Page 48 of Stolen Beauty

“What do you want?”

Sage is crouched on the ground where I shoved her behind a bush. I’m not carrying a gun. Weapons aren’t allowed on this trail. But these fuckers clearly don’t care.

My fingers dip into my pocket and wrap around a pocketknife. It’s not ideal, but I’ve got this knife and a couple of rocks within reach. On the ground two feet away lies a lengthy limb.

“All we want is her.”

There’s no fucking way.

I bend and whisper, “When I say now, you take off running. Through the woods to the right. Do not look back.”

“Why do you want her?”

“Back up and you don’t die.”

Hands held high in the international language of defeat, I say, “Now, let’s not do anything rash.” Sage peers up at me with scared brown eyes. “Now,” I repeat, this time in more of a shouty whisper.

Crouching to remain below the bush line, she heads to the area to the right of the trail.

I hang back, kneeling near the closest bush. I prep the stick and blindly feel for rocks to throw, keeping my attention trained on the men. I can easily take one, but not both.

“There’s no point in running. You’re not going to get away,” the man in black calls.

Fuck me for not carrying a gun. Sage is a good thirty feet into the woods. The distance between us is getting too great.

I take off for her, hoping like hell they can’t see into the shadows.

An engine revs as I catch up to Sage.

My body shields her. One hand on her elbow. Guiding her in case she slips.

Millie yelps. Her tail curls between her legs.

Dirt flies.

Mother fucker.

“They’re shooting at us. Just keep going forward.”

Go.

There’s a thick grouping of trees up ahead. Those bikes will have to leave us and go around.

Eyes trained on the cover.

Arms out for balance.

Cover Sage.

Her foot slips. Pebbles cascade down the decline.

I catch her elbow. Lift.

Another pop. A poof of dirt right by my leg.

Fuck.

I press her down below the hedge. Peer above.

---