“We will.”
I hand her a pistol and point toward the staircase.
“You take the landing. You stay there.”
“And if something happens to you?”
“You get out and find Beau. You stay alive.”
Her jaw tightens. “I’m not leaving you.”
“You promise me you won’t freeze.”
She swallows. “I promise.”
I kiss her once and step back.
“Go.”
She starts up the stairs, then pauses halfway and looks back.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m grabbing another mag,” I say, already turning toward the stairs. “I want more ammo on me just in case.”
She nods once, then continues up. By the time she reaches the landing, she is already lowering herself flat, positioning over the railing with the kind of focus that tells me she is locked in.
I move into the bedroom and go straight to the nightstand. The drawer slides open. I grab another magazine and check it before slipping it into my pocket. My hand goes back in for another, fingers brushing against something small and solid.
I stop.
The ring box.
For a second I just stare at it sitting there. I pick it up, turning it once in my hand. If we make it through this, I am not waiting again.
I’m asking her.
I shove it into the pocket of my cargo pants and push the drawer shut.
Then I move.
I head back into the living room and crouch behind the couch with a knife in my hand instead of a gun. A blade makes less noise when it opens someone up.
The house creaks around me while I wait. A loose branch drags across the roof when the wind shifts. I slow my breathing and listen for anything out of place.
Then gravel crunches under tires.
Headlights sweep across the front wall and cut through the broken slats of the blinds. Doors open outside. Boots hit the driveway, heavier than before. The men speak in low, clipped voices as they move toward the porch.
Two gunshots break the quiet.
The sound carries through the trees, followed by the thud of bodies hitting gravel. Beau doesn’t miss. When he fires, people drop.
But this time, it doesn’t stop them.
Gunfire erupts all at once.
Automatic rifles tear into the house from outside, not aimed, not careful, just ripping through everything. Wood explodes. Glass shatters inward. Bullets punch through the walls, chew through the couch, and tear into the floor. The sound fills the entire space and is loud enough to drown out thought.
