Page 132 of The Grief We Hold

Raven places her palm on my cheek. “I love you, Axel.” The words are whispered, but the impact loud.

I stroke her hair. “I love you and Fen too. With all that I am.”

It’s alleged John Lennon once said, “Everything will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.” I’m not sure how thatapplies in a situation where the end might be death, but I cling to it like a life raft as I look into Raven’s eyes.

A creaking floorboard and booted footsteps at the far end of the stable get me on the balls of my feet as I stay low to peer in their direction. There are four men, which is a relief.

Four feels manageable. Two strong first shots with good aim and I double my chances of survival.

Quickly, I lift Raven to the window.

“I love you,” I say without making a sound. “Run.”

Bile rises in my throat as I watch her sprint across the field. A thousand thoughts cross my mind. I should have given her the keys to my bike. Should have entered Butcher’s number into her phone. I didn’t get around to updating my will.

But none of it matters. She likely can’t ride my bike. Butcher will be here any minute. And Smoke knows my wishes.

Now I just need to live.

42

RAVEN

The wind whips my hair as I run across the field.

Right until I hear the first two rounds of gunfire, when I lose all propulsion towards the building Wraith told me to run to.

I stand exposed in the middle of the field, tears stinging my eyes, as I try to convince myself that those two bullets weren’t meant for Wraith.

My heart is utterly torn. Run to the white building and survive for my boy. Or let a good man get killed when I know it’s me they’re after.

There’s a reason big decisions like this are played out in a long montage during movies. Because it’s impossible to decide quickly.

But the one thing I do know is that I need to decide now. Because standing in the middle of the paddock, fully exposed on all sides, is reckless.

I close my eyes, take a breath, and listen to my heart.

Turning on my heel, I sprint back toward the stables. There is no way I am tall enough to climb back through the window.And if the men have already shot Wraith—I suck in a harsh gasp at the thought—I’d be foolish to put myself in the same situation.

I press my back to the siding of the stable.

Use your brain, Raven.

Think.

A man’s agonized moan pierces the air, but from the intonation, I know it’s one of the Russians, not Wraith.

But there were two shots, so it doesn’t mean anything.

Although, if Wraith were dead, I feel like the men would have left to find me.

Three more shots fire, and I jump, ducking to cover my head as one breeches the stable wall.

When the sound settles, I creep to the end of the building. If the men are looking toward the office for Wraith, they won’t be looking over their shoulder for me.

The truck has been left with the giant lights on the roof still beaming brightly in the direction of the barn.

It takes me a second to acclimate my eyes to the brightness, but the more I look at the truck, the more I’m confident no one is in the driver’s seat.

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