Chapter 147: Lead and Retribution

Damon’s POV

BANG! BANG!

Two more bullets slammed into the rear bumper of our car.

"Get down!" I yelled over the roar of the engine.

In the back seat, Micah didn’t need to be told twice. He folded his body into a tight ball, throwing his arms over his head and pressing his face flat against the carpeted floorboards. Shattered glass rained down over his back, glittering in his hair. He was shaking so hard that I could hear his teeth chattering from the front passenger seat.

BANG!

A bullet clipped the left side mirror, blowing the plastic casing into flying shards.

Noah didn’t flinch. His hands were glued to the steering wheel, his cold blue eyes locked on the road ahead as he took a sharp turn onto the industrial access ramp. With his right hand, he reached into the open compartment beneath his seat, pulled out a heavy black semi-automatic pistol, and racked the slide.

He didn’t aim it out the window. He tossed the weapon directly into my lap.

The cold metal landed heavily against my thighs.

I looked down at the gun, then snapped my head toward Noah. My fingers hovered over the grip, hesitating.

"What the hell is this?" I demanded. "There’s no way I’m going to..."

Noah glanced at me sideways, a dark, mocking smirk cutting across his pale lips. "What’s wrong, Silver? Is it because you don’t know how to use a gun?"

My jaw tightened. "I know how to shoot, Captain."

"Then stop staring at it like an idiot and return fire," Noah spat, his voice dropping into a deadly growl. "They are aiming for our rear axle. If they blow our tires before we hit the freight terminal, we’re dead."

I grabbed the heavy grip, wrapping my fingers around the textured frame.

I hit the red button on my seatbelt, unbuckled myself, and twisted around in the passenger seat. I didn’t stay up front. I shoved my shoulders between the two bucket seats and crawled straight into the back.

Micah was curled into the footwell, whimpering.

I dropped my weight over him, straddling the space between the seats and throwing my upper body over his trembling frame like a human shield. I pressed my chest down against his back, completely caging him beneath me so no stray bullets could touch him.

"Don’t worry, baby," I muttered near his ear, my voice low and cocky despite the adrenaline hammering in my chest. "I’ll keep you safe."

Micah shoved my shoulder violently, lifting his tear-stained face from the floor and glaring at me with raw, panicked fury.

"Shut up and just shoot them!" Micah screamed at the top of his lungs.

A sharp grin broke across my face. "Yes, sir."

I kicked out the remaining jagged pieces of glass clinging to the rear window frame with the heel of my boot. The wind screamed through the cabin, whipping dust and exhaust fumes into my eyes.

I raised the pistol with both hands, planting my elbows firmly against the rear headrests to steady my aim.

The blue sedan was right on our tail, less than thirty feet behind us. The shooter in their passenger seat was leaning out the window, his handgun raised, lining up a shot directly at our rear left tire.

I didn’t wait for him to pull the trigger.

I aligned the front sight with the blue car’s front-left wheel and squeezed the trigger.

BANG! BANG!

The recoil kicked hard against my wrists. My first shot punched a hole into their steel hood. My second shot struck the lower rubber tire.

POW!

The blue sedan’s tire popped with a loud explosion. The vehicle jerked violently to the left, metal rims scraping against the concrete highway.

The shooter in their window lost his balance, his shot firing harmlessly into the sky.

I didn’t stop. I shifted my aim higher, straight toward the driver’s side of their windshield, and pulled the trigger three more times.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The heavy glass of their windshield spiderwebbed into white fractures, two bullets punching clean through the laminate. The driver panicked, slamming his brakes to avoid losing complete control as the shredded rim dragged along the asphalt.

It didn’t stop the car completely, but the blown tire and ruined visibility forced them to slow down, lagging fifty yards behind us.

"That bought us time!" I yelled, dropping back down into the seat and tucking Micah under my arm.

"Brace yourselves!" Noah barked from the front.

He yanked the steering wheel hard to the right.

Our car veered off the public road, tearing down a hidden concrete ramp that led straight into the dark belly of an abandoned underground freight depot on 4th Street.

Noah sped through the rusted gate, cutting the headlights. The tires squealed on the smooth warehouse concrete as he navigated through the shadows, pulling directly into Bay 12.

The moment our car skidded to a halt, a matching black car with tinted windows roared out from Bay 12, taking our exact route and accelerating up the ramp back toward the highway to draw the blue car’s pursuit.

Noah killed our engine.

"Out," Noah ordered, kicking his door open. "Move to Bay 14."

I hauled Micah to his feet, grabbing his camera bag with one hand and wrapping my other arm around his waist. We rushed across the damp concrete floor of the warehouse, ducking behind massive steel pillars until we reached Bay 14.

