“I know, baby. We’ll get him. Just get on the floor.”
The call disconnected, and Sully unfastened her seat belt and crawled onto the floor. She made herself as small as she could while she sobbed. I placed a hand on my baby and closed my eyes, saying a quick prayer.
“Smokey, does the back window open?”
“Yeah,” he said, drawing out the word.
“Roll it down two inches,” I ordered.
“No. The windows are bulletproof, Morgan. We’re safe in here.”
“Roll the fucking window down, Smokey,” I barked as I climbed over the seat. The vehicle was surrounded, but most of the men were behind us.
“Morgan—”
“Do it, Smokey,” I heard my mother tell him.
“Benny, no,” he argued, but she persisted.
“Trust me, Smokey. Open the window.”
The window slid down, and I heard two more bikes fall back from beside us. I rested the edge of the rifle on the window and tried to push back the sound of Sully’s cries.
I needed to focus.
I aimed for the man in the back. I inhaled as I lined up my shot, then pressed the trigger softly as I exhaled. Exactly the way my father taught me. I didn’t aim for the bike or the tires. I aimed at the man. Aimed for his chest. A second later he jerked back, and when he lost control of his bike, he took out the man next to him.
That gave me an idea.
I pulled back, aiming for the man to the left of the middle. I slowly exhaled as I depressed the trigger. His body jerked to the right, losing control of his bike.
The bike turned, taking out three men behind him who didn’t have time to steer clear of it. Then I aimed again, taking out the rider in front, who took four more men with him.
We had three men left. One rode up on Smokey’s side, and he yelled out, “Hold on to something,” as he jerked the wheel, crashing the SUV into the bike and pushing him off the road.
Another rode up beside my mother, who quickly rolled down the window and shot out the man’s tire, causing him to lose control. He jumped off the bike just before it slid under the back tire, jostling me as we rode over it.
And then there was one.
He aimed for the tire and must have hit his mark because the vehicle lurched to the side and went off the road. I dropped the rifle and pawed around for something to hold on to as the vehicle rocked side to side on the uneven ground.
The vehicle flipped onto its side, sliding through the grass before finally coming to a stop.
“Morgan? You okay?”
“I’m okay, Smoke. Mom?” I called out, trying to pull myself up.
“I’m okay. A little banged up, but I’m okay.”
“Sully?” There was no answer. “Sully?” I scrambled around the seat and found her lying on the door that was against the ground.
“Is she okay?” Mom asked.
“Sully? Honey?”
“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!”
My head swung around to the front at the sound of the angry voice. I knew Smokey wouldn’t open the door, but I was sure the man would try to find a way in.