Page 10 of Dreadful

“Not long.” I swallow around the words, tasting almost like lies. I don’t know how long this will go on. “Get a burner. Text Lola photos of the waves when you’re safe.”

“And you?” he presses.

Lola wraps her arms around the both of us, pulling us into a familiar embrace. “We’ll be fine. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

Beck pulls away, his eyes darting from my face to Rafe’s and back again, a silent question hanging in the air. No one speaks. His shoulders slump almost imperceptibly before he turns and yanks the SUV door open. The engine coughs to life.

We stand frozen until his taillights vanish around the corner. Then Rafe’s fingers lock around mine, calloused and sure, and we’re moving, Lola falling into step beside us.

“What now?” Lola asks, her voice tight. She isn’t looking at me—her gaze is fixed on Rafe’s profile, her brow furrowed, the lines around her mouth deeper than usual.

“Find the others.” Every footfall sent a fresh shock through my arm, a sharp reminder of what transpired tonight. The warmth seeping through my sleeve feels slower, stickier.

“And when they ask about our car?” Lola presses.

Rafe doesn’t slow, his eyes scanning the dark spaces between warehouses. “Stolen.”

We slow at the corner. He holds up a hand, fingers splayed. The street yawns empty ahead of us, nothing moving but a shred of plastic caught in a fence. We break into a run again, our footsteps muffled over the sound of sirens. My lungs burn. Every shadow feels like it’s holding its breath.

We round the next corner and nearly plow straight into Gage, Cruz, and Bishop.

My heart lurches against my ribs—a hard, painful thump of recognition.

Then their eyes rake over us. I try to imagine how we look. Dirty, sweaty, a little bloody.

“Bell.” Gage rushes me and pulls me into his arms.

The sound that comes out of me is involuntary—high and sharp—and his grip loosens immediately. Before I can say anything, Rafe’s forearm slides between us, his palm flat against my stomach, easing me back.

“What the fuck, man.” Gage’s voice drops.

“You’re hurting her.”

“From a hug?” Gage’s brows arch toward his hairline.

“It’s fine.” I don’t even know why I bother.

“She was shot,” Lola says, loud enough to cut through all of it. “And we need to move.”

The shock that follows is its own kind of noise.

Cruz goes very still, his eyes scanning me until they zero in on the dark stain spreading along my arm. Gage’s hand, still half-raised from where he’d been holding me, closes slowly into a fist at his side. Bishop takes one step forward like he can’t help himself, his jaw tight, his gaze dragging from my arm up to Rafe’s face and staying there.

“Jesus Christ, Bells.” Cruz cuts past Rafe’s arm like it isn’t there, his hands coming up to bracket my face, thumbs brushing my jaw as his eyes move over me in quick, clinical passes. “You good?”

My throat tightens. I press my lips together and nod once, not trusting what comes out if I open my mouth. Twenty-four hours sits behind my sternum like a stone.

“Who did this to you?” Cruz asks, already pulling back, already scanning.

“Devil’s Hand. Widowmakers.” Rafe doesn’t look at him. His eyes are still moving, cutting between rooflines and alley mouths, the muscle in his jaw working.

Bishop stares at Rafe, questions desperately trying to crawl out from between his pressed lips.

“Not here.” Rafe’s hand finds the small of my back. “We need your car.”

FOUR

BELLAMY