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I let it settle over my skin like armor. Because I fear I can’t do what I need to do to protect my family without it.
I put away Renegade five and a half years ago. Tucked it away in a box and put it in the back of the closet. Like that one pair of dress shoes you wear only to funerals. And it’s been collecting dust ever since.
“We cut their fucking heads off.”
2
EVANGELINE
My heart pounds inside my chest so fiercely, I’m certain it’s going to thump right out of my ribcage. I have half a mind to hope it does just to save me from whatever miserable fate the assholes in leather storming inside my house are plotting. Nothing good can come from it, and in one shot, I’m officially out of bullets.
And options.
Someone kicks open the door, and I pull the trigger.
“You motherfucking bitch,” some asshole in leather yells, clutching his bleeding stomach and sagging against the busted doorframe. He grunts, lifting his free arm and pointing his gun at me.
My heart leaps into my throat as I try to calm my breathing. I will not leave this world a scared, frightened animal.
Before the intruder can take aim, another man appears in the doorway behind him. His dark blond hair covers his forehead and shields his eyes from this angle, but not enough for me to miss the glare he shoots at me. As if I’m the problem.
It happens so fast, my brain can’t keep up with what I’m witnessing. One moment I’m staring down the barrel of my demise, and the next, the intruder hits the floor with a resounding thump, a hunting knife in his temple. Blood pools underneath his stomach and his head, spreading across Silas’s blue rug like some macabre painting.
My mind has been reeling with shock and adrenaline and fear so potent, I could taste its bitterness in the back of my throat. But I honestly thought I was full, that I couldn’t be anything more.
But I was wrong. And I think—I think this might’ve tipped me over the edge. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m your white fucking knight, princess,” he says, his voice low and calm like he didn’t just stab a man’s head. Like what the fuck is happening right now?
He steps over the body, bends down to retrieve his knife and slips it into a holster on his belt. He springs to his feet in one smooth movement and prowls into the room, a fucking semiautomatic weapon strapped across his back and right hand gripping a gun.
My sense of self-preservation overrides my shock, and I dig my heels into the floor and maneuver myself backward, inching toward the opposite side of Silas’s room. I keep myself low, mindful of the windows to my left.
“We don’t have a lot of time. Help me move this,” he snaps, rolling the body over and flinging the bedroom door closed. He doesn’t spare me a glance as he pulls Silas’s dresser across the floor and shoves it flush against the wall.
It won't stop anyone from coming in, but it will slow them down. Even if just for a minute.
I don’t help him, holding onto the gun as I continue to half-crab-walk around the perimeter of the room. If I let myself think about it too much, then I’ll get lost in the swirling panic of this entire fucked-up situation.
"All you've done is trap us in here. We're sitting ducks." I'm close to the closet now. It's ridiculous as far as hiding places go, but maybe I'll get lucky and find some kind of weapon. Or more bullets.
He pushes off the dresser and flicks his hair back from his face with a hair flip Cora would be envious of. He exhales slowly, as if I'm testing his patience. "Don't insult my intelligence, Carter."
The use of my name seizes my muscles for a precious moment. It’s just long enough for the ringing to start fading from my ears. Just enough for me to recognize that the thundering booms echoing in my ears isn’t my heartbeat, but several pairs of booted feet pounding on the floor.
"Fuck," I curse, pushing to my feet and spinning toward the closet door.
"See, I knew you were smarter than you're acting." There's entirely too much praise in his voice, and it deepens my growing confusion.
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about, but if you're not going to kill me, then shut up."
He rears back a step, his neck jerking like I slapped him. “Kill you? I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to take you home.”
“I don’t know who the fuck you are, but this is my home,” I snap, jamming my finger toward the floor.
I twist open the doorknob and yank open Silas’s closet door. An empty plastic dry cleaning bag, white plastic hangers, and a few suits. My head whips from left to right, scanning the small space like a portal will suddenly appear and solve everything for me.
My heart races as I push aside the hangers, revealing two stacks of storage totes. The kind you pack your sweaters in during the summer months. I stare, practically panting as I scramble to figure out how the hell I’m going to use storage boxes to help.
