If it had rained recently, he would’ve finished by smearing wet dirt across his face. A little battle paint would’ve bolstered his chances, helping his white skin blend into the surroundings.
All that was missing was the wind. If he had the religious conviction of Stephanie King, he’d ask God to kick up a swirl to help to cover his approach. Without it, the target might notice a change in the landscape when Bunker closed the thirty yards of distance.
Even with his stealth crawl, there were no guarantees. All it would take was the snap of a twig to give away his position. The success or failure of this operation was going to come down to one thing: who spotted the other first.
He sucked in a deep breath and held it, focusing all his thoughts. His warrior self was hiding inside—somewhere—buried deep under a glacier of guilt. He hadn’t felt the beast since the moment he was discharged from active duty, even during his days riding with the Kindred.
It took a few seconds, but he managed to summon the demon. Its raw strength poured into his body, supercharging his heart with energy. He wasn’t sure how long it would remain, but he planned to unleash hell while he had it under control.
Someone was dying in the next few minutes, and it wasn’t going to be him. Or Daisy. Or any of his other friends.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Bunker continued his slither through the underbrush, figuring he was about fifteen yards from the last known position of the shadow. A shadow that didn’t belong. A shadow with death on its agenda—his and Daisy’s.
He brought another knee forward, then his opposite elbow. So far he’d been ultra quiet during his approach, feeling confident the target wasn’t aware of his position.
Bunker stopped moving when more of the dark figure came into view. The weeds and grass didn’t allow him to see every detail of his opponent, but someone was there all right, allowing Bunker to begin a tactical assessment.
The person’s legs were to the left, but their shoes were pointing up, not down or to the side as expected. The shoes were heavy soled and a black color, just like the rest of the tango’s clothing.
Bunker leaned to the left, changing his angle to peer through the stalks. He could only see the middle portion of a face. The broad, distinct nose and the size of the feet told him it was a man, his eyes facing the sky. He didn’t appear to be moving, either. Time to find out why.
Bunker took three of the pebbles from his pocket and lobbed them into the sky at his target. They sailed past the man as intended, thanks to the force behind his throw. He heard them land, snapping a twig and crunching some grass.
The target should have reacted to the sounds, but he didn’t.
Was he dead?
Unconscious?
Or just playing possum?
There was no way to be sure. Not from this distance and not with the thicket of weeds in the way. Regardless, if Bunker took the shot now, he could end the threat.
He brought the cold steel of the AR-10 into position, resting the barrel on a thick mound of grass. It only took a second to bring the sights to bear.
Normally, he’d aim for the most lethal area on the human body—the gap between the nose and mouth, where a bullet could penetrate quickly and sever the spinal cord. But that location wasn’t an option. A temple shot was his only choice, though the limited sightlines would make a precision shot difficult.
His plan was to engage after an exhale, once everything with his body was calm. To do that, he focused his breathing, pacing each breath until his hands steadied.
When he was ready, he brought the tip of his finger down and lightly put it on the trigger. The brush of metal against his skin felt amazing.
Just then, a haunting phrase from his drill sergeant echoed in his brain. Bullets are forever. Verify your target.
The nostalgic words connected with his logic, making him move his trigger finger back to the safe position. He brought his head up and looked over the weapon’s optics to take one last look at the man in the grass.
The target began to stir a moment later, sitting up in a hunch, torso leaning over its legs.
Bunker reacted, snapping twigs as his eyes and hands worked together to bring the red dot back to its target. The instant the sights were lined up, his brain sent the command to fire to his finger. The instant he felt the resistance of the sear engage, the man turned his head and looked at Bunker.
Shit! It’s Franklin Atwater! Megan’s dad!
Bunker jerked the rifle as the hammer sent the round down the barrel. The recoil rammed the folding stock into his shoulder, thanks to the awkward, unsteady rifle position. When the shot was over, Bunker turned the muzzle toward the sky and held a quick breath, waiting to see if his friend had been hit.
Franklin never moved. Not a flinch. Not a duck for cover. Instead, he just sat there, blinking, his eyes glazed over and locked into position, staring at Bunker.
Bunker exhaled, letting a wave of relief enter his body. The round must have missed; otherwise, it would have sent Franklin twisting to his right side when the sudden impact of a 7.62 round tore into him.
Bunker crawled forward, crossing the distance between them with vigor. It would’ve been faster to stand up and run, but without knowing who else might be stalking the camp, he needed to stay low.
“You okay, Franklin?” he asked in a whisper upon arrival, checking the man’s condition. There was blood on his right shoulder, just above the top of the bicep.
“Took one earlier,” Franklin answered in a low, thready voice, his hand moving to the wound.
Since it was on the opposite side of where Bunker was aiming, it couldn’t have been from his shot. “I damn near killed you.”
“I know. I swear I felt it whiz by. Good thing your aim sucks.”
Bunker smirked, not because it was funny. It was more about relief. Relief that he’d pulled the rifle away in time, making him a bad shot by design. “You’re the last person I expected to see out here.”
“I could say the same thing. You alone?”
“No. Daisy’s here, too.”
“I’m guessing you’re here for the same reason I am. To get our people back.”
