Page 166 of Primal

Wesley exhales, shoulders dropping. “Okay. Good. Let’s go.”

“There’s a bomb in the control room,” I grit out. “We need to stop it.”

“A … what now? Hell no. We need to get the fuck out.”

“The key to the gates might be there too,” Payton whispers.

“Or we could wait at the exit. The staff should be here by morning. They’ll let us out.”

Payton looks at my makeshift bandage.

Her throat bobs. “If we go and you …”

… die.

“Yeah. I know.”

“Then don’t.” Her voice breaks. “Let someone else—”

“Payton. If we don’t stop it, he wins.”

“I can’t—” She looks at me like I’m already gone. “I can’t lose you too.”

“You won’t.”

“If you so much as stumble, I swear to God—”

I force a crooked smile. “You’ll save my ass?”

She squeezes my arm—hard. “No. I’ll drag you back from the fucking dead.”

“This is nuts.” Wesley pinches the bridge of his nose. Looks at the bodies. His throat works.

“That’s on Derek,” I mutter. “Not you.”

No one argues. Corpses don’t need convincing.

Wesley sighs. “Dumbest fucking plan ever.”

“What’s your name?” Payton asks.

White Lace is standing beyond the pews, arms crossed, trembling. “Ra-Rachel.”

“Rachel.” Payton nods. ”You should come with us. Especially with him still out there.”

“But—”

“Stick with us or die alone. Your choice.” A shaky exhale. “Sorry. It’s … been a really shitty night.”

“Payton.” I suck in a breath sharp enough to see stars. “Grab the gun.”

She picks up the Glock—awkward grip, both hands.

“Ever fired one?” I ask.

“No.”

“Point and shoot.”