Page 131 of Shattered Veil

I couldn’t answer him, for there was more. So much more to be heard as I considered searching through the second room for something to aid in freeing him. The noises buzzed in my brain—general clatter of rushing feet, deep-voiced words, and something I could only describe as angered fighting—but then, it all stopped.

Loud enough to rattle an eardrum from afar, a gunshot rang out, and there was no time for us to freeze and listen to the reaction of whoever was downstairs. No time for me to do the impossible and free him from his handcuffs without severing either his wrists or the chains that bound them. No time to think.

“FUCK!”

I couldn’t tell who had screamed it, for their voice was disguised by a pained grit that could only have been caused by someone being horribly wounded, and I knew.

I knew that my options were fight, flight, or freeze…and because there was no realistic way to escape with James without cutting the chain that bound him, cowering in a corner was useless, fleeing without him or anyone else was fucking unacceptable, and everyone downstairs sounded to be in the midst of mayhem with an armed man, my plans had drastically changed.

And despite the fact that it could very well have been a death sentence, I couldn’t stay here. I couldn't sit aside and listen to the others, let alone Liam, in the face of danger without at least trying to come to their aid.

Without meeting James’ eyes, I leaned toward his right side rather than his left to avoid his wounds and launched myself at him, kissing him with all I had in me. It only lasted a split second, and the moment that I separated from him, I leaped to my feet.

“Cassie, what are you—” James halted his words the moment that I allowed myself to look at him, and he seemed to instantly understand my intent. “No,” he muttered, and as I spun on my heel, I heard him yell, “No, NO—PLEASE!”

Chains clinked as James forcefully yanked against his constraints, continuing to scream pleas for me not to run toward the living hell below us. His anguished begging instantly blurred my vision with tears as I reached the top of the stairs, and I quickly swiped them away. I bit the insides of my cheeks, willing the pain and the sounds from below rather than behind to fill my mind.

Stooping low into a crouch as I moved down the stairs, I listened intently. In the dining area on my left, the pained shrieking had turned to vicious grunts with every breath the individual was taking. Steps scurried from the kitchen. Everyone else appeared to continue around the layout to my right, and I made my move by sprinting to the dining space.

I had only just now realized that the tile on the floor was white, much like everything else—I wouldn’t have noticed that at all if it weren’t smattered with red. Trying not to hesitate but failing miserably, I noticed the splatters and smears along with the wreck of the dining furniture. Chairs looked to have been thrown. The table itself was askew and thrown on its side. A short hutch had been knocked over; two lamps that must have previously sat upon it were toppled to the ground but not broken. What was most notable, though, was just past the wreckage.

The blood had pooled on the tile to the point that it was akin to dark ink, and Colton sat within it with his back against the wall on the threshold to the kitchen. His left leg was stretched before him, black jeans darkened even further from the hole made near his knee, and his hands gripped either side of it as if he were attempting to hold his limb together.

Skin paled to the point that it was grey and clammy, Colton caught my eye, shook his head rapidly, and moved his lips, baring his teeth to silently shush me as he gestured with a nod to his right.

I moved as quietly as I could along the tile, edging past the hutch that was face down on Colton’s left, and without stopping to question it, I grabbed one of the lamps. Holding it by the neck just under the bulb, I felt that the heaviness of it came from the gold stand on its wide base—not the white ceramic that I gripped. Twisting the power cord around it several times so the wire wouldn’t hang loose, I held it in place just below my fingers and continued on.

Past where Colton huffed and puffed, I peered into the kitchen to find it empty. All had gone silent, and as I reached the living area, I thoroughly understood why.

Tall, dark-haired, dressed in policeman’s blues, and facing away from me, he stood just before the couch with his gun pointed in my brother’s direction. Liam was near the window, hands up to show that he had no weapon, and he was frozen to the spot.

My heart slammed in my chest, stemming from my anger—my rage—rather than anxiety, and I secured both of my hands on the lamp as if it were a makeshift bat, squeezing so hard that my fingers went numb.

Luke attempted to back away, nearing the staircase with a single, careful step when Randy whipped the gun to him instead. Both he and Liam nearly jumped in place, and Luke held up his hands in a similar fashion to how Liam was. The only difference was that he was holding the red canister that Colton had previously grabbed in the kitchen.

“Ah-ah, you try to go upstairs, I shoot,” he told him, and I tread forward slowly. “You move, I shoot.” Shaking his head and hissing through his teeth as if something had burned his eyes, he bit out, “You fucking spray me with that shit like your friend did, I shoot.” Luke kept his focus on him and nodded, and Randy instructed, “Put it down, kick it to me.”

Luke did as he asked, setting the can on its side on the tile floor. He nudged it Randy’s way, and it was when he moved slightly to the left to stop its motion with his foot that Liam noticed me creeping up.

What little color was left in his face drained away, his arms trembled as he held them up, and the breath that he pulled through his mouth was audible from across the room. His petrified look toward me was a mere glance, but the shift of his eyes back to Randy was still too slow.

He looked to Liam, rapidly turned to see me stalking behind him, and I didn’t wait.

I just swung.

Lining myself up as if I were a first-string batter on a baseball team, the lamp cracked across his face, the recoil from the blow shook down my arms and into my chest, and though both Luke and Liam began to lurch forward, Randy went down. Following the momentum of the lamp, his body twisted, his expression went entirely slack, and he collapsed to the ground so quickly that his knees didn’t even bend. He fell to his side, landing so close to Luke that he had to jump out of his way, and while he and Liam stopped mid-motion, I was winding up for another swing.

“Shit,” Liam cursed, running to stand before me. “Stop—” He placed his hands over mine to cease my actions, assuring me, “You got him, just stop!” He ripped the lamp from my grasp, I snarled in response, and he stated, “We can’t leave a string of bodies wherever we go, Cas, fuck!” Liam blew out a loud exhale. “He’s—” Looking to Randy, he waited for him to move, and Luke spoke for him:

“Breathing—he’s breathing.”

“LUKE?!” James shrieked.

Luke took off, shouting, “Where are you?!” as he was halfway up the stairs, and almost immediately followed it up with a stammered, “Oh—oh my God, Jay!”

He yelled down to us regarding handcuff keys at the same instant that Colton called to us from the other side of the house:

“He down?”

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