Page 53 of A Very Happy Thanksgiving
“Who are you?”
“What the hell? Is that a gun?”
“Are you here to rob us?”
Even out of sight and in the middle of chaos, Emmy’s eye-roll came through loud and clear. “You stupid fucks are about to be in a world of trouble, and I’m not talking from us.”
“What on God’s green earth do you think you’re doing?” That sounded like Frank, the lone Brit. The other voices were American.
“You didn’t cover your tracks well enough, and now there’s an army at the gates wanting to finish what you started. Where are your guns?”
“We don’t have?—”
“You lie, you die. Where are the fucking guns?”
“I-i-in the back bedroom,” an American told her.
“Tell me you have live ammo?”
“I d-d-don’t know.”
“Heath, how are things looking down there?”
“Working on Serena’s chain now.”
Of course he’d gone to Serena first. She was his sister. I hated him for that, but I also couldn’t blame him because I’d have gone to Marc.
Hurry.
This feeling of helplessness was new, and I hated that too.
Fortunately, it didn’t last for long.
Less than a minute.
I’d known the first shots were coming, and I didn’t flinch. No, I glimpsed movement through the trees ahead of me, raised my gun, aimed, fired. The hostile slumped to the leafy ground.
“One down.”
Terrorists were like ants—kill one, and ten others appeared to take their place. Another volley of gunfire came in response, and below in the clearing, Heath pulled a stumbling Serena into the trees as bullets kicked up the dirt at their feet. Marc dove into the shed, still chained, now trapped, yelling at KD to stay down. She was already inside.
“Cover me,” I ordered because despite a decade of avoidance, I couldn’t leave Marc to die alone.
Or with Kamryn fucking Delacort.
I burst from the trees, emerging straight into hell as hostiles shot at me from at least three positions. Jez and Emmy returned fire from the house, forcing the shooters to pause long enough for me to reach the shed. To reach the only man I’d ever loved. I tumbled in headfirst, hedgehog-style, unrolling into a crouch at Marc’s feet. Between my fetching camo paint, the stress of the situation, and the time that had passed since we last saw each other, he didn’t seem to recognise me. Okay, this was good.
KD’s fingers were bloody from clawing at the bent-over nails that held the chain in place.
“It won’t come loose,” she said, panic in her voice. “It won’t come loose!”
“Move to that pillar, both of you. Crouch, look away, and cover your heads with your arms.”
Of course, Marc had to argue.
“What? Why?”
“Do you want to lose an eye? Just do it, okay?”
