Page 37 of Outlaw Ridge: Griff
He paused, jaw tight. “But I don’t think they’re here. Not right now.”
His mind went to Rhett. He’d left pissed off, wounded pride bleeding out just as fast as the bullet had. He’d shown up uninvited. Angry. Frustrated. Paranoid.
And if he’d circled back…
Griff’s gut twisted. Maybe Rhett hadn’t just come to gloat. Maybe he’d come to finish what someone else, or he, had started.
Another round ripped through what was left of the front wall, sending a jagged chunk of siding spinning past Griff’s shoulder. Then, cutting through the chaos, a voice. Faint, but rising.
“Lily? Are y’all okay?”
A woman. Concerned. Close.
Griff’s blood ran colder than the wind. He turned his head, just enough to catch movement to the left, near the edge of the property. A figure stood halfway down the front walk, arms hugged around a robe, calling out across the road.
“Lily!” she called out again.
Lily groaned beside him. “Damn it. That’s Diane. My neighbor.”
Hell.
Griff’s pulse jumped. “Diane, get back inside,” he shouted, loud and firm, trying not to panic. “Go now!”
Another shot cracked out. Not toward Diane, thank God, but it didn’t matter. One stray bullet was all it would take. So far, the shots had been focused. Directed atthem. But he wasn’t about to trust that streak to continue.
The woman froze, startled, and then thankfully scrambled back toward her house. Griff blew out a breath of relief and shifted his weight, eyes locked on the tree line.
Whoever was behind the trigger hadn’t slowed down.
The next shot didn’t miss by much.
It slammed into one of the last upright beams still standing, a blackened skeleton of the house frame that had somehow stayed vertical. Until now. With a groan and a sharpcrack, the wood gave way, tipping fast and hard toward them.
“Move!” Griff barked, shoving Lily with one hand as they both rolled to the side, the scorched beam crashing down right where they’d been seconds earlier. Dust and ash erupted around them, filling his lungs with smoke and grit.
They hit the ground hard. Lily grunted beside him, clutching the lockbox like it was gold. He grabbed her arm, pulled her behind another slab of rubble just as another bullet snapped past.
They were too exposed now. Too easy.
Griff didn’t hesitate. He drew his weapon, pivoted on one knee, and fired. Not to kill. To disrupt.
He aimed high—toward the upper branches of the tree line where the shooter had to be—but high enough that no house behind it would take the hit. The shot cracked through the air, clean and loud.
The return fire stopped.
Just for a beat.
“Got their attention,” he muttered.
It was enough. He and Lily scrambled back toward the coffee table, still mostly intact and now angled against a collapsed section of the floor. Together, they heaved it upright again, turning it into a makeshift cover.
Griff dropped low behind it, breathing hard. “Next time,” he said, voice tight, “we bring better cover.”
Lily gave a short, dry laugh that was pure nerves. “And a rocket launcher.”
In the distance, sirens wailed, sharp and rising, cutting through the brittle silence between gunshots.
Griff froze, listening.
