Page 87 of Sharing Silence

“Good boy, Bullet.” He lands on his feet and wiggles excitedly. His fur is coated in dust, but he seems unharmed. “Where’s Silence?” He tilts his head. “Q, find Q.”

He turns and bounds toward the remains of the stairs, whining and wagging his tail, but there’s no way we can get to the next floor this way. He huffs, then runs toward the back of the house, and I follow. More bullets spray and I duck, keeping my focus on Bullet as he skids through the house toward the back stairs.

They’re collapsed, stones blocking our way. I might be able to move them if I had time, but footsteps fill the house.

I can’t get to her.

I can’t get to any of them.

Chapter 27

Xavier

I’ll never get used to the taste of blood.

The smell, sure. The sight, no problem. But there’s something overwhelming about the tang of it on your tongue, and so the first thing I do after turning onto my side is spit. My shoulder aches, my knife wound throbs, but my head is remarkably clear.

My heart, though … it stops when I see Silence.

“Q.” I push myself up and stumble over to her. She’s on her side, eyes closed, dirt mingled with blood seeping from a cut over her eye. “Q, open your eyes.”

A second explosion rocks the house, and I swear before scooping Silence into my arms and standing. My balance is off for a moment, but I breathe through it. Hoisting her higher in my arms, I step into the hallway. The stairs are gone, and I can see the sky, snow cascading through the open ceiling and into the foyer.

I’m about to shout for Y and Z when I see men breaching the front of the house. Dozens of them.

“Fuck me,” I grumble, going back to the bedroom and into the panic room. I lay Silence on one of the beds and go to the monitors. Sweat clings to my skin as my eyes dart from one screen to another, desperately searching for my brothers and my dog. I can’t count how many men there are, but I spot Y and Bullet making their way across the grounds toward the surrounding forests.

I go to the panel inside the panic room, flipping it open.

The glowing numbers stare back at me.

“Shit.” I rest my forehead against the wall. “The code. What’s the fucking code.” My head swims, my balance tipping slightly as I close my eyes. Sounds hum and sharpen, and I’m suddenly so fucking tired. I press my hand to my stomach, to the blood seeping through the wound that might never fucking heal at this rate. “Bullet’s birthday.” I punch in the numbers, scan my thumb, and pray Zayden is conscious to hear the warning sounds and get cover. The fire alarm stops blaring, and a separate alarm sounds. One. Two. Three.

I slam my palm against the panic room button, and the doors slide closed, just as the fourth alarm sounds. For five long seconds, it blares—not that we can hear it in here.

The sound cannon blasts, and I watch the men on camera slap their hands over their ears and fall to their knees. The frequency it gives out is enough to render someone unconscious, but we still need to move fast. Anyone out of range can still shoot us.

I kneel in front of Silence.

“Sorry, Q,” I whisper, before pinching the muscle between her neck and shoulder. Silence’s eyes fly open, and she cries out. “Sorry, sorry, but you need to wake up. We have to go.”

She blinks slow, pressing her palm to her head. “What happened?”

“No time, Q.” I open one of the storage boxes and pull out a bulletproof vest. “Arms up.” She does as I ask, and I pull it onto her and tuck a small, disposable phone into one of the pockets. I find spare shoes and slide them onto her feet, tying them, and then pulling on a pair of my own. As I’m loading my weapon, Silence sways a little.

She watches me quietly, eyes half-shuttered. “What are you doing?”

“We need to run, but if we get split up, you use that phone and call the number saved in it, but you do not stop moving.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “Why would we get split up?”

“Silence, repeat what I just said.”

She breathes deeply, squeezing her eyes closed as if trying to recall the words. “Call the number. Keep moving.”

“Good girl. We’re going to run now, so stay low. You’re going to feel pressure in your ears, and you might feel sick. But don’t let go of my hand, and don’t stop moving.”

Silence nods, and I slide noise-cancelling headphones onto her head. They play white noise, blocking out as much sound as possible, but some will still slip through. I put mine on and take her hand, pulling her to her feet.