Page 89 of Shadow Dance

Jaime shakes his head.

“Gotta find him. And I have to … did you see Mac?” Angry tears streak his face. “They killed Mac.” He wipes them and leaves as abruptly as he arrived, running silently down the hall.

A second later Jaime nods at me, and I follow him down the hall. A man I don’t recognize is slumped on the floor near the kitchen, a dark stain spreading beneath his body. Terror washes over me. Before tonight, I’d never seen a dead body and now I’ve seen two.

Just as Jaime begins to open the door, it’s hit with a bullet. The wood cracks and splints off. I scream as Jaime shoves me behind him, horrified to see that Callum is who shot the door.

“What're you doing, man?” Jaime yells, keeping me sandwiched between himself and the wall.

“I just fucking said you can’t take her out there!” he cries, his face red. Griff’s leaning heavily on him, blood dripping from his fingertips to the wood floor. “There could be more of ‘em out there!” He gestures to the dead guy on the floor, and my stomach heaves.

He’s right. We don’t know if there are more outside. But the thought of hiding and waiting for Jaime, Callum, and then me to get picked off is more than I can bear. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to just run.

But Callum leans Griff against the wall and walks over, brushing Jaime aside so he can cup my face with his free hand. “I don’t have time for this, Maeve. Either get back in that room or I’ll take you there myself.” His face is smudged with blood and dripping with sweat, and all I feel is the gun in his other hand, brushing against my thigh. “Jaime, you’re with me.”

“No,” Jaime says softly.

Callum blinks, slowly turning his head. “What?”

“She’ll be a sitting duck here, Cal. Let me take her with me,” Jaime says. “It’s not safe up here.”

“Take her with you?”repeats Callum. His fingers tighten on mycheeks, his nails digging into my skin as his eyes burn into mine. “You fucking her or something?”

My heart, already racing, begins to beat so hard and so fast that my whole body throbs. Does he actually suspect the truth or is he just being paranoid and jealous? If we’d been sloppy, or if he’d had us tailed or something, we’d know by now, right?

“Callum, stop,” I plead, grabbing at his hands. But the idea’s in his head now, and I can see the gears turning. He’s thinking about the times he’s been gone, the hours I’ve spent in Jaime’s company. We could be as innocent as children, but it means nothing because he’s high as fuck and ready to fight anything he perceives as an enemy. Even Jaime, even me.

The fact is I want to leave with someone else, someone who can give me what Callum can’t—protection. It doesn’t matter thathewas the one who hired Jaime.

But then he lets go of me. Trembling, I rub my cheeks. Griff slides down the wall to sit on the ground, and I wonder how badly off he actually is, what other injuries I can’t see.

Jaime shifts beside me, maybe anticipating Callum’s move, but Callum just pulls me away from the door and opens it. “Get out,” he says to Jaime.

“Cal—”

He presses the barrel of his gun to Jaime’s forehead. “Now.”

Jaime’s eyes meet mine as he steps out. The second he clears the threshold,Callum kicks the door shut and rounds on me, so close I feel his breath. “I told you, didn’t I? I said you’d regret it if you tried to leave.”

“I wasn’t?—”

“You were gonna leave with that fool?” he asks, scarily calm. Seems he’s forgotten all about the threat outside.

I shake my head, but he backhands me across the face. It’s worse than the hit on Thanksgiving, and I stumble against the wall, crying out.

“Are you fucking him, Maeve?” He slaps my cheek so hard that my head flies to the side.

“No,” I sob, scared enough that the pain barely registers.He’s going to kill me.I make eye contact with Griff over Callum’s shoulder, but he just stares back listlessly. I’ve known him since I was fifteen, and he’s going tosit there and watch his cousin beat me? Another sob rips through me.

As Callum grabs my arm and starts pulling me toward the hallway, the window beside the front door shatters with a shot. It hits Griff, who crumples into the corner. The world explodes in sound: the sharp, repetitive crack of bullets being fired and the shriek as they pass in close range. The crunch of glass underfoot as Jaime charges through the broken window like an angry god, the responding grunt of Callum’s rage as he fires his rounds.

In the movies, people often seem to miss at close range. It always felt so fake, a way to draw out the action sequence. Here though, in real life, it’s happening in front of my eyes. Bullets ricochet off of the ceiling and walls, pictures fall and shatter. I’m waiting for Jaime or Callum or both to hit the ground, but then Jaime shouts, loudly, and I realize hehasbeen shot—in the upper part of his chest, if the way he’s holding himself is any indication.

I finally scramble to my feet as Callum goes to shoot him again. He’s a lot taller than me, and much bigger, but I manage to sort of tackle him from behind, causing him to pitch forward. I have nothing on my side but momentum and the element of surprise, but it works. His arm flies up and the bullet hits the ceiling.

Enraged, he spins around and boxes me in the face so viciously I feel something crack.

Blackness swings in front of my eyes as I fall to my knees, the sharp explosion of pain radiating through my head and face in aching, burning waves. It hurts so bad that for a moment, I can’t breathe.

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