Chapter 13 · Six Hours Flat

"Get away from that door, Jesse. Now."

Valerie slammed her palm against my chest and shoved me back as the first round punched through the steel shutter.

The safehouse shook. Dust dropped from the ceiling. Behind us, Jax yelled something that got swallowed by a second burst of gunfire.

I caught Valerie's wrist before she could pull away. Her skin was warm. Her coat smelled like smoke, metal, and the sharp citrus soap she used when she wanted to pretend she wasn't scared.

"You planning to explain why your own people are shooting through your hideout?" I asked.

"It's not my hideout."

"You brought them here."

"I brought you here. There's a difference."

Another round tore through the shutter. A red targeting line slid across the floor and stopped on Jax's boot.

Jax looked down. "Uh, Valerie? Your friends have me painted."

"Move!"

He dove behind a stack of card crates. The laser tracked him for half a second, then split into three lines.

Three targets. Me. Valerie. Jax.

Valerie's eyes snapped toward the narrow stairwell. "They're locking the building down."

"How many?"

"Enough."

"That's not a number."

"Six hours flat," she said.

The words hit harder than the gunfire.