Page 3 of The Hermit

“Stay down,” I hiss, my eyes locked on the armed men moving between the groups of terrified women who quickly lower themselves to the ground.

Before I can think to join my sister in the shrubs, one of the assailants points a machine gun at me.

Dear God.

My muscles freeze, and I can’t make myself move while my eyes lock with his hostile ones.

Dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, he walks toward me. Tilting his head, he growls, “Are you too good to lie down on the grass?”

No.

Rapid breaths burst over my lips.

I can’t move.

A weird sensation of prickles spreads over my skin while my vision narrows until all I see is the threat in front of me.

“What do you want?” I hear Mrs. McCool demand, and a second later, the sound of a gunshot makes my entire body jerk.

Some of the women scream, and others sob, but I can’t make a single sound.

“I want everyone to shut up and stay down,” a man orders.

My heart instantly pounds violently against my ribs, and breathing becomes near impossible.

“That’s one of Devlin’s daughters. Bring her,” the one who seems to be in charge demands loudly.

The assailant in front of me steps forward and grabs me by the arm. As I’m dragged toward the rest of the men, I’m too stunned to react.

“Where’s your sister?” the leader barks at me.

My lips part slightly, feeling dry as hell.

The one in charge steps closer and points the barrel of his gun right at my forehead. My eyes flick to the side, and seeing Mrs. McCool’s blood seeping into the manicured lawn, my body chills as the bitter reality of what’s happening fully sinks in.

I hear Kathleen crying, and someone whimpers.

My gaze turns back to the man in front of me and we lock eyes. There are gray strands in his black eyebrows. His black hair’s on the longer side, and lines form grooves on his face, telling me he’s easily over sixty.

He must’ve killed a lot of people in his lifetime.

He won’t hesitate to shoot me.

Somehow, by the grace of God, I find my voice, and when the words leave my lips, I’m surprised by how calm I sound.“My sister’s at home.”

He shakes his head, his eyes narrowing on me. “My informant told me you’re both at this party.”

My tongue darts out to wet my dry lips before I reply, “Your informant’s wrong. My sister is at home with a cold.”

His eyes leave me to glance at the other women, and I pray to all that’s holy, Ciara’s still between the shrubs. It takes all my willpower not to look over my shoulder to where I concealed her.

Stay down. Please.

“You’ll just have to fucking do.” Suddenly, the leader takes hold of my arm and orders loudly, “Move out!”

I’m tugged forward, and with every step I take toward the side of the house, the blood in my veins chills, and my muscles grow tenser.

When the front yard comes into view and I see one guard’s body after the other, my feet lock in position and refuse to take another step.

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