Bullets ripped through the front windows.
Glass shattered everywhere.
Pain sliced through his arm.
Tayla gasped and slumped forward and he knew she had been hit too.
Dean snatched her up, grunting through the pain, and ran through the house into the kitchen.
He sank down against the wall, then landed hard on his knees. Laying Tayla down he shuffled, still on his knees, to grab the dishcloth, before moving as quickly as he could back to Tayla.
She lay still. Eyes close, face pale, blood flowing from a wound just below her left shoulder.
Dean pressed the towel firmly against the bullet wound, then pressed his hand to his own wound.
Blood seeped between the fingers of both his hands.
He and Tayla were both hurt badly.
The world started to go a little gray around the edges.
Where was his gun?
Bullets had stopped pelting the house which meant that the shooter could be coming after them but for the life of him he couldn’t remember where he had put his weapon when he and Tayla walked inside.
Pain crescendoed inside him. Tayla was so quiet, so still, he wanted to help her but the gray in his vision was turning to black and he had a free-falling kind of feeling that said he was about to pass out.
He heard footsteps.
Someone was coming.
Dean tried to get to his feet but his movements were suddenly clumsy and uncoordinated.
Flinging his body protectively over Tayla’s, more than anything he didn’t want anything to happen to her. Not now. Not when he had a chance to get her back in his life.
The person was getting closer but he was powerless to do anything to protect the only woman he had ever loved.
A shadow falling over him was the last thing he remembered before he fell off the cliff and tumbled into unconsciousness.