Series: Sean Moriarty
Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 113805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Either we made it far enough away or the battle is done.
Quiet settles over us as we move, and after all the noise, it’s unnerving.
Dragging me to yet another building, Nathaniel finally releases my arm. Standing still, he seems to listen closely for a moment.
Then he growls in frustration, “Fuck.”
Breathing heavy, I have to catch my breath before I can ask, “What?”
He spins in a slow circle, looking around us. “I have no fucking clue where we are. This area is still new to me.”
Spinning like he did, I squint my eyes and look at the buildings.
“I think we came from that way,” I say, pointing behind us.
Nathaniel looks at where I’m pointing then rolls eyes. “Yes, of course we did. But I don’t know what direction we’re going. I don’t know if I’m taking you to safety or dragging you toward more danger.”
“The gunfire stopped,” I point out. “Maybe we should stay here?”
Nathaniel shakes his head. “They’ve got fuckers everywhere and we’re not far enough away yet. Come on, we need to keep moving.”
Grabbing my hand this time, he tugs me along, moving slower. We stop at each corner, peeking around. Listening closely. The area is like a fucking maze of old buildings, and we’re only heading deeper into it.
Then we reach a point where we hear gunfire ahead of us.
Nathaniel stiffens and curses. “God fucking dammit, I knew it!”
“What?” I hiss.
“We’re heading the wrong way,” he says and spins on his heel.
Tugging on my hand, he starts to lead me back the way we came.
Digging in my heels to stop him, I ask, “Is that where Jude is?”
Sensing how I’ll respond to his answer, Nathaniel’s hand tightens around mine before he answers, “Yes.”
I yank back regardless, fighting him in earnest. “We have to help him!”
“No!” Nathaniel snaps and drags me forward, forcing my shoes to dig grooves into the gravel.
I’m tempted to point the gun at him to stop him. Tempted to fucking shoot him.
“He wouldn’t want that,” Nathaniel adds, glancing at me over his shoulder. “You’re the mother of his child. He would kill me for putting you in danger.”
Knowing he’s right, knowing Jude would probably kill him, hopelessness washes over me. The gunfire that’s now behind us sounds so much worse than what we dealt with. It sounds so much worse than what I imagined.
And what I imagined was pretty fucking bad.
It’s almost never-ending. A constant bombardment.
Tears fall from my eyes, unbidden. Unwelcome.
The fear I’ve been fighting back finally winning.
The thought I’ve been repressing since I first learned he was in danger finally pounding like a nail into brain.
Jude is going to die.
I don’t know how I know, but I can fucking sense it. I can fucking feel it.
I’ve made a lot of bad mistakes in my life. So many stupid fucking mistakes. Thinking I knew what I was doing and always being wrong.
But this, I know with certainty.
I know it like one knows how to blink, to breathe. It’s primal, instinctual.
Spiritual.
The other half of my soul is soon to depart from this earth, and I didn’t get enough time with him.
We didn’t have enough fucking time!
He won’t get to see Abel grow up.
Abel won’t even remember him.
Jude won’t get to be the father he wants to be…
And I didn’t get to tell him I love him and actually mean it.
“I’m sorry,” Nathaniel says sadly when I start to sob. Unable to swallow down my sorrow.
The sadness is so fucking heavy, it’s crushing down on me. Grinding me into miserable, broken pieces.
It’s all I can do to keep myself upright and not crumble to my knees.
“He’ll be okay,” he tries to say reassuringly and gives my hand a meaningful squeeze. “Jude is smart, deadly, and resourceful. He’s probably giving them hell.”
I want to believe him. More than anything, I want to believe him.
But with each beat of my heart, I can feel the seconds ticking away.
My time with him is slipping away.
And there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Not unless I want to hurt or kill Nathaniel.
Even then… what can I do?
How can I help?
If I run into the fight, I might provide a moment of distraction, but I’ll also probably die.
I’m not some badass, deadly femme fatale.
I might have a gun in my hand, but I’ve never actually shot one before. And I’m betting it’s a lot harder than they make it look in the movies.
To think I could provide any aid at all would be an illusion of grandeur.
Nathaniel abruptly comes to a stop. I’m so caught up in my thoughts, in my sorrow, I slam into his back.
Wrapping his arm around me, he smothers my mouth with his hand.
It takes me a second to hear what he hears.
Men muttering to each other in Russian.
Dropping his mouth to my ear, Nathaniel hisses, “Run.”