Hard Fought (A Stepbrother Warriors Novel)(51)

Carter's fierce anger when he found me in the pool flashes back to me. How dare you... My own anger begins to build. I'm not just something to throw away. I'm strong...stronger than I know...

I feel the man's grip on my hair loosen slightly, and without thinking, I pick up my foot and stomp as hard as I can down on his. I hear him grunt and fling myself out from behind the tree.

"CARTER!" I scream as I feel the man yank me back by my hair and cry out as I feel a chunk of it ripping out in the process. He slams the front of my body up against the tree and presses himself behind it.

We both stay frozen like that for what feels like a long time. I don't hear anything in the woods except for the occasional sound of a car passing in the distance. I watch an out-of-focus ant crawl across the tree bark just a centimeter from my eye.

A twig snaps behind us and the man spins me around. He's not a big man, but he's shockingly strong. Tears spring to my eyes again as I see Carter standing not ten feet away from us, gun raised.

"So close, yet so far," the man sneers. I can feel his breath on my ear and want to shed my skin.

"Hi, Alexa," Carter says quietly, though his eyes remain trained on the man's trigger finger. I want to laugh, and cry, and hug him, and tell him to run away. As much as I want to escape, now he's in danger, too.

"Drop the gun," the man orders him.

"If El Nuevo Muerto just wanted you to kill her, you would have taken her out with a sniper shot weeks ago," Carter replies, his arms steady.

The man pauses for only a second. "Lieutenant Carter Driscoll, Naval Special Warfare Group Two, SEAL Team 10, recipient of the Purple Heart. I've been very impressed with you, so I decided to do some research. How's that leg?"

"Good as new," Carter replies. "I got some information on you, too. Edward Smith, failed the Army's mental health test in 1983. Couldn't even get in. Said you were mentally unfit."

Smith's gun digs deeper into my ribcage and I press my lips together to keep from crying out. "Do you have nightmares? I bet you do. Which one were you closest to? Stewart Kelly? Adam Littleton?" The corner of Carter's mouth twitches almost imperceptibly. "Ah, Adam Littleton," the man sighs with satisfaction. "You were quite nearby when he blew up...you probably got little bits of him on your uniform." Carter's eyes get that distant stare that I first saw on the plane.

"Carter, it's—" I begin, but Smith yanks my hair back sharply.

"I read that before you passed out, you tried to stuff his intestines back inside his body," the man begins to laugh as Carter's gun shakes. "Was he still alive for that? Imagine the pain of dying as you manhandle his insides! And then you get an award! For what? For being three feet to his right, shielded by his body? You live in a mansion, while he rots in the ground!"

Carter's right leg breaks and he sinks down, his gun toppling out of his hands. I hear him take deep, gasping breaths. My physical pain disappears, replaced by the pain of seeing him broken.

"Pathetic," Smith sneers. "And I'm the one who's mentally unfit?" He pushes me forward. "You, kick the gun away," he orders me. I take five steps forward and kick Carter's gun. "Again." I follow it and kick it further toward the trees. The man gestures with his gun toward the road. "Now back to the car, both of—"

Like a flash, Carter leaps from the ground and tackles Smith. His gun goes off, but I can't tell if anyone's been hit. The gun...I race toward the direction where I kicked Carter's, frantically scanning the ground as I hear grunts and cracks behind me. I nearly trip over it, and pick it up with shaking hands. I've never held a gun before.

As I slide my finger over the trigger and turn around, I see Carter sitting on top of Smith and punching him in the face over and over. One look at Smith tells me the man is well past the point of unconsciousness.

"Carter!" I yell, but he can't hear me. His face is a blank as he raises his right fist again and again. I wince at the sound of bone cracking in Smith's face. Without thinking, I raise the gun above my head and fire it into the air. I yelp as the recoil shivers down my arm. I forgot I've been shot on the right shoulder, and now it feels like it's on fire.

Carter turns to me and blinks, almost as though he'd forgotten I was there for a moment. "Alexa...are you alright? You're bleeding..." he jumps up and runs toward me.

"Take this," I whisper, pushing the gun toward him. "I don't want to touch it anymore." He takes it and tucks it into his pants, then quickly picks up the other one from the ground. "Sit," he tells me, and my legs practically collapse under me. "What happened to your arm?"