Page 23 of The King's Pawn

A gun hammer ratcheted in the quiet. “Come out,” Simon growled from the bank behind me.

“I’m good,” I croaked. I wasn’t even sure I could unfold my legs, like maybe they’d frozen stiff.

I’d always hated him, with his too small eyes and ginger hair, that he slicked back, so it always looked greasy.

He skidded down the side of the hollow, dislodging snow and stones, then reached into my hiding place, grabbed my arm, and hauled me out.

His touch sparked whatever instincts I had left. I swung a fist, more out of blind panic than real skill, but my knuckles met his jawhard, whipping his head back, surprising us both.

He reeled. I lunged. Grabbed his gun arm, jerking it upright. He fired, I heard the muffled shot go high, but if he brought that gun down again, the next bullet would go in my head. I slammed my knee up and crunched something near his balls that made him grunt and slump over. Except, I couldn’t hold him, and both of us went down, tumbling in the dirt, grit, and snow.

I still had his gun arm shoved away and scrabbled at his chest, trying to shove him off.

His fingers locked around my neck.

He tried to aim the gun down, while I levered his arm up, shaking, weakening.

His snarling, vicious face loomed. “Now fucking die.”

I bucked, tried to twist my hips under him, but he had me pinned, and the more I fought, the quicker the throbbing, pounding darkness washed in.

My chest burned, lungs screaming. My vision swirled through tears.

I tried to grab at him with my useless left arm, tried to push him off, but my bloody fingers slipped off his chin, his face.

This was it; I was dying. The whistling in my ears faded, muffled behind the rush of blood, and it seemed so fucking unfair. I’d never even been in love, could have been… wanted to be, so I could mean something to someone, so all of it had been for nothing.

Would Killian have loved me?

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

Killian

The mound up ahead resembled a tree stump, but after a few more steps, the truth of it ripped my heart out.Noah under Simon, not moving.

Simon brought his gun down to finish him off.

“Hey!” I aimed up.

Simon swung his gun toward me.

I fired, the gun boomed and bucked in my hand, and the round punched through his gut. He gasped, teetering, taking too damn long to fall. I crossed the last few strides in a blur and kicked him off Noah. He sprawled on his back, moaning and swearing, bleeding from his stomach.

I tore the gun from his loose fingers—he wasn’t going anywhere—and dropped beside Noah. He gasped, wheezed, trying to breathe too fast. Fuck, he was pale, his lips blue, his eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed.

“Noah?” His cheek burned cold under the palm of my hand. His mouth worked but made no sound. “It’s all right, I’ve got you.” I hauled him off the icy ground, into my arms, trying to wrap him in warmth. He was hurt, hypothermic, bleeding.Dying. I clutched him close, needing him to be okay. “Hold on, I’m here, hold on.” All the times I’d saved him, nothing had hurt like this one.

His small hand scrunched my shirt at my back. “I don’t… want to… die.”

“You won’t. I’ve got you. I’ll always have you. You hear?”

Simon had managed to lift himself onto his knees and was crawling away, oblivious to the smears of dark blood he’d left behind. Then he dropped again and slumped against a tree, clutching at his gut. He saw me with Noah, and his face scrunched in disgusted confusion.

Maybe he’d die from the bullet in his guts. But I didn’t have time for that.

I raised my gun a second time, aimed between his eyes. “Nobody hurts Noah King.”