Damian strides to the far wall, where a shelf is lined with framed pictures. Without hesitation, he presses a spot near the corner. A faint click sounds, and the bottom of the shelf shifts, lowering to reveal a hidden compartment.
Guns.
More than I can count.
Bridger steps forward and grabs two, like it’s no big deal. Like this isnormal.
The breath in my lungs turnsthin, unsteady. My chest locks up.
Damian grips the largest one, shoves something into the bottom of the gun with a loud slap, then looks at me. And that’s when it hits. This is real. My father is the bad guy here. The money is gone. And now I’m standing in the middle of a house full of armed men, waiting for a gang of people with probably even bigger guns to show up looking for me.
I feel detached from my own body, panic crawling up my throat.
Then I hear it. Tires rolling over gravel. A car.
Without thinking, I run toward Delilah, still sitting at the table, still in her own world. I crouch beside her, my voice barely a whisper. “Come, Delilah.” I don’t want her to get scared if Joel starts yelling. She’s so calm now, I want to keep her that way.
Before I can move her, a loud, sharp pop cracks through the air. It’s not thunder. It’s too close. Too fast. A violent snap that punches the air and leaves my bones humming. A window shatters, exploding glittering glass across the room.
I don’t think. I grab Delilah and pull her to the floor, covering her with my body.Were those gunshots? Is someone shooting at the house?
More cracks, three in a row. The sound rips through my skull, through my chest, ringing in the marrow in my bones.
Damian curses, his footsteps fast, urgent. Cody grips his mother, dragging her toward the basement door. She cries out and grabs at the table as paint tubs and dirty paint water crash to the floor. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” I try to say, but it comes out shaking and hoarse.
Bridger and Damian edge toward the windows, their movements precise, their hands steady on their weapons.
Oh my God. Oh my God.
I press my face against Delilah’s shoulder, holding her tight, trying to drown out the noise, trying to keep her safe, trying tokeep myself from falling apart.
“I got her,” Cody hisses, his grip firm as he pries Delilah from my arms. “She’ll be safe in the basement.”
I don’t want to let go.
Cody pulls her toward the door at the back of the kitchen, moving fast. He wrenches it open, guiding Delilah down the narrow staircase.
I move to follow, but before I can take a step, Cody turns and shoves me back. “Not you,” he says.
I shake my head, my pulse pounding in my ears. “What?”
Cody grips the doorknob, his face hard, set, unflinching. “Stay up here.” He steps inside, pulling Delilah fully into the basement. The door starts to close.
“No, please, wait?—”
The door slams shut. The lock clicks.
I stand there, frozen, the gunfirestill ripping through the house, glass breaking, footsteps pounding across the floor.
I can’t do this.
I can’t be here. I have to get out. A surge of panic slams into me, my body moving before I can stop it. I push off the wall, bolt for the back door, and run.
Scorching dry heat slaps me in the face. It dries my mouth, scratching down my throat. The backyard unfolds in front of me. Flat, sun-bleached dirt and dead grass. There’s nowhere to hide. No trees or shed. No shadows deep enough to disappear into.
Aheavy force slams into my back, knocking the air from my lungs. Pain explodes through my ribs as I hit the ground, my face pressing into the dry dirt, sharp rocks cutting into my skin. The brittle brush scrapes my arms, my legs, burning as it slices into me.
A grunt behind me. Rough hands clamp down. The stench of sweat and cologne fills my nose, thick and nauseating. I thrash, trying to push up, but a knee digs into my spine, pinning me. My arms are yanked back, the burn of gravel and ground tearing into my skin as I’m dragged across the ground. Pain sears through my body. I kick, twist, try to get a hand on something, anything, but my fingers slip through dust, my nails tearing against stone.
