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An explosion shakes the house all around us, and Ryker scoops me up into his arms and carries me toward the main stairs leading up into the kitchen. He doesn’t break stride even with the door overhead. He just turns and slams his back into it.

It splinters, and he whirls back around, reaching out. Hilda is just behind us, with Presley right behind her, a gun in his hand. Two guards rush into the room, but Presley fires, and they fall backward.

I close my eyes. God, please be with us. Please clear our path, Lord. Please.

Outside sounds like a warzone, with gunshots filling the otherwise quiet afternoon. Every car that had been parked outside is on fire. Ryker heads for the back door, but Leon steps in the way, a pistol in his hand.

“You made a mistake coming here.”

Ryker stops moving and sets me down carefully, then shoves me behind him. “You took what is precious to me. Did you really think I wouldn’t come for her?”

“I don’t even know you,” Leon sneers. “This didn’t have anything to do with you!” His hand shakes as he holds the gun, his expression full of fury.

“You know me now,” Ryker says. “And know this: Even if you pull that trigger, I will still put you down.” He takes a step closer.

Leon seems to consider his words. Then, he shrugs. “Maybe.” He shifts his aim and fires.

Presley rips me behind him, then staggers back as the bullet slams into him.

“No!” Ryker bellows, rushing forward and slamming into Leon. The lawyer falls back, but when he tries to get back up, Ryker grips his neck and twists. A sickening crack fills the house. As the lawyer falls, Ryker rushes over to Presley.

He’s on his back, and I’ve got both hands pressed to the bullet hole in his shoulder.

“Presley is hit!” Ryker roars. “Get in here now with the med kit!”

It takes me a moment to realize he’s not talking to me.

“I’ll be fine,” Presley says. “But I am getting tired of taking bullets.”

“Then stop taking them,” Ryker snarls.

“Well, this one was for Dahlia, so it was worth it.”

Hilda rushes over toward the window. “I think your guy is coming with that med bag.” She reaches the front door quickly and rips it open as Sawyer sprints inside, black duffel in hand.

“Thanks, darling,” he says with a grin, then slides to his knees beside Presley.

“Keep pressure,” I order Ryker as I remove my hands and go through the bag.

“Man, your face looks rough,” Sawyer comments to Ryker.

“Not as bad as yours usually does,” he retorts.

“As heartwarming as this is, can we clog the hole in me first?” Presley asks.

I pull out some clot stop, then shred the hole in his shirt and start packing the wound with gauze. All while the gunshots continue outside.

“How many left?”

“A few. Police should be here any minute.”

As soon as the wound is packed enough, I seal it off with a bandage, then step back and shove the rest into the bag. “That will hold, but he needs an ambulance.”

“Also on the way,” Sawyer says.

Blood stains my hands, but the bullet looks like it missed anything vital. If it were an artery, he’d be dead already.

“Let’s get you outside.” Ryker pulls Presley to his feet, and he hisses.