Hidden Flames (30 page)

“You left
me
for dead. Remember? When you didn’t give a damn that your three acquaintances did your dirty work for you.” Owen stepped to the right, causing Deacon to do the same. He’d already radioed Dean that there were size ten boot marks out back. The door had been unlocked, but Owen hadn’t given that a second thought since Gage had been down a week prior on a supply run. “There are consequences to abducting a woman and attempting to steal a vehicle along with the supplies that were attached to it. You got what you deserved, Deacon.”

“This town is deserted.” Deacon yanked Prue harder against him, causing her to wince. He could see her fingers touching the handle on the knife sheathed at her waist. “You told those people to meet you here, but there’s no one anywhere around. Where are you staying, soldier boy?”

Owen now understood exactly what had happened and he inwardly cringed at being the one responsible for getting those kind-hearted people involved in this mess. Deacon must have managed to meet up with the family that had tried to stop Owen in the middle of the road, causing him to skid out. God only knows what he said or did to them to extract that specific information from them. Those details had probably cost them their lives. The amount of people Deacon had hurt or killed to make it this far north was something that Owen would have to own up to at a later date. He should have made sure the man was dead when given the chance, regardless that he thought getting Prue out of that area was more important. Mistakes like that were costly and Prue was the one paying for them now.

“Interestingly enough, I want to know the very same thing.” Dean walked into the front of the garage, his rifle flung over his shoulder in a nonchalant manner. He was picking his teeth with a toothpick as he leaned against a workbench, playing the part of a man who didn’t give a shit about what was happening in front of him. Owen wasn’t sure what plan Dean had conjured up, but it certainly wasn’t helping the situation. “Dude, you look like shit.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Deacon shouted, his rattled gaze swinging between the two men.

What the hell
was
Dean doing? All he’d managed to do was aggravate Deacon and make this situation worse. He sure as hell better have alerted Jason as to what was going down so they had some type of backup. Prue was wincing as the barrel was pushed tighter against her temple, but it was clear her focus was on reaching her new knife. She had more physical courage than most of the so-called men he’d had the somewhat dubious privilege to meet since he had left his career in the Corps.

“Just passing through and heading up to the border when I heard the two of you going at it,” Dean replied, going so far as to move his head up and down in perusing Prue’s body as if she were a piece of candy he just couldn’t wait to suck on. Owen would deal with that shit later. “You got a nice petite one there.”

Owen would have preferred that Dean had taken a direct shot to Deacon’s head and ended this quickly. Granted, that would have been hard considering that he had managed to position Prue in front of him, but Owen had been working on that by gradually shifting their stances. Dean needed to learn some fucking patience.

Prue’s fingers were now gripping the tapered handle of the fighting knife, but Owen gave a slight negative shake of his head. She wasn’t in the position to really do enough damage, and in all likelihood Deacon would be able to pull his trigger before either one of them were able to put him down.

“Listen to me carefully,” Owen said, directing his words at Prue while Deacon assumed he was the one being spoken to. One twist of the wrist from her and this would end in a way that he wouldn’t be able to recover from. He loved her. He hadn’t been given the chance to tell her, thinking he had her in a position where they had time. This just proved that anything could happen, any minute of the day, regardless that they had a safe sanctuary and people in place to protect it. “There’s no need to make any sudden moves. We have time to—”

Son of a bitch! The woman never did what she was told and while Owen considered it quite cute in certain situations, this wasn’t one of those times. Within seconds Prue had swung the knife with enough force that it had embedded in Deacon’s leg about five inches deep and yet somehow the scumbag managed to keep his hold on her to use her as a shield. Owen’s blood ran cold when he realized there wasn’t a clear shot.

The brief struggle ended when Prue was able to turn around and kick the handle of the knife, causing more damage to Deacon’s upper thigh. The man screamed like the coward he was. Owen never removed his eyes from the line of sight on his weapon. Dean now had his rifle trained on the duo in front of them as well, walking closer until Deacon managed to forcefully shove Prue into Dean’s body while at the same time getting a shot off in Owen’s direction.

“Owen!”

“Get her out of here,” Owen ordered Dean as he took cover behind two fifty-five gallon drums of used oil. Another gunshot reverberated through the garage causing glass to shatter and Dean to push Prue in front of a beat-up old Chevy Impala. “Do you have eyes on him?”

“No. He’s coming around your right flank.”

Crack
! The 9-millimeter bullet pinged off of the machine above and behind Owen’s head. It appeared that Deacon was making his way around the garage and coming up on Owen’s right side. That was fine by him, considering that Dean and Prue were to his left behind a huge chunk of Detroit’s finest steel. It gave Dean ample opportunity to take Prue and retreat to the truck outside.

“Go!”

Owen didn’t look to see if Dean had followed his directives. He used the antiquated Sun Diagnostic machine to leverage his back while using it for cover. He shifted just enough that he was able to fire his weapon to stall Deacon’s advance, ensuring the bullet didn’t ricochet off of anything back toward his escaping members.

Not seeing his target, Owen advanced quickly and efficiently. He used the skills the military had taught him as his complete focus was on the best avenues of approach toward him. His vision and hearing zeroed in on any movement that Deacon might make toward his position. All that mattered was that Prue was safe so that Owen could now let the animal inside of him out of the cage. It was time to end this once and for all.

It was rational thinking that swiftly narrowed Deacon’s possible location. He had finally stepped out from behind the tire rack and Owen had the advantage, or so he’d thought. It was a one in a hundred thousand chance of a primer not performing as advertised in a live situation and the stark reality of what that meant slammed into him. He was going to die at the hands of a scumbag all because of a bad fucking cap. One thought floated in his mind before the sharp pain radiated through the back of his thigh and instantly brought him to his knees—he hadn’t told Prue that he loved her. The second thought was that Deacon hadn’t fired his weapon…and he’d never know why because another shot rang out just behind him and he felt the burn of the gunpowder on the back of his head.

