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Chapter Twenty

Unstoppable Havoc

H er body moved on instinct, the gun coming up in her hands as she braced herself.

Max launched himself between her and the brindle, dislodging the gun from her hand before she fired. The two dogs became a blur of snapping teeth and thrashing bodies a few feet away.

Max’s high-pitched yelp sliced through the air, freezing Joan’s blood. Ignoring the sharp pain radiating through her side and leg, she scrambled to her knees and searched for the gun. Her fingers found it, her grip tightening as she brought it to her chest.

She sighted down the barrel. The dogs rolled, and she couldn’t take the shot without risking Max. She cursed under her breath, her hands trembling from adrenaline and terror. Jeb had to be close.

The seconds dragged. The brindle tore more flesh from Max’s shoulder, and her beautiful dog, so full of heart, fell, his cry ringing in her ears. Helpless anger churned inside her, but her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She was dying inside, her fear a poison spreading through her. Curling the fingers of her left hand into the ground, she let jagged stones dig into her palm and beneath her nails as she waited for a shot.

The growls and cries stopped, their fight moving into the shadows.

The pull on her heart was almost too much. She didn’t think it was Max who had survived. She rolled onto her back, staring at the smoky night sky. This was how it ended.

Her eyes fell to the gun in her right hand. Her entire body shook. She rolled partially to her side and forced herself to glance away from Max’s shadow.

Jeb was back in his truck, the driver’s side door flung open. His face twisted with rage as he slapped the dashboard, the truck’s engine whining and sputtering. The gears ground noisily as he jerked the stick, either unable to get it into gear or completely forgetting the clutch. His movements were erratic, his mind unraveling right before her eyes. He was still dangerous, still deadly, and worst of all, he would win this battle.

A warm, wet tongue touched the back of her neck. She exhaled the breath she’d been holding.

“Max.”

She turned, and there he was, his muzzle bloodied but his eyes steady and loyal as he settled beside her. A few feet away, the brindle dragged itself closer before collapsing, twitching in the dirt. Its head lifted once, but then it slumped back and went still.

A strange mix of relief and sadness tightened in her chest. Even though Max had taken out the brindle, she felt herself giving in to death. Blood seeped into the dirt from so many small wounds. Max would never meet Willow. She pulled him close, and he licked her face this time, letting out a soft whine.

The sound conveyed so much. Joan realized she was letting pain and fear rule her again. She wasn’t a quitter. The worst that could happen was death, and she had only one choice: keep going.

“We’ve got to end this,” she whispered, her voice thick with pain, as she looked into Max’s weary eyes.

Max let out another soft, distressed whine, his body trembling with exhaustion too.

“Come on,” she insisted, but he didn’t rise. She slowly backtracked ten feet in case Jeb waited at the driveway to shoot her again if she came around the ridge. Each step hurt but only gave her more resolve. They had to somehow make it back over the ridge. “Up,” she commanded in her no-nonsense training voice when she thought she’d made it far enough.

Max struggled to his feet, his movements slow and labored. Joan gathered herself for the climb when he made it to her side. Her legs felt like lead, every muscle burning with fatigue, but she gritted her teeth, refusing to let Jeb win. Glancing down at her torn, bloodied side, she forced herself to stand fully upright. Each step sent fresh waves of agony through her body.

“We can do this,” she rasped, her voice little more than a whisper, as they took one step, then another.

Max practically pulled her along. She didn’t look up, down, or back. Each step was wrenched from her by sheer force of will. Her grip on Max slipped as a dizzy spell overtook her, and she landed face-first on the ground.

For a moment, she lay there, dirt and grit clinging to her face. Then she stretched out a hand, grasping at sparse grass and using it to drag herself up an inch, then another. Finally, she raised her head, sucking in a breath as the ridge’s peak came into view just a few feet away. A little more. She was so close.

At the top, she could make out Jeb, who had just leapt out of the truck. His figure blurred until she blinked, forcing her vision to steady. He spun in a slow, furious circle, cursing loudly. Was he looking for the brindle? He froze, staring down the driveway before breaking into a full run.

She rolled over to the house side of the ridge. Her vision blurred, and she fought down nausea that surged with every wave of dizziness. Placing a hand on her side, she felt her shirt completely soaked in blood. After a few deep breaths, she tried to stand, but her legs buckled, sending her tumbling down the incline.

A stubborn shrub stopped her fall, jarring her painfully. Dark agony consumed her. A throbbing, indistinguishable ache that blurred the lines of her injuries. She no longer knew where one wound ended, and another began.

Max’s tongue swiped across her face, snapping her out of the haze. He stood over her, his steady licks keeping her grounded, pulling her back from the mental darkness.

“One more time,” she whispered in determination. Slowly, she forced herself to stand, swaying as pain radiated through her. She kept her gaze fixed on the far side of the house, her only chance to stay out of Jeb’s line of sight. She stumbled forward, focusing her mind on the movement, forcing the pain to separate from the reality of her nightmare.

The house fire had dwindled, but as she moved, she saw new flames shoot up, brighter and farther away. Her heart sank. The barn was burning now. She couldn’t let the dogs die like that.

Finally, she reached the barn doors, leaning heavily against them to stay upright as she pushed both sides fully open. Smoke hung inside, stinging her eyes and throat. Flames licked the loft area closest to the house. The dogs howled and barked in terror.

“Come on, Max,” she urged, leaning on him for support as they stumbled deeper inside.

She freed dog after dog, her hands working on autopilot even as dizziness threatened to knock her down. The mother dog bolted with a pup in her jaws, fleeing toward freedom. Each unlatched door was a small victory against the rising flames.

The heat grew unbearably, creeping up her spine as the fire spread. Smoke thickened, choking her, and tears streamed down her soot-streaked face.

The next cage held no sound. Through the haze, she saw the dog inside; still and unmoving. The one above it was the same, poisoned by the air near the meth lab. The mother dog came back for another puppy.

Joan’s chest tightened. She and Max had to get out before the building erupted.

Stumbling toward the exit, she fell and finally rolled until she was free, fresh air flooding her lungs.

Max limped over, his soft whine grounding her as she pulled herself to her knees .

Her gaze locked on Jeb’s truck. She crawled to it, ignoring the growls echoing nearby. The door handle was warm in her grasp. It opened easily.

“Up,” she commanded hoarsely. Max leapt inside, and she clambered in after him, shielding him with her body.

The keys dangled from the ignition.

The explosion rocked the truck, reverberating through the metal as the windshield cracked under the blast. Joan turned her head to the fractured glass and froze.

Jeb stood outside, his face blackened, his eyes blazing with unhinged madness.

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