Miles returns to me and again offers his shoulder. I lean on it and tuck my gun away. Without bullets, it’s worthless.
“Thank you,” Miles says. “I didn’t even see the guy.”
“I got your back.”
He grips me tight. “I love you too.”
The statement catches me off guard. Is that what we’ve been saying to each other this entire time? Miles doesn’t hesitate, and he helps me enter the dining hall with little effort, his focus on the task at hand. Now isn’t the time to dwell, and I bury my thoughts, saving them for later.
The floor sags as Miles and I walk out onto it. We both stop, and I take a step back—the whole room is sunken down, like a crater. It’ll cave at any second.
Shannon and Lacy must not have noticed. They’re halfway across the massive room and weaving between cloth-covered tables.
“Find them!” I hear Jeremy yell, even from the floor below. “Absolutely no one leaves this building!”
Banging drowns out all other commands as men attempt to slam open the door Miles blocked. Shannon and Lacy wait at the far end of the room, their nervous restlessness apparent as they pace back and forth, motioning for us to hurry.
Run across the weak floor or take our time? I let go of Miles and urge him forward. “C’mon,” I say. “We both shouldn’t go at once. Get to your sister.”
He must know we don’t have time to bicker. He runs along the wall and jumps over a table in the process, deepening the floor with his landing, like the supports under the room have been removed. Chairs slide down the curve toward the center point. Miles reaches the girls in record time, but not before thugs break past his file cabinet barrier.
I wait at the door, my back pressed against the wall, and I trip the first one through. The second guy rounds the doorframe, and I punch him across the jaw. He staggers back, I grab him by the jacket, and then I throw him into the first, knocking them both down.
The floorboards snap but don’t outright break, and the room sinks another three inches. Everyone holds their breath—both gunmen wide-eyed with realization—and I attempt to back away, but my stiff leg isn’t capable of soft steps. Five more chairs slide into the center of the room, along with a table, and finally a metal shelf tips forward, crashing onto the crumbling floor with a tumultuous slam.
Everything happens in slow motion, like my mind lags from information overload. The floor gives out, I’m falling, and dust whooshes up from below, filling the air. Glass shatters. Wood splinters. The groan of metal twisting against its will finishes the chorus of destruction. I’m on my back, blinking away the debris, when reality returns to its normal speed. Needles of wood puncture parts of my body, but I can’t feel a damn thing.
“Pierce!”
It takes me several seconds to gather my strength and roll onto my side.
Well, I think everyone knows where we are now.
To my surprise, Miles yanks me to my feet. Did he jump down after me? I stare up at him, squinting, and he smiles back, like he’s got the situation under control. I wish that were true, but there’s something to be said about confidence.
“Miles!” Lacy screams from the second story. “Pierce!”
“Keep going,” Miles commands. “To the stairs. We’ll meet outside.”
He doesn’t have time to give any more instructions—both men who attacked me rise from the broken floorboards covered in dust, debris, and blood. Miles whips out his handgun and fires, his aim on par with Rhett’s. After two shots, he’s done, but the loud bang of firearms continues. Jeremy’s men fire at us from a room over, and Miles pushes me behind a pile of wood and metal. I hit the floor on my stomach and lament the fact I have no bullets.
What am I going to do in this situation?
“Pierce!”
The shout belongs to Jeremy. He’s somewhere in the building, no doubt behind his myriad of goons.
“I know it’s you!” His anger borders on incoherent rage, and even some of his words seem slurred. “I’ll see you suffer for this! How dare you turn against me!”
The gunshots stop. Miles takes a deep breath, coughs, and then helps me to my feet again. The cloud of settling particles mixed with darkness makes everything a clusterfuck. Rays from flashlights attempt to pierce the quagmire, but they flail about with little effectiveness. Miles and I duck when a beam streaks by, however, just in case.
“Go,” Miles says. “The stairs are that way. You should get to the girls. I’ll be right behind you.”
“He wants me,” I say between stifled coughs. The building settles, creaking all around us, but I know the men are searching for sounds. It’s a deadly game of hide-and-seek at this point.
“I won’t let him have you. Go. You know I’m the one in better condition for this.”
“What’re you doing?” Jeremy hisses. “Smoke him out! Burn him! I don’t care! Don’t let him get away!”
I nod and head in the direction he pointed, crawling over broken floorboards. Miles fires his gun—no doubt at random—in what I suspect is a ploy to draw people to his location. It worries me, but I know we can’t make a stand together, not if we want a chance at living.
Molotov cocktails shatter across the floor all around me, bursting into flame. I wouldn’t be concerned if I were agile, but as it stands I have to walk through this bullshit. To make matters worse, the cocktails aren’t just made with alcohol and gasoline, they have something else—something added to create thick clouds of choking black smoke.
Perfect.
Gunshots fill the air. Like a nightmare, I run forward, anxiety gripping my every thought. I stumble through the thick smoke, coughing incessantly, until I hit the door and stagger beyond. The sound of running and the hushed orders of men looking to find me mix together. Then I