O
wen had ordered
Dean to remove her from the building and that wasn’t happening—not unless she was dead. She shrugged off Dean’s grip on her arm. He was all but forcing her to leave Owen with no backup.

“I’m not leaving, damn it,” Prue whispered harshly, sliding the blade out of her boot as she watched the scene unfold in front of her. There wasn’t even time for the adrenaline to kick in before Owen fired his weapon, but that resounding dull click sure as hell caused her to get up off her ass and bring back her arm at the ready. She could hear Dean muttering obscenities that would rival her own, but then blood rushed through her ears and drowned out everything as she heard Owen’s weapon misfire. “Dean, shoot!”

Prue wasn’t sure what caused her not to hesitate, when in any other situation she would have second-guessed herself. Maybe it was Owen’s commanding voice telling her that she couldn’t waver in situations like this or else it could mean one of their lives. She wasn’t ready to lose what he’d given her, so she targeted the blade to sink into the back of his thigh. It was the only way she could guarantee that he would drop low enough for Dean to fire his weapon along their line of sight.

Slow motion. There was no other way to describe what Prue witnessed in front of her. She brought her arm forward and released the knife. It coiled and twisted through the air, the tip of the blade cutting through the fabric of Owen’s cammies and sinking into the muscle in the back of upper leg. His next step gave out, bringing him to his knees and giving Dean time to gain a sight picture with his rifle and squeeze the trigger. Deacon dropped to the floor in a heap just as Owen had promised. She felt no remorse that she’d assisted in the man’s death. He’d made it so it was either his life or theirs…and she’d made her choice.

Prue scrambled to her feet and ran over to Owen, who was trying his damndest to reach around and pull the knife out of his leg. He was still on his knees, one hand on the back of his head and the other grasping for the knife handle. The only other time she’d ever actually connected a blade with human flesh had been Deacon, and she thought he’d died. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with Owen, afraid he would bleed out if she removed it.

“Owen, don’t touch—”

“Move.” Dean didn’t waste time stepping in and yanking out the knife, causing Owen to string together a list of vulgarities. Dean ripped off the bandana that he’d had around his neck and then used it as a pressure bandage, knotting the fabric tightly before assisting Owen into a sitting position. “You’re all right man. Prue’s quick thinking saved your ass.”

“She fucking stabbed me and you burned the back of my damned head,” Owen muttered through gritted teeth. One hand tightly held onto the leg that she’d hurt and the other rubbed the back of his scalp peppered with burnt gunpowder. Prue sat beside him as the relief of them having made it through this poured over her, causing a slightly frantic giggle to escape her…and she wasn’t the giggling type. She rested her hand on his good leg, knowing he’d eventually see that she’d had no choice. Her hopes diminished slightly when he continued. “What the hell were you thinking, Prue? I knew giving you knives was reckless, but I did it anyway. What do I get in return? Fucking stabbed in the back by my own team.”

Dean slapped Owen on the shoulder and walked away laughing, meeting up with Jason in the doorway whose incredulous gaze was taking in the carnage. Prue rested an arm on her raised knees, using the crook of her elbow to hide her smile. She wasn’t sure what had gotten into her, considering she could have done a lot of damage with the choice she made. She blamed it on the endorphins of relief coursing through her veins.

“You’re alive, Marine Boy,” Prue said, the words getting stuck in her throat. Hell, she went from laughing to crying in a matter of seconds. This wasn’t her and she inhaled deeply, doing her best to gather her composure. She ran a hand through her hair since half her braid had come undone. Owen had managed to integrate himself into her life and now she couldn’t fathom a day without him. Three weeks ago she would never have believed that he would come to mean so much to her. “We didn’t have a shot and I reacted when your gun jammed. I-I thought Deacon was going to get off a shot before we could do anything. I’m so sorry that—”

“Look on the bright side.” Dean called out from across the hanger. “She could have sunk that blade into your ass instead.”

Owen had enough energy to hold up his middle finger, but it was the deep laugh that emanated from his chest that surprised her. He managed to lift an arm and lace it around Prue’s shoulders, bringing her close and resting his cheek against her head. She blinked back the tears that threatened to spill, grateful that she was back in his arms.

“I love you, Prue Whitaker.” Owen stated those words as if he’d just tattooed them on her skin. Her heart thudded against her chest, but the panic she would have thought would be there…wasn’t. Instead, it was full of love and inner peace that she thought she’d never experience. “Just think of the stories we’ll be able to tell our grandchildren if you don’t finish them off before bedtime.”

Had Prue just thought she’d experienced peace? Well, he’d just shattered it into a million pieces at the mention of grandchildren. That meant children. That meant commitment, not just words. She struggled to swallow, but eventually succeeded and even managed a reply that she thought was more than appropriate.

“I’m thinking after this we should take it day by day,” Prue suggested, feeling somewhat better. “You know, the apocalypse and all. It kind of hinders any future plans, but I’m all for the here and now. I’m sure Milton can sew you up and we’ll be able to get you back in the saddle in no time.”

“That’s progress,” Owen said in a contemplative voice, causing her to pull away to see his face. What did that mean? Of course, he answered as if he’d read her mind. “You said
back in the saddle
and not
have nasty sex
. Just tell me you love me and get it over with. Like pulling a Band-Aid off quickly. You know you want to. I mean, who stabs a guy to save his life? The more I think about it, the more your actions speak louder than words. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear them, though.”