gave him one son, andthisis what he got.”
The corner of Rhett’s mouth lifted in cruel victory. Red flooded my vision as Cliff’s face went blank. The words had cut deep—as though Rhett had known precisely which strings to tug at to clip beneath Cliff’s armor. Then, Cliff snapped—moving with brutal speed.
Rhett met his blow like he'd expected it, seizing Cliff’s left hand and twisting hard. The gun dropped with a hard thump on the walkway. Another hunter—a burly man with a cropped beard—stepped in to aid Rhett, clasping Cliff’s arm in place to restrain him. In the same instant, another hunter took Gwen’s shoulders, pulling her back. She cursed and bucked but was no match to outmaneuver him hand-to-hand.
“You make an enemy of me, you make an enemy out of everyone here,” Rhett said in a low voice, angling his head to meet Cliff's seething gaze.
“I’ll take my chances if it means I get to beat your hick face into the ground,” Cliff replied, strained. His eyes skimmed the hunters around us, making note of which hands were tensed toward weapons—and the man who held Gwen. Our gazes caught briefly, but I struggled to make sense of the glimmer buried beneath his gaze. I was all too aware of Sylvia’s fragile body in my grasp and how outnumbered we were.
“You know, if you were so desperate for my help, you’d have known one thing about me,” Cliff said, straining against the men’s grasp.
Rhett rolled his eyes, and for a moment, I thought he’d shoot Cliff on the spot. “And what's that?”
Cliff’s smile widened into something sinister in its ease. “I’m not left-handed.”
Gwen drove her heel into her captor’s shin with vicious precision. He buckled with a shout of pain, his grip loosening just enough for her to twist free and toss her weapon to Cliff. He caught the gun deftly in his right hand, slamming the butt of it into Rhett’s skull with a sickeningcrackof bone against metal. Rhett slumped onto his side.
Twisting with a shout of effort, Cliff broke free from the other man restraining his left side. He chased this with a brutal kick that sent the man sprawling against the railing. The barrier splinteredunder his weight with a crunch of wood, leaving the hunter to plummet into the swamp below with a startled scream.
“Jon!” Without breaking his stride, Cliff kicked his fallen gun to me. It skidded across the wooden planks, and I dove to snatch it up with a swift, desperate motion. The cold weight of it was grounding as I pulled it into my grasp.
Though Rhett was still dazed, barely able to peel himself off the ground, it was clear his authority was not a bluff. The two dozen hunters that had been cheering for me mere minutes before were now ready to apprehend me for crossing their marshal.
I couldn’t let them get near—not with Sylvia in my grasp.
I shared a brief look with Cliff, who gave the smallest nod.Run. He’d hold them off as long as he could.
I turned and bolted, my boots hammering on the walkway. Years of hunting had honed my reflexes—I dodged a swing and ducked through an opening between bodies—but even during the most dire hunts, I rarely had such precious cargo in my grasp. I could feel the air pressing in on me as people lunged for me, only for them to grunt and go down as a bullet clipped a shoulder or leg. Cliff was clearing my path.
Another man seized my wounded shoulder, trying to pull me back. The pain alone nearly sent me off balance. I threw my elbow back, connecting with his nose and jaw. Something warm spurted, spraying my tee—and then I was free.
Rounding the corner of the main hall, I pressed myself against the wall and opened my other hand. Sylvia was ashen, eyes wide with terror.
“Can you fly?” I demanded. The chaos was seconds from catching up to us—yelling, gunshots, wood splintering.
Sylvia’s voice was a choked sob, tearing at my heart. “Yes.”
I spared a glance over my shoulder. “Get back to the clearing. Go!”
She hesitated, an argument on her lips. Then, with a snap of her wings opening, she bolted—flying for the tree line, a blur too quick for my eyes to track.
My breaths came easier, watching her vanish into the golden haze.Safe.
