"We know," Daniel rumbled, his arms tightening around me. "I saw it on your face in the woods. And we are going to spend the rest of our lives making up for the fact that we let you think that for even a second."
Anders stepped closer. He reached out, his hand hovering near my face, then settling firmly on my shoulder. His grip was grounding. Heavy.
"We have a tactical decision to make," Anders stated. "We can barricade the doors. We can wait for the police, who will take twenty minutes to get past the blockade. We can hide while they circle the house." He paused, looking deep into my eyes. "Or we can walk out the front door."
My stomach dropped. "Walk out? Outthere? Anders, I'm... I'm a mess. I'm covered in mud. I'm wearing filthy clothes. If they get a picture of me like this..."
"Let them," Anders said ruthlessly. "Let them see the mud. Let them see the reality. Because if we sneak you out the back, or hide you under a blanket like a criminal, they verify the narrative that you are something to be ashamed of."
He squeezed my shoulder.
"You are T.L. Rose. And we are not extracting you. We are escorting you."
"I can't," I choked out, the phantom sensation of the stage lights burning my retinas. "I can't do the walk. The noise... the flashes..."
"You won't be walking alone," Daniel said effectively into the top of my head. "You're in the middle of the formation."
Anders grinned viciously. "Standard VIP protective maneuver. Tight diamond. No gaps."
He looked at the front door.
"Simon is holding the perimeter of the car. I take point. Daniel takes rear guard. You are the payload. We put you in the SUV, and we drive through them."
I looked down at my muddy leggings. I looked at my trembling hands.
The audio from the van was still playing. My eighteen-year-old self was still begging for help.
Iron doesn't break,I thought, the line from my own book surfacing like a lifeline.It hardens.
I took a deep breath. It smelled of spiced chai and bourbon. It smelled like a pack that had come back for me.
"Okay," I whispered. "Get me out of here."
Anders nodded. A shift occurred in his posture. He dropped the frantic, worried lover and became the businessman. His spine straightened. His jaw set. He radiated a field of 'Fuck Around and Find Out' that was palpable.
"Daniel, drop the cargo," Anders ordered.
Daniel set me down gently on my feet, though he kept a hand on the small of my back, steadying me.
"Stay close," Daniel murmured. "If you stumble, I’ll catch you. If you stop, I push you. Just keep your eyes on Anders' back."
"Ready?" Anders asked, his hand on the door handle.
"No," I admitted.
"Good. Let's go."
Anders threw the door open.
The noise hit us like a physical wall.
The sound of the recording was deafening without the glass to dampen it. Thethump-thump-thumpof the bass rattled my teeth. The wind whipped rain into the entryway, cold and biting.
There were a dozen of them now. Men with cameras swarming the driveway, stepping over the line Simon had drawn.
Every head snapped toward the open door.
"She's there!" someone shouted.
