Logan listened carefully to the footsteps. They were smooth and quiet indicators of where the men were. What the mirror didn’t tell him, the footsteps did. They were close, having switched from one pillar to the next, squeezing him into the corner.
There was one thing that went his way. Peters found his gaze in the mirror. They made an agreement without exchanging words. Logan spread out five fingers, signaling when they should make their move. Peters nodded, sweat streaming from his temples. Logan felt sweat, too, but he didn’t dare look. Shifting his focus could cost them their lives.
Still, he continued to count. In full view of the mirror, he closed a finger to his fist. Then another. He got to two, and Logan realized they were about to die. He counted down to one, and he took one final, steadying breath before he went down swinging.
Finally, he closed his fist. Peters went out first, with Logan a fraction behind. He only barely made a move before the gunshot rang out. In the shock of it all, Logan thought the bullet had hit him, a cold sensation twisting in his stomach. But as his brain caught up to his eyes and he heard laughter, he realized what had really happened.
Peters had taken the bullet. It had struck his head, making him whirl backward. His gun clattered to the floor as life fleeted in a heartbeat. Logan was dazed, staring at his dead friend with no hope left and all the anger and torment raging through his body like a storm. Nearby, Max laughed at his perfect kill shot while Logan made himself one last promise.
If he was going to die, Max was going down with him.