Waiting inside was a heavily armored black SUV with its engine idling silently.

The rear passenger door opened, and David stepped out, dressed in his dark suit, two armed operatives standing behind him with submachine guns at the low ready.

"Master, this way," David said calmly.

David ushered Micah and me into the vehicle. Micah scrambled inside, pulling his legs to his chest and staring at the floor, still trembling from the shock.

Noah walked toward the SUV, but the second his foot hit the running board, his knees buckled.

He stumbled forward, his shoulder slamming hard against the doorframe.

"Noah!" Micah gasped, lunging forward.

I reached out, catching Noah by his upper arm before he collapsed. That was when my fingers touched something wet, hot, and thick soaking through the side of his black jacket.

I pulled my hand back. My palm was covered in dark, fresh blood.

"What the fuck?" I breathed, my eyes widening.

Noah pushed my hands away, his teeth clenched tight as he dragged himself onto the leather seat. He fell back against the headrest, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. His face was ghostly pale, beads of cold sweat running down his jaw.

David leaned inside immediately, pulling Noah’s jacket aside.

The dark fabric beneath was completely soaked in crimson. A thick gauze pad had been taped across his ribs, but the violent steering and recoil had torn the stitches open, blood pouring freely from the gunshot wound near his hip.

Micah let out a choked, terrified sob, his hands flying to his mouth as tears spilled down his cheeks.

"Noah... you’re injured..." Micah cried, his voice cracking into pieces. "When did you get that?! Why didn’t you tell me?!"

"Shut up, Micah," Noah rasped out, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "It’s an old scratch. It just reopened."

"It is not an old scratch," David said sternly, pulling a medical kit from beneath the seat and snapping on a pair of black surgical gloves. "Master took a bullet last night during the sweep at the Miller residence. He extracted the round himself without proper sutures."

"Last night?!" Micah sobbed harder, burying his face in his hands. "You went back to that house?!"

I stared at Noah in pure disbelief. "You played a brutal four-hour ride with a bullet hole in your ribs?"

Noah gave me a cold, venomous glare. "I told you I was fine."

"David," I cut in, my voice sharp. "Who were those bastards shooting at us on the highway? Was it Miller’s men?"

David shook his head, rapidly cutting away the blood-soaked gauze and pressing a clean antiseptic sponge against the bleeding flesh. Noah hissed in pain, his knuckles digging into the leather seat.

"Our intercept team verified their plates and communications," David said. "These were not your father’s operatives, Master. They were hired mercenaries dispatched directly by the Jenson family. George Jenson’s father paid them to eliminate you before tonight’s match."

"Those miserable cowards," I gritted out, anger burning hot in my chest.

I checked my watch.

The digital display read 2:10 PM.

"We have a problem," I announced, looking between David and Noah. "The championship final starts at six. That’s less than four hours. The university arena is nearly three hours away if we take the secure back roads to avoid highway checkpoints."

"We are going to the hospital," Micah pleaded, reaching out to grab Noah’s uninjured arm, his eyes red and swollen. "Noah, please. Look at all this blood! You can’t skate like this! Let’s go to the hospital!"

"No," Noah barked, his voice suddenly hard as iron.

He forced his eyes open, staring directly at me from the back seat.

"Drive the car, Silver," Noah ordered.

"Noah, you’re bleeding to death," I argued, crossing my arms.

"Drive the fucking car!" Noah snarled, his tone brooking zero argument. "David will stitch me up in the back while we move. We are not missing that puck drop."

I stared at him for two seconds, realized there was no changing his psychotic mind, and turned around. I climbed into the front seat, slid behind the wheel, and shifted the armored SUV into drive.

I hit the gas, speeding out through the secondary freight tunnel into the afternoon sun.

Behind me, the sound of tearing medical tape, clinking instruments, and Micah’s quiet, muffled sobs filled the quiet vehicle. David worked quickly, pouring iodine over the wound and pulling surgical thread through the torn muscle. Noah didn’t scream once; he just gripped the leather armrest so hard the stitching popped, his chest heaving silently.

Noah slowly turned his head toward his brother.

"Don’t worry, Micah," Noah said softly, his voice trembling slightly from the pain. "Just stop crying."

Micah sniffled, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his sweater, looking at him with broken eyes.

A chilling, lethal smirk slowly spread across Noah’s pale face.

"By the end of today," Noah whispered, his words carrying the absolute weight of a death sentence, "those Jenson fuckers will be leaving that ice in ambulances. Every single one of them. I’ll make damn sure of it."