“Gina?”
Her sigh is long. “Indie, fuck, it feels good to hear your voice.”
My throat constricts. “It’s good to hear yours.”
I can tell my best friend is crying over the other end of the line. “I-I thought, we thought—”
“I know.”
She huffs a laugh. “I can’t lose you. I’ve kinda gotten attached to you over the years, y’know.”
It’s my turn to laugh as I feel the emotion clog my throat. “It takes a lot to get rid of me, clearly.”
I can feel her smile even from all this distance. Regina is what a sister should be like. The kind that holds you on your bad days, who makes you smile even when you don’t want to. We might not be connected through blood, but whatever it is, it’s a hell of a lot thicker.
“Is Dawson okay?” I ask, eyeing round the SUV as Saint moves and speaks quietly to Holly.
“He took the Harriston home, cleared the guards and got out. The manor was packed to shit with them. We’ve lost some people.” She drags in air. “Most got out, though. Dawson and Rex and are making their way to you. But you need—”
Silence.
“Gina?!”
Static crackles, and my finger presses against the earpiece over and over, but it does nothing.
Saint grips my arm, tugging me behind his back, and Greg hands me an assault rifle, throwing the strap over my head. “You know how to shoot one of these?” he asks.
I want to roll my eyes, but it’s Holly that answers. “Trust me, she knows how to handle one.”
My head bobs in conjunction with her answer, hands gripping it tightly.
“Stay behind me,” Saint says, crouching whilst Greg and Holly move ahead.
Fuck, I’ve never been in a situation like this before.
I know the guys have tactical experience, but the only time I’ve been with them is that one training exercise Saint put me through.
These aren’t rubber bullets.
These aren’t fake enemies.
And the need to impress is gone.
These fuckers really do want to come for us.
We slowly move through the forest; it’s not as dense being near the coast. We’re like sitting ducks out here. Every so often Greg or Holly throw a hand in the air that I assume means get down, seeing as Saint grips me to kneel on the ground.
Greg has his gaze fixated down the scope, and his hand reaches out, manoeuvring it and telling us silently to get lower. My stomach lies against the cold snow-littered ground, the chill seeping through again as I begin to shake.
Saint leans on his side, his gun in one hand facing ahead, his other tugging up the zip of his jacket I have on. “It’s okay, darling. They’re just being cautious,” he whispers, and when I look at him, there isn’t an ounce of fear in his eyes.
It makes me wonder how many times he’s done this. He did security for the underworld; were there times he had to run away from flying bullets, gangs of people chasing them with a fury hell would be jealous of?
Mind you, these people need to be scared of him after what I just witnessed.
“When you left to train, did this ever happen?” I ask quietly, speaking to keep my mind off what’s going on up ahead.
That smirk I adore cocks up the corner of his mouth. It makes it hard on my lungs. “More times that I can count.” He shuffles closer when Greg and Holly crawl forward. “You couldn’t be in better hands.” He finishes off with a wink.
