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I step aside, waving her ahead of me. “Go. Go!”
She tucks her head down and stops looking at the phone. I follow her steps as she makes her way down the sloped terrain, cramped by the close scrub brush on both sides.
All I can hear for a couple of minutes are the sound of Persephone's breaths and that of our bodies as we knock tall grasses and brush back out of our way.
We burst into a clearing and the rusting old boat shed is there, a rickety little dock protruding from the white sandy beach just beside it. The dock itself is probably only fifty feet long, the little shed just big enough to hide my small powerboat. My heart thumps loudly in my chest as we rush toward our obvious exit.
Persephone breaks into a trot, slipping and sliding as we make our way across the sand to the dock. I’m slower for some reason, my footsteps more hesitant. My eyes fix on the darkened doorway of the boat shed.
Is that normally closed? I can’t remember but it gives me pause.
Then just before Persephone steps on the dock, I hear something.
It could be nothing. After all, we are outside now and all I heard was a very gentle rustle that came from the same general direction of the silent boat shed.
But something in me, some lizard-brained instinct, makes me freeze. I hiss at Persephone.
“Stop— “
But it’s too late. She turns to look back at me, stepping onto the dock, her face a question mark. At the same time, two hulking men in matching black hoodies and pants run out of the boathouse.
Fuck.
I drop the bags, pulling out my gun. The weight of the weapon feels heavy and cool and oh so right in my hand.
Persephone swings her gaze to the two men and lets out a fearful, excited yip. She tries to backpedal, her slight weight on the docks enough to make the old, slatted wood groan.
The two men seem a little surprised to see Persephone and I, but in two seconds flat, they lunge for her.
“No!” Persephone whispers, trying to dodge around them.
One of the men calls out. “Down here!”
I aim at him and my gun fires, neatly dropping him where he stands. He falls into the water with a messy splash, but I have already forgotten him.
Because the other man has his hands on Persephone, yanking her closer. I fire a haphazard round which misses him completely and he turns, pulling her up as a human shield.
“I got them!” he yells. “I got?— “
Persephone lashes out, struggling and biting his hand. The man falls silent, trying to keep her under control. He pulls out his gun and brings her to heel with it, but she doesn’t stop squirming.
Good lass.
I raise my weapon and run a few feet to the side, drawing a bead on him.
I fire again but the gun jams.
“Fuck!” I grit out, tossing the weapon aside. I pull a pair of brass knuckles and a switchblade from my pocket, picturing the backup guns in one of the duffel bags. I hear men come crashing down the ridge behind me, pinning me in from two sides.
It only takes me a split second to calculate that I can’t reach them in time. Instead, I lurch toward the dock, where the man is currently dragging Persephone backward toward the shadowed door.
“Get in here,” he growls.
Her only answer is to struggle against him more violently. I make it to the dock just as he backs her into the doorway.
If they disappear inside, what should I do? I need a gun, I realize.
Turning away from them, I swing my gaze wildly toward the men on shore. One black-clad man is much closer to me than the rest, his facial expression pure determination.
