Chapter 33
KATIE
“Hello,” Kayla answers, her voice soft, cautious.
My eyes flicker as I hear my sister’s voice for the first time in over a decade.
Memories assault me without warning—flashes of us together when we were young and the world was simpler.
Fighting over who got to go on the swing first at the park.
Her running to tell Mom when I hit her during one of our countless squabbles.
Tears sting fiercely, and my throat locks up until it hurts to swallow.
For a few stretched, fragile seconds, I don’t speak—I can’t—terrified that if I do, I’ll break and scare her off. All the while, she just watches me through those achingly familiar blue eyes, studying me.
“I’m Katie,” I manage at last, voice barely more than air. I flick a quick glance over my shoulder, making sure no one is close enough to overhear. “Katie Pierce.”
Her brows furrow together as her gaze searches mine more intently. “I know who you are.”
My heart slams into my ribs in one long, brutal thud. “You—you do?”
“Of course I do. The woman who took me from foster care ten years ago told me I was going to a better place because of my sister. That if I behaved myself and didn’t cause trouble, I wouldn’t be hurt. Then she showed me your picture.”
“What?” The word scrapes its way out past the tightness in my throat. Stacey did that?
She shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “She took me to this pretty house where I was homeschooled by private tutors. Stacey said I could never leave, but she’d give me anything I ever wanted otherwise.
And she did.” Her mouth twists faintly. “Everything except company. The staff were trained not to interact with me beyond necessity. I had everything except my own family. They took pictures of me—for you, they said. Then