Page 32 of Kristoff

Outside, a truck shifts gears, slowing down to pull in beside the building. I take a deep breath as I drop the hammer. “Come on.” I point my chin at the door. “We have customers coming.”

No sooner has Harlan dropped his hammer than the door’s pushed open. A familiar face is at the entrance.

“Have you seen a woman in white come through town?”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Kristoff

My blood runs cold at his words. We’re so close to getting her out of here. I gather my wits because I can’t falter as I head to the front.

The guy looks familiar. I search my memory. He’s been in but not often enough for me to remember his name. Ah. He and Franco were the Faust men involved in the fight the day Dante showed up.

More importantly, the day Brianna showed up.

“Where is she?” he asks, focusing on me.

“Who?” I ask, set to deny her existence.

Tightening his jaw, he pulls back his shoulders and takes several aggressive steps into the room.

Heavy footfalls pound on the wooden walkway in front of the building. I have half a mind to run to the bar, but the plan is for me to keep anyone who comes in busy and for Harlan to stay near a weapon.

Franco comes running in behind his partner. Not the first guy he’s come in with. Faust doesn’t keep them together for long. It would be too easy to form a bond. To plan. Then to turn against him.

Faust may be a paranoid fuck, but he’s not wrong.

Franco stops at the doorway, gripping the frame. So far, neither one of them has pulled their sidearm.

“Ron, you’re being unreasonable,” Franco insists. “Settle down, man.”

Rondell. He’s fairly new to the route, or they haven’t stopped here as much.

“Shut up, Franco,” he snarls, glancing around the room. “I know she’s here.”

How did he find out about Brianna?

“I saw the woman in white. She was outside when we were here the other night,” Ron declares.

Damn.That explains it. Then I’m struck with a sobering thought. Is this how she arrived? She mentioned sneaking onto the back of a truck. And the timing is right.

“Ron,” Harlan cuts in, heading behind the bar. “We already had people come by looking for her.”

Not the answer he was looking for. Rondell lengthens his stride and cuts left, toward the kitchen, his nostrils flaring and the veins at his temple pulsing.

I’m getting damn tired of these fucking Faust people running through here like they own the place. “Gerald already searched the village,” I add, preparing to try and redirect him.

He pushes the door open. Something clatters, and Celia’s gasp reaches us all the way out here.

“Where the hell is the girl?” he demands.

“Wh-who?” Celia asks.

I rush to the door, holding my palm up to keep Harlan from barreling past or pulling the shotgun. We have to leave it as a last resort, or we risk bringing Faust’s men down on us.

Rondell’s leaning over the table. Celia’s flattened against the counter. She’s trying to put as much room between them as possible.

“Celia,” I call out, waving her over. “Come out here.” She throws him a wary look, giving a fake start in the opposite direction before heading toward the door. He reaches out, but Celia ducks, shifting her shoulders at an angle to dart past. She doesn’t stop until she’s safely behind Harlan.

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