Page 65 of All Saints Day
I can tell from the resonance down the mating bond that even though he might protest, he knows we have no other choice.
I roll from beneath the table and come to kneeling; gun held in a teacup grip as I squeeze off one, then two shots down the hall, dropping two men from their places leaning into the entryway from the main hall. Once they’ve dropped, I take my opportunity to run in a low crouch for the pantry and the small brass ring handle on the trapdoor in the wooden floor.
I fling the panel open and descend the ladder to the bunker below.
When I drop down into the cool, dank bunker, Frank sits at the edge of his military cot—still bound at the wrists and ankles—his eyes directed toward the ceiling.
“What the hell is going on up there?” he barks, straining against his bonds.
“It's the Windmill. They found us. You need to help us get Louise out of here,” I blurt.
Frank lets out a low growl.
“I can't help like this,” he snarls, brandishing his chains.
In a few steps, I'm across the room and unlocking his handcuffs and the shackles around his ankles.
Bewildered, he looks at me—not quite trusting himself to make the next move.
“You said you didn't want to be a tool for the Windmill any longer—that all you wanted was revenge, for Michael, for yourself and to be with your fated mates,” I challenge, leveling my gaze at him.
Frank gives a single staccato nod.
“Then prove it. I've still got your guns and rifle. We need you to make an opening for us and Louise. We need cover.”
Frank shakes his head in disbelief.
“There's no way we can make it out of here,” he breathes.
“Not without your help, we won't,” I argue as Frank buries his face in his hands.
“Listen, Frank, it's this simple—we need to get out of here. Ifwe don't, Louise goes back to the Windmill without a hope of rescue. You know what that means?”
Frank cups his hands over his ears and lets out a loud yelp.
“If you can keep them off us, we get her out of here, we get her to safety. I know that leaves you high and dry, holding the bag when the bad guys come calling—but right now, your sacrifice is one I'm willing to make.”
Frank puffs out his chest, his chin jutting forward. I can tell he is doing his best not to show how much I've hurt him in the face of my calling him expendable when it comes to Louise's safety, but he doesn't argue. He just gives a solemn nod before asking.
“Where are my guns?”
Frank and I make our way back up the ladder into the pantry where I've squirreled away our extra weapons.
Once outfitted, the pair of us make our way toward the kitchen—Frank and I dropping every Windmill thug in sight.
When we reach the others, Seb and Dennis are just barely managing to hold it down—Louise and Caz, unarmed, are doing their best to stay out of the line of fire.
Though none of us likes the feeling, we allow Frank to get set up at the window with his deadly sniper rifle so he can pick off Windmill henchmen as they make their way toward the cabin.
Dennis and Seb turn their attention to clearing the cabin of intruders.
After a few minutes, Seb and Dennis return—the cabin interior having been cleared—while Frank continues a valiant job of keeping anyone from breaching.
Our momentary sanctuary.
“Now what?” Dennis barks.
“We make a break for the treeline while Frank covers us. If he can reconvene with us, great. If not? We keep moving,” I bite out coldly.
