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“Where are you going? We were told to shelter in place.”
“And be a sitting duck?” She rushes to the door, and I close my eyes, picturing her falling back with two bullet holes between her eyes. “Not me.”
Opening my eyes, I see she’s gone. I exhale in a moment of relief. If the shooter was right there, she’d be dead. I don’t want anyone to die, but I also don’t want a bullet inmyhead. It’s so horrible how these things turn into every man for themselves. I slide out from under the counter, too.
Tiptoeing to the door, I gather all my senses that I use for dance to figure out what’s going on in multiple directions. Including above me. The auditorium is big, and I can duck behind a row of seats. I’m also small enough to crawl underneath.
“Damn,” I mutter under my breath, wishing I paid attention to where Della went. Whatever direction that was, no gunfire erupted. She found the safe route out of here. But which one?
We are in the middle of a two-hour break, where many students do extra stretching in the clinic or get lunch. Does the shooter know this? Does he think the dressing room will be empty?
God, I feel so alone. It hits me like a physical blow, because I started feeling like I belonged, not only to Lachlan, but to his gigantic family. For years, I figured out how to survive my loneliness. And now to be dragged back into this isolated abyss is crippling.
I take a step toward the auditorium because there are multiple exits, but freeze. What happens when I get out of there, though? Beyond the many doors are mazes of hallways. I don’t trust the acoustics, especially since all the rehearsal rooms’ transoms are open because of the heat. Gunfire can sound like it’s coming from anywhere.
Feeling too many options are not in my favor, I opt for the back hallway toward the office with one exit, hoping the shooter doesn’t know about it. I turn for that door, and a mass of chaos hits me all at once.
Della is backing up, muttering, “No, please.” She bangs into my chest, the back of her head hitting my nose, hard.
Blood trickles down my leotard.
It all feels like a vacuum when my brain catches up, and I see a guy, around twenty-five, with dark greasy hair pointing an AR-15 at Della. “Get back, you bitch.”
The unknown has been obliterated. He’s right here, which means he’s not in the auditorium. If I use all my strength to run, I can make it to the seats for cover and then slide under to reach a door.
Sorry, Della.
I turn to run, but stomping footsteps catch up behind me wickedly fast.
“Hey!” the gunman yells.
Pain explodes in the back of my head, and I lose my balance before everything goes black.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Lachlan
GriffindriveshisEscaladelike a bat out of hell toward the tunnel to reach Manhattan. “Fucking traffic!” He pounds on the steering wheel.
I’ve got Balor on the car’s speaker phone. I’m too wired to hold my phone next to my head. “Break into that campus’ cameras.Right fucking now.”
All calls to Katya are going to voicemail. Shutting her phone off is the right thing to do, but I’m losing my mind not hearing her voice. Not knowing if she’s okay. Plus, without that signal, I won’t be able to find her. Now, I know why men put trackers on their women.
“I’m already in.” My brother’s heavy breathing punctuates the eerie silence of the Escalade’s interior.
“She’s been rehearsing in the main auditorium.” I give him the street I entered from so he can find it on a campus map.
“I got ten security screens up. I don’t see anything. But fuck…”
“What?”
“Tons of cops are outside the school already.”
“Did they take the guy down?”
“Hang on, let me break into their radios and listen to the traffic.”
“Jesus, he’s good,” Griffin mutters.
