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“It's a trap,” I mutter, horror strangling my voice.
Nova stills. “What did you say?”
I pivot toward him and raise my gun, looking toward the catwalk that wraps around the second story above our heads. We're like fish in a barrel here. “I said it's a fucking trap.”
“How?” Nova snaps, mirroring me and aiming up.
Once I'm sure there aren't Savage Souls hiding in wait to take us out, I lower my gun and lift my phone at the same time. I break protocol and send a text to the group.
Me: CODE RED. it's a trap
I pocket my phone, my eyes opened wide enough to hurt as I spin around, looking for threats. I don't see anything, but that doesn't mean shit. I didn't see this coming—which means I have no idea what's going to happen.
I feel like I don't know anything right now. Other than we need to get the fuck out of there.
I'm breathing hard, panic swarming me as I look for my cousin, my best fucking friend who saved my goddamn life. He cannot die in a shitty warehouse in the middle of nowhere because I fucked up. “Silas!” I bellow his name.
He pops up from a crouched position, his expression tight. Understanding bleeds the color from his face, and together, we start running.
Everyone makes it out of the warehouse in one piece. I'm jumpy and trigger-happy, expecting them to be waiting outside, surrounding us. It's what I would do if I were them. Hot air greets us, pressing uncomfortably against my skin.
“Everyone, get the fuck out of here,” Silas shouts as we run to the SUV. “Stay sharp.”
We reach the SUV when a loud boom reverberates in the air, sending ripples of pressure fanning out from the what's left of the warehouse. Big black smoke clouds billow into the air from the blown-out windows and flames engulf one half of it.
“Motherfucker,” Silas curses.
“Goddamn trap alright,” Nova says, slapping me on the shoulder.
But I don't respond. The dread in my gut hasn't died down—it's multiplied.
“Let's go before the cops get here. That was loud enough the next county heard it,” Silas says, sliding into the driver's seat.
I open the center console and snag my phone out, my intuition burning hot inside of me. I turn it on and see two missed calls from Aunt Dixie. “Check your phones, right now.”
Silas fishes his phone out of the cupholder next to him. “Hang on, Ma left a voicemail.”
He puts it on speaker as he peels out of the makeshift gravel driveway, and a moment later, Aunt Dixie's voice fills the air.
“Silas, they've breached the compound. Get home, son.”
My phone rings, and I flinch.
“Who is it? Ma? Evangeline?” Nova asks, leaning forward between the seats.
Unknown number flashes on the screen, and I answer it instantly, flipping it to speakerphone.
“Hello?”
“I’m looking for Lincoln St. James.” It’s a woman, but her voice is muffled, like she’s covering her mouth or something.
“Who is this?”
“Is this Lincoln St. James?” she insists, her voice lowering to a near whisper.
I glance at Silas and brace. “Yes. Who is this?”
“This is Elizabeth Carter, and I messed up. I—I need your help.”
