Page 93 of Accidental Alliance

I cup his face with both hands. “Listen to me. We’re going to run to those trees. Do you see them?”

He nods shakily, his eyes darting away from mine for a brief moment and over to the trees.

“If you hear shouting, just keep running. If you hear anything, keep running. Do not stop until you get to the road.”

His eyes widen. “What if you fall?”

I press my forehead to his. “Then you keep running.”

“No,” he chokes out.

“Matteo.”

“No.” His whisper is fierce now, terrified and furious all at once. “I’m not leaving you.”

I do not have time for this. I do not have time for the wild, aching pride that rises in me. “You will do what I tell you.”

His face crumples.

“I will be right behind you,” I say, hating myself for needing to prepare him for the possibility that I might not make it out of this with him. “But if something happens, you need to run until you hit the road. Flag someone down. They will help you. You do not come back for me.”

His little hands grip my wrists. “Mom.”

I kiss his forehead hard. “Run.”

We bolt.

The first few steps are agony. My hip protests violently as I force myself into an unsteady jog, pain tearing hot through the joint with every impact of my foot against the wet earth. My shoulder screams from where I hit the ground, the muscles there already stiffening, already warning me that I am asking too much from a body that has been starved of sleep, bruised by captivity, and dragged through terror until terror itself has become fuel.

Matteo’s hand is clamped in mine so tightly, our fingers feel fused together. He is half running, half stumbling beside me, his short legs struggling to match the pace I set. Every few seconds, I feel him falter, and each time, I tighten my grip, hauling him forward with a force that will undoubtedly make me apologize later.

The wet grass slips beneath our feet. Fog hangs thick over the property, dense enough to conceal the full perimeter from view beyond the first stretch of trees surrounding the safehouse. It should help us. It should swallow us whole and keep us concealed in the dark like some merciful beast with a soft mouth.

Just as we cross the first hundred feet, a flashlight swings toward us.

“Hey!”

The shout cracks through the night.

Matteo stumbles. For one horrible second, his hand tears away from mine, his body pitching forward toward the ground. I grab him before that happens and yank him upright so hard, he gasps from pain, his little shoulder jerking beneath my grip.

A gunshot rings out from behind us.

The sound explodes through the fog, too loud, too close. The ground near my left foot spits mud as a bullet strikes, wet earth bursting upward and splattering my ankle.

Matteo screams.

I pull him harder. “Run!”

The tree line seems impossibly far away, both out of reach and just close enough to make hope seem possible. My legs pump faster even as my hip threatens to buckle. My breath comes ragged. Somewhere behind us, men are shouting over one another, the sound distorted by fog and trees.

“East side!”

“Cut them off!”

“Do not lose them!”

As soon as we clear the first set of trees, more gunfire goes off. Bark splinters into the air near my head, ricocheting around me like macabre confetti. Tiny fragments sting my cheek and neck. I duck instinctively, dragging Matteo down with me for half a step before forcing us upright again.