Page 133 of The Grief We Hold

Perhaps the keys have been left inside.

I debate running to it, wondering if I could fit it into the stable if I just charged at them, knocking them all over.

But I think the stable might be too narrow.

I could steal the keys and run into the barn they’ve already searched to hide in the loft. It might cause enough of a distraction and kill time until Butcher gets here.

More shots fire from inside the stable.

“Fuck you,” I hear Wraith shout. “You don’t want the girl. You want her fucking husband.”

“We have our orders, as do you.” The voice is almost robotic in nature, like it is reading from a script it hasn’t seen before.

The only thought that registers is that I still hold the gun and knife in my hand, so I peer around the doorway and see one of the men dead on the floor, another up against the stable wall, breathing heavily, with a hand pressed hard against his chest.

The two other men have split and are approaching the office from either side of the stable, weapons raised.

So, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and try to steady myself.

I’ve been helpless, but I refuse to be helpless anymore.

I step far enough into the doorway such that I can raise my weapon and fire. The first shot flies past the man’s head, causing him to duck. I didn’t expect the kick back from the pistol. With another breath, I manage to get off another shot and see his body jolt before I step back out of the doorway.

“Fuck,” I hear him scream.

“Igor,” another man yells. Then footsteps.

“She’s outside,” someone shouts.

“Blue! Run!” Wraith’s throaty yell echoes through the stables, and I hear rapid gunfire exchange.

Footsteps become louder and louder, and I know they are headed for me. I run for the truck, praying to God that they won’t shoot up their own vehicle.

But the sound of bullets hitting the body of the truck proves I’m not that lucky.

I crawl by the tire, hoping it will offer some protection.

Despair weighs heavily. I’m not capable of defending myself against the men.

I’m not even certain I’ve saved Wraith.

I want to make it home to Fen so badly, I can taste it.

And then I hear it. The faint roar of motorcycles.

No police siren could have sounded any better or given me more hope.

I only have to stay alive for a few more minutes.

“Where is Marco?” the Russian shouts.

“Headed back to his house. There’s cash in the safe he wants. You don’t need me.”

The man laughs. “We still need you. Let’s say ‘collateral.’”

I try to peer around the back of the truck to see where he is, too late to notice that he’s only three feet away, with a gun trained on me.

I scramble, pushing my heels into the dirt to get away from him, but he simply laughs again. I raise the gun, but he lunges forward and kicks it from my hand.

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