Page 50 of Vows in Sin
Even though he came to us from the Navy, he’s our sniper, a god behind a scope. Ladies are disarmed by his charm, and this little girl is no different, kissing him on his cheek in thanks for the bear.
Budgie’s green jeep storms down the road, squealing onto the curb. He’s come straight from the club. Running to me, he grabs my arm with an iron grip, his voice sharp with urgency. “Reign—what the hell’s going on? Why the evacuation?”
“No time to explain.” I point toward the road. “Start loading the cars.”
He searches my face for more—then nods, sharp and final. “Understood.”
Budgie smiles—his usual way—while helping women into black sedans. He has a calmness that eases the tension. His quiet steadiness helps settle the crowd. A casserole-cooking Beauty asks, “What about you, Budgie?” to which he replies, “Singlemen will go last, but we’ll be right behind you, darlin’. Don’t you worry.”
Cars peel away one after another, headlights slicing the night like blades. I remain rooted, adrenaline surging through my blood, counting every person, every face, making sure no one’s left behind.
The younger brothers are sweeping through every floor of every home, or running security tech, ammo, and rifles to the underground bunker. One by one, they inspect buildings and confirm clearance.
Bachman Enterprises is the tall, metal, and glass building located toward the back of our Village. It’s where we keep our offices, our accountants, and the paperwork for our legitimate business. From where I stand, I can only see the side lot, the manicured grass, and the corner of the building.
A brief, heart-stopping thought takes my breath.
Could it be hit? We were weeks away from forming an evacuation plan for the contents of the offices. It’s dark, closed hours ago. Even the cleaning team has gone. There’s no one inside, but what about everything else? The links to our fortunes?
I can’t spare another thought for the building because the brothers are looking at me. They meet me on the street, forming a weary army of battered, dirty, but clear-eyed men. I’m proud of the care they’ve taken, the care and devotion they’ve shown our people tonight.
“Round up the last of the brothers. Start getting into cars.”
An explosion tears through the silence, shaking the ground like a vengeful god.
Windows burst outward, shattering glass like frozen rain. The bakery erupts in flames, flames leaping skyward, smoke curling like black snakes into the night sky. The blast reverberates in our ears, a deafening sound.
Screams rip through the night.
“Move!” I roar, lunging for a younger man standing frozen in shock. I shove him toward Budgie, who catches him without missing a beat, ushering him into a car with calm, practiced hands.
The poor kid is in shock, yet he’s apologizing to Budgie. “I shouldn’t have froze.” Budgie reassures the young man, closes the door and with two taps on the roof, sends the car away.
I watch the car as it goes. It’s rounding the corner on Bachman Ave as the second blast follows. Closer. Fiercer. Bricks rain down like mortar fire. The brownstone storefronts collapse, the clothing store crumbling like a child’s block town. And there it is.
Our home.
Our haven.
The exterior fortress is gone, revealing the secret we’ve kept hidden but now our beautiful townhomes are fully exposed.
No longer hidden. No longer safe.
“Reign!” A guard staggers forward, blood streaking down his youthful face. “My wife! Cary was grading papers late in the schoolhouse. She always goes offline when she’s working.”
Cary has hearing loss and wears hearing aids when she teaches and runs a sign language club in the afternoons. “I’ll find her and bring her to you!” I shout. “Get to the cars!”
I plunge into the choking smoke, lungs burning, eyes on fire as I push past the gates. The smoke hasn’t reached the square yet. I run through it to the white one-room schoolhouse. She hates wearing her aids. Now, working, she’s bathed in peace, no idea of the world collapsing around her.
I startle her, pointing to her hearing aids on the desk. She quickly puts them in, and I fill her in as quickly as possible. She calls her husband’s name, taking off for the gates. I run with her, covering her body with mine as we make our way through the smoke and rubble.
“I’ve got you,” I say. She tries to argue, to tell me to save myself, but I don’t listen. The flames crackle, licking at us as we make our way through the smoke and debris, to the hands of her waiting husband.
He holds her in a way that makes a lump hit my throat, despite the chaos. “Cary!”
Another blast detonates. The most explosive yet.
The brownstones erupt in a roaring crescendo. Flames claw the night sky. Glass shatters. Stone crumbles. The ground jolts beneath me. I stumble, catching myself on a streetlamp as debris rains down. My ears ring.
