Ben and I agreed that he would make the call, and I’m going to hold true to that even if it feels like it’s tearing me apart.
“Shit,” Ben breathes, as tense now as I am.
I wait another minute in stiff silence. I’m watching when Wilson—a cheerful scrappy young man—steps out from the protection of the trees to get a better angle on the guards.
He’s shot almost immediately, falling down into an awkward, limp sprawl.
I gasp and clench my hands.
“Let’s go,” Ben mutters, checking his automatic rifle and leaning over so he can shoot out of the window of the motor.
I shift the vehicle into drive and hit the accelerator,coming down the hill straight and fast. When we get close enough, Ben starts firing, and I reach one hand out the window so I can shoot my pistol while keeping the other hand on the wheel.
Our unexpected approach takes the surviving guards by surprise. Some of them begin shooting at us. When we’re close enough, I shift into park, and I move to hang out the window like Ben is so I can shoot more accurately.
I’ve got a clear line on one of the guards—the one I’ve identified as the best shot—and am about to pull the trigger when my body is abruptly yanked backward.
It’s Ben. He’s stopped shooting to pull me back into the motor.
Where it’s safe.
I gasp in outrage—more than that, really. It feels like a betrayal.
The fight isn’t over yet, so I swallow over my reaction. He’s still got his hand on my shoulder and is shooting one-handed out the window, so I tear out of his grip and move back into position.
The windshield is blown out just then, and Ben grabs my head and pushes me downward.
I know he’s trying to protect me. I know it.
But he also knows this kind of forced, restrictive protection is the last thing in the world I want.
Heknows.
He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s physically stronger than me, so he can hold my body down.
It hurts so much—down deep in the vulnerable core of me—that I’m almost in tears. I can’t fight Ben right now in the front of a motor when we and all my other people are in a gunfight.
So I stay in place, bending forward the way Ben put me, and hug myself to try to stop shaking until the gunshots finally slow and then stop.
I don’t move from my position, even when I hear Roderick calling out to round up the guards’ weapons.
“Okay,” Ben says in a strained voice. “It’s done.”
When I still don’t sit up, he gently straightens me up with a hand on my shoulder.
I stare at him through blurry eyes, his big, broad, handsome face looking like that of a stranger.
I should be devastated, but I’m not.
I’m… numb.
Ben obviously sees it. He makes a concerned sound and jumps out of the motor, running around to my side to help me out.
I let him help me because I can’t do anything else.
He tries to cup my cheek with one hand, and I yank myself away from him violently.
His face twists. “I’m sorry, baby.”