Bunker nodded, but decided not to waste time mentioning their capture. Or escape.
Franklin continued. “Been tracking these assholes ever since they took my little girl.”
“Do you have a count?”
“Eight down. Three remaining,” he said, looking at the blood oozing from his shoulder.
“Well, you can scratch two more off the list, thanks to Daisy and her killer thighs.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Never mind. Long story, but they’re no longer a threat,” Bunker told him, running the facts through his brain. “So I take it that was you on the shotgun earlier.”
“Yeah,” he said with a grimace, the pain in his shoulder obvious. “Used explosives to draw them out, then took down the first two with my street howitzer.”
Bunker saw an assault rifle lying nearby, not a scattergun. It looked identical to the AR-10 he was holding. He figured Franklin picked it up from one of the kills and used it from there. “Where’s the last one?”
Franklin pointed. “Lost him over there by that shack. Tried to follow, but my legs gave out. I’m pretty sure I winged him. Just need to follow the blood.”
Bunker wrapped his hands around Franklin’s shoulder, applying pressure with his grip. “Speaking of blood, we need to get this stopped.”
Franklin tore Bunker’s hands away, then spoke in a deep, controlled voice. “Look, this isn’t the first time I’ve found myself on the X. I know what to do. You need to go. Now. Save Megan and the others. They’re here, somewhere. I can feel ‘em. If that guy gets to them first—”
Bunker understood. “Roger that. Will do.”
The large black man gave the spare rifle to Bunker. “Here. Take it. There are a few rounds left in the mag.”
* * *
Daisy waited, her eyes searching the area
near the base of the old windmill.
What the hell is going on out there?
First there was a single gunshot, then the sway of brush from left to right. Since then, nothing.
Was Bunker down?
Or the enemy?
She wanted to charge forward, but her training kept her feet still. More information was needed; otherwise, she might walk straight into an ambush. All she could do was watch and listen for a sign.
Another handful of seconds went by, then the crown of a head appeared, just above the tops of the weeds, peering in her direction. A hand came up next, waving. A person rose up, showing more of their chest and arms. It was Bunker, signaling for her to join him.
She checked the area behind her and to the sides. All clear. Time to move. After a short trot through the grass with knees bent and head low, she was at his position.
Daisy knelt down next to the former biker, expecting to see a lifeless body at his feet. However, that wasn’t the case. The target was still alive and looking at her, smiling. Though it looked like a painful smile.
“Franklin?” she asked, her mind not believing what her eyes were reporting.
“Hey Daisy.”
“What the hell?”
“This is what happens to old men who forget to duck,” Franklin Atwater said, holding his left hand on his right shoulder.
Daisy looked at Bunker, who now had two rifles instead of one. “You shot him?”
“Wasn’t me,” he said, pointing at a building nearby. “There’s one left. Apparently wounded. You ready to finish this?”
“Ah . . . sure,” she said with a stammer, her mind still processing the facts.
Franklin pointed at her pistol. “So it was these guys?”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“They stole that 1911 from my office. My wife gave it to me.”
She held the gun out. “It’s all yours.”
He took it from her. “Thanks, now go find my daughter and finish the job.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Daisy stood to the left of the door leading into one of the mining cabins. Bunker was on the right, reminding her of their breach into Tuttle’s place. Granted, this was a different day and a different location, but they’d both taken the same positions on either side of the entrance. This time, however, they were armed with assault rifles and the target was contained within a much smaller space. Better odds, to be sure.
They’d followed the blood trail to this location, just as Franklin had suggested. A single threat remained inside—an injured man, wounded at the hands of the burly, bleeding cowboy who was hunkered down in the weeds, waiting for his daughter, Megan, to be rescued—again.
First the bus accident. And now this. The poor little girl was going to need counseling after everything that had happened to her the past couple of days.
All Daisy’s thoughts were on the wellbeing of the two kids. Well, them and Stephanie. A woman who hated her guts.
However, before they could perform a rescue, the lone remaining gunman needed to be neutralized. And to do that, she would team up with Bunker as they entered the shack with clear intention to engage.
Bunker held up three fingers and mouthed a silent countdown. When he reached zero, he spun out and brought his leg up, then kicked open the door in one massive strike.
Daisy moved into position, entering the building with the rifle leading the way. She was ready to fire, but held the trigger when she saw a thick, bearded man with a shaved head holding a blindfolded girl at gunpoint. It was Megan, sobbing quietly.
The stocky white man wasn’t dressed like the others in camp, nor was he as trim. His black muscle shirt showed off his endless hours in the weight room pumping iron. He looked to be covered in tattoos, like Bunker, investing thousands.
The Neanderthal was on the floor with his back against the far wall, his wounded leg outstretched and bleeding. Megan was on his lap, crying into the enormous hand covering her mouth.
Stephanie and Jeffrey were also there, huddled on the floor to the left. Both of them were bound and gagged. Daisy couldn’t see their eyes, not with the blindfolds in place.
“That’s far enough!” the man yelled, the handgun pointing at Megan’s right temple.
Daisy froze, unsure what to do.
