Going Gone, Book 2 of the Irish End Games Read Online Free Page B

the rifle pointed it at her and she slowed her steps to allow a steadier aim. Seamus had killed three men the last time they’d been attacked at this cottage because the blackguards hadn’t thought him capable of it. She wasn’t sure she was fostering the same assumption of incompetence this time.
    She moved nearer to them, and caught glimpses of her husband on the ground. He was moving and groaning, thank God. She forced herself not to look at him and aimed the barrel of her Glock at the man with the rifle. She was surprised to see how normal he looked. He wore jeans and a tee shirt with running shoes. He looked like he had somehow avoided the last hard year of no food, no petrol, and fear. Unlike almost everybody else she had seen since The Crisis, he didn’t look uncomfortable or needy.
    He smiled at her in what looked, perversely, likely a genuinely warm greeting. “Well, hello, hello,” he said, his voice smooth and controlled.
    He was English.
    â€œThis little plum was worth stopping for, eh, boys? Fine round arse on her. Won’t Denny love trying her on for size? Are you American, then, too, luv?” he asked as he casually swept the barrel of his rifle so that it pointed at David on the ground.
    Sarah glanced at the other two men to satisfy her initial assessment that they were the underlings and this young man—he couldn’t be twenty-five—was the one in control.
    â€œAll of you bugger off,” she said breathlessly, feeling her arms start to shake from the exertion of holding the heavy gun out in front of her.
    The three men erupted into laughter, truly delighted.
    â€œBlimey! She’s like Wonder-fuckin’-woman!”
    The other two men crowed loudly at their leader’s humor and repeated the phrase to heightened bouts of laughter.
    â€œDavid!” she called out. Out of the corner of her eye she could see he was stirring, trying to sit up, but his face was splattered with blood. He appeared dazed and shook his head, trying to clear it. “I mean it, You bastards better head out. I will shoot you!”
    â€œNah, you won’t, darlin’,” the leader of the group said, nudging David’s face with the barrel of his rifle. “I must say, I don’t like people pointing guns at me. Oy, Jimmy, sit the Yank up there by the fence.”
    Sarah watched as the two men grabbed David by the arms and dragged him to a sitting position and propped him up by the fence. She could see he was struggling to come to his senses.
    If only their positions were reversed! Should I just start shooting? The bastard was holding his gun right to David’s head. Would he have time to shoot him before I—
    â€œOy, chickie, here’s the deal,” the leader said, grinning a smile of very white, very straight teeth. “Give me your gun or I’ll blow his fuckin’ head off.”
    She could see David shaking his head. He might be trying to clear his head, he might just be addled, but she felt sure he was telling her not to give it up.
    The Englishman slammed the nose of his rifle into David’s temple and David groaned, but he didn’t topple over.
    â€œGive me the gun or I shoot the bastard!” the Englishman yelled.
    Sarah later would believe that a part of her didn’t understand the words or comprehend the meaning. A part of her was only terrorized and harboring some belief that this creature would not kill her or her husband—even in this terrible new world. But right at that very moment she only knew, if it meant her own death, she couldn’t just let them kill the man she loved, the father to her child…her David. And so she dropped her arms—her heavy, tremulous arms, with their weighty purchase—and let the gun fall into the grassy dirt at her feet.
    She never even heard the monster’s grunt of satisfaction over the sound of the gun blast that blew the top of her husband’s head off.

4
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