Page 101 of Barbed Wire Hearts

“No,” he answers, before pressing a button. A door opens up in the wall, revealing a shit load of guns and ammo. More doors open, all carefully masked behind normal wall ornaments. Horrified, I glance over at Levi as he starts grabbing guns from the wall.

“How many guns do you need?” I gasp.

“Clearly this many,” Dakota says, grabbing his own weapons. He finds a revolver, one smaller than the one he carries, and hooks a holster to my jeans before sliding it inside. “Remember what you learned?” he asks. When I nod, he says, “Good girl. Don’t hesitate to shoot. They won’t hesitate to take you.”

I nod again, my heart thundering in my ears. We’re preparing for a fucking war apparently. I get handed a few more weapons, a box of bullets for the revolver, and some knives Dakota tells me to slide into my boot. I do as he says, letting him load me up, knowing he has at least four times as many weapons on him as he does me. Levi has even more. Wiley looks like he’s prepared for World War Three.

“Did you call John?” Dakota asks Levi as he closes up one of the doors after handing out guns to the others.

“I did,” Levi answers as he loads bullets into a handgun. “Told him we’re under attack. He swore and said he’d see what he could do.”

“Then we’re on our own,” Dakota grunts. “At least for now. Our job is to hold them off, to stall them until we can get some help.”

The cars in the camera view make their way around the cattle guard trap, but not before another one manages to hit the corner and fall down into the pit. When they try and get out, something makes them drop.

“Automatic deer feeder rigged with BBs,” Wiley says, answering my unspoken question. “Modified it myself. That thing’ll put holes in you.”

Four cars still make their way up the driveway, still headed our way.

“Fuck! The horses!” Wiley says suddenly, tucking a gun into his waistband. “I’m gonna go close the barn doors to protect them. Hopefully no bullets spray in their direction.”

And then he disappears so quickly, none of us get a chance to argue.

Levi watches him go before his eyes flicker with something. “I’ve got an idea,” he says, clapping Dakota on the back. “You got this for a few minutes, man?”

Dakota nods. “Go. Hurry back.”

Levi nods and disappears, too, leaving just the two of us and the four others helping out. I touch my hand to their shoulder gratefully, knowing they’re here to protect me.

“No one risks their life for me,” I order. “If they get ahold of me, don’t get shot trying to save me.”

Jimmy frowns. “Shucks, Ms. Kate. We ain’t gonna let no city assholes take our city girl. You should know that by now.”

“If you die, I’ll never forgive you,” I threaten, worried for each of them.

“And if we couldn’t save you, we’d never live with ourselves. Ain’t a one of us not know what we’re getting’ into, Ms. Kate. We’ll be fine.”

I tug him in for a hug before doing the same to the others. “Remind me to buy y’all a bottle of whiskey after this is done.”

Jimmy grins. “Only if you say ‘yeehaw.’”

I laugh. Despite the situation they never hesitate to seize an opportunity. To this point, I haven’t said the words, not quite feeling as if they belong in my mouth. But it feels more appropriate these days. Still, I’m not ready to give them that satisfaction yet. “Maybe if we win this.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Jimmy says, grinning, before turning back to the window seriously. He throws it up and settles down looking over the windowsill, each of the others doing the same. Someone at some point had pushed metal plates against the walls. I hadn’t even realized what they were until now.

Plates to protect from bullets.

By the time the cars get to the end of the road and stop in the gravel driveway in front of us, there are only three cars. I don’t even know what happened to the other one.

“Tire strips,” Dakota mumbles, as if he can read my mind. “And another one of Wiley’s modified feeders.”

I blink in surprise. They’re apparently more resourceful than I’d expected. But that still leaves three cars full of goons plus those that manage to make their way up the driveway. I watch, my eyes riveted to the blacked-out suburbans. The back door of the middle one opens, and a man steps out.

My brows shoot up.

He’s wearing suit pants and a button-down shirt with suspenders, almost in a style like the old-time gangsters. All he’s missing is a hat. Tattoos cover his arms and are revealed by his button-down sleeves rolled up to his elbows. More tattoos peek above the neck of his shirt. He’s not very old, probably mid-thirties if I had to guess. He has an unlit cigar between his teeth as he gets out, as relaxed as I’ve ever seen a man, let along one with so many guns pointed at him.

“These games have been fun, Kate, but I’m growing tired of them,” he says into the air, his eyes searching through the windows, looking for me. He lights a match and holds it to the end of his cigar, lighting it. “Come willingly and we’ll spare your cowboys.”

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