Bunker slid into the room behind her, then took position on her right with a rifle held tight against his shoulder.
“Bulldog?” the hostage taker asked in a surprised tone, his eyes locked onto Bunker.
“Grinder?” Bunker answered, looking confused. He lowered his gun a few inches. “What the hell?”
“I could say the same thing, pal.”
“I can’t believe you’re still alive.”
“Yeah, me either. It was touch and go for a while, but the prison doc managed to put me back together. I’ve got enough metal in me now to make The Terminator jealous.”
“You know this man?” she asked Bunker, keeping her sights trained on the perpetrator.
“Yeah. We used to ride together.”
Daisy scanned Grinder’s tattoos again, specifically, his upper left chest area. There was a small portion of a winged tattoo sticking out from the under the edges of his tank top. She missed it before, but now that she knew more about this man, it was easy to complete the rest of the emblem in her mind. It was a Kindred tattoo, like Bunker’s.
Grinder moved the gun a few inches away from the little girl’s head, though it was still aimed at her. He spoke to Bunker, using Megan as a shield. “That we did. A long time ago. Imagine my surprise when I got released and found out you’d disappeared. Not cool, brother. Watts is pissed.”
“I figured as much,” Bunker said, his face relaxing a bit. “What are you doing here in Colorado? This isn’t Kindred territory.”
“Watts sent me here to strike a deal. Just arrived when this shit-storm happened. Next thing I know, lead’s flying and someone puts a hole in my leg. I’m pretty sure I dropped the shooter. He’s out there in the grass somewhere. You need to finish him off.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“Why not, brother?”
“That person is a friend of mine.”
“You’re part of this?” the hulking man snapped.
Bunker nodded. “Your pals should’ve never taken these hostages.”
Grinder’s face pinched together. “Hey, I wasn’t involved in any of that.”
“Except now you are,” Daisy said. “That girl in your lap is the daughter of the man you shot outside. And they’re friends of ours. We’re here to take them back.”
“Look, I had no idea.”
“Well, now you do. Time to do the right thing, Grinder,” Bunker said, taking the rifle from his shoulder and aiming it at the floor. He took one hand off the weapon and held it out, in a peaceful, non-threatening manner. “Come on, Grinder. Let the girl go. There’s no need for any of this.”
“Sorry, Bulldog. No can do,” he answered, nodding in the direction of Daisy. “Not until your hot little friend there drops her piece.”
“Not a chance,” Daisy said, adjusting her feet and keeping her trigger finger ready. All she needed was for Megan to move to the left and she’d have a clear shot at his head.
Bunker shot Daisy a look, one that said not to add any more tension to the situation. He returned his eyes to Grinder. “Let the girl go, Grinder. There’s no reason this has to escalate.”
The man didn’t answer.
“You can trust me, old friend. Put the gun down.”
“Trust you? After you just up and disappeared? And then you show up with some cop? You got some big set of balls, Bulldog. I’ll give you that. At least that hasn’t changed.”
“Yes, I’m still the same man. The same man who put in a lot of miles with you over the years. I’ve always had your back, and you of all people know I’m a man of my word.”
Grinder’s face softened a bit, but he didn’t answer.
Bunker continued. “Loo
k, you’re injured and at a severe disadvantage right now. There’s no need for any of us to die today. You and I have been riding together way too long for something like this to come between us. So please, put the gun down and let these people go. We can all walk out of here together,” he said, taking a step closer to Grinder.
Grinder’s eyes dropped, looking as though he was deep in thought.
Bunker took another step, this time with the rifle hanging limp along his right side. He held out his free hand. “Come on, buddy. It’s time to end this. Just give me the gun.”
Grinder paused for what seemed like thirty seconds. Then the tension in his face disappeared, just before he let go of the girl and gave the pistol to Bunker.
“You made the right decision,” Bunker said, tucking the pistol inside the back of his pants. He motioned for Megan to come to him.
Megan stood up and hopped to Bunker on her good leg, wrapping her arms around his legs.
Bunker leaned the rifle against the wall to the right. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
Megan nodded, tears visible on her cheeks.
Bunker pried her loose. “Your daddy’s outside. Deputy Daisy will take you to him.”
A sudden chill washed over Daisy when she heard Bunker’s words. She wasn’t about to leave. Not with two bikers and more hostages in the room. “I’m staying here,” she told him, keeping a close eye on the position of everyone.
“Daisy, I’ve got this,” Bunker said, motioning for her to leave the shack with Megan.
“Megan, sweetheart, wait for me outside,” she told the young girl.
“What’s wrong?” Megan asked in a scared, curious tone.
“Everything’s going to be okay. Just go outside and help your dad. Right now. Like I said.”
Megan didn’t hesitate, hopping past her and out the door. “Now the others,” she told Bunker, motioning with the rifle in her hands.
Bunker hesitated for a second, like he was sizing her up for something. Then he walked to Stephanie and Jeffrey, freeing them as well.
Daisy expected Stephanie to say something when she stood up, but the woman kept quiet. So did Jeffrey, possibly stunned and traumatized.
Bunker: Boxed Set (Books 1, 2, and 3) Page 29
