Rollins didn’t even bother to turn. His finger squeezed, and the gun jerked in his hand, the barrel flashing bright in the uneven shadows. With the shot gone, the man twisted and looked over his shoulder, a curling thin smile reaching up to his ears.
Connor took a step into the room, glancing at the other man standing near the window just long enough to verify he was unarmed. Aiming straight for Rollin’s forehead, Connor spoke around the lump of cold fear in his throat. “Put the gun down, Rollins, and get to the floor.”
He couldn’t think about Forest. Not now, but his mind wandered in worry. Connor heard nothing from the kitchen, and his fear grew, sinking its talons into his belly. Forcing himself to shake off his anguish, Connor repeated his warning.
“Drop the fucking gun, Rollins,” he ordered. “Now.”
Rollins responded by lifting his gun up, and Connor pressed the trigger, pulling a few shots out of the Beretta. The man’s body jerked when the powerful round cut through him, one grazing his jaw. Blood splattered the family room’s newly plastered walls, and Rollins stumbled back.
But he didn’t fall.
“Get the fuck down, man!” Rollins’s associate cried out. “He’s a fucking cop! He’s going to kill you!”
Somewhere in the room, the other man whimpered, and Connor tried to pinpoint where he’d gone, but Rollins brought his weapon up again, aiming for Connor’s position.
“I don’t give a shit if he’s a cop. He can die just like his faggot boyfriend,” Rollins replied, and he fired.
Connor slid to land on his knee a few feet in front of where he’d been standing. Anchored to the floor, he steadied his weapon with his cast and let go another burst. This time he hit Rollins square in the shoulder, and the man’s head spun in an Exorcist imitation.
And this time, Rollins went down.
The man’s flashlight bobbled about, then hit the ground, its wide beam catching on the kitchen’s entrance. Rollins didn’t come back up, and Connor rose quickly, bringing the Beretta around as he circled the couch he’d cuddled Forest on less than an hour ago.
The kitchen doors swung open, and Connor jerked his gun up, drawing on a new target. His heart stopped, fear grabbing it with cold fingers when he recognized who’d come through the door.
Forest blinked at him, his eyes widening in panic when he spotted Connor’s weapon. Illuminated in the bluish-white beam, Forest looked like an avenging angel, his blond hair bleached silver in the bright light. Bloodied and worn, he held an industrial-sized can of jalapenos against his chest.
Kicking Rollins’s gun away, Connor gasped in relief at seeing Forest. His lover started to move in, but Connor shook his head and motioned to the scrawny small man quivering by the window. He had to keep focused, and if Forest touched him, Connor wasn’t sure if he’d hug him or throttle him for leaving the pantry.
“Let me get that guy taken care of. Watch Rollins,” Connor ordered. “You have my permission to kick his face in if he moves.”
Rollins lay at Forest’s feet, his eyes filled with agony and blood bubbling up from his torn-apart jaw. He writhed, senseless with pain. Clawing at the floor, Rollins mewled, his chest heaving with the simple act of breathing.
Somewhere off in the rain, sirens were drawing in near, and Connor eyed the man by the window before grabbing a roll of duct tape from a pile of building supplies he’d dumped on a side table earlier that week. He tore off a few strips and secured the man’s hands and wrists, then patted his chest with a solid thump before pulling his Glock out from the back of his pants.
“I don’t know if I should kiss you or beat the shit out of you,” Connor muttered, settling for giving Forest a fierce one-armed hug as he kept one eye on Rollins’s twisting body. “I thought I told you to stay in the pantry.”
“Found out I don’t like being told what to do,” Forest admitted softly when Connor risked giving him a brief kiss.
“Yeah, we need to talk about that,” Connor said gently. “You could have been killed.”
“Sure, we can talk about it, and while we’re at it, can we talk about what the fuck you’ve got in that pantry?” Forest hefted the can of jalapenos he’d been holding. “How much fucking nacho cheese does one guy need?”
Chapter 20
We held onto each other
In the rain and at the dawn
People told us we wouldn’t make it
Said we’d die off and be gone
I’m here for every step
Every inch of every mile
Down to our very last breath
Till it hurts too much to smile
—Every Mile
THE CONTRACTOR kicked ass. Well, and Jules kicked it as much as anyone else, Forest amended.