Nine.
I chortled. They should’ve sent more.
A scream of pain cut through the still night. If I had to guess, I’d say one of them stepped on a bear trap.
“Gia,” I called out, low and steady, grabbing my shotgun by the door.
She came out of her room, pulling her hair into a messy ponytail. She was wearing leggings and one of my sweaters that hung off her shoulder.
She froze when she saw my face.
“What is it?” Her voice was tight. “Did they find us?”
“Yes.” I took the pistol from the hall closet and held it out to her. “We have less than a minute until they get here.”
She didn’t even reach for it at first — just stared at it, eyes widening.
“I don’t… Enzo, you know I don’t really know how—”
“You’re not going to shoot anyone,” I stated gently, trying to reassure her. “It’s just in case I go down.” She started to shake her head before I finished talking, her eyes becoming glossy. “Stay behind me and if I tell you to run, you run. Got it?”
Her breathing went uneven, her throat bobbing as she swallowed hard. “I won’t leave you.” She gripped the pistol in both hands — awkward, tense, her fingers too high on the slide. I fixed her grip quickly, guiding her hands with mine.
“Keep your finger off the trigger unless you have to,” I instructed, pulling her towards the basement.
The cabin creaked — a board on the porch. Then another. A shout sounded and a small commotion broke out.
I smirked. One of them must have hit the trip wire.
I killed the lights and guided her down the basement steps.
Upstairs, the front door slammed open, banging off the wall so hard it shook dust loose from the rafters.Multiple sets of boots thudded across the hardwood floor.
Gia gripped my forearm with her free hand. I moved her behind the water heater, out of sight and the path of gunfire.
The basement door rattled on its hinges. One hard hit away from giving.
I raised the shotgun, aiming it at the door. My eyes had already adjusted to the darkness and I was glad I had that advantage.
The next hit splintered the frame and then the door burst open.
Two men flooded down the stairs.
I fired once — the blast filled the basement with smoke. One man crumpled onto the steps like a dropped sack.
The other ducked, firing wild, bullets splintering the shelving to my right as he crept down the stairs. Gia gasped and ducked down, trembling.
“Stay down,” I told her, low but firm.
The gunman charged. He was big, but reckless, almost desperate it seemed.
Good. Desperate men made mistakes.
I sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, and slammed it into the railing until his fingers opened. The gun dropped. I hooked his leg, drove my knee into his ribs, and sent him crashing back into the staircase. His skull hit concrete.
He didn’t move again.
Gia peeked out. Her breathing was fast and thin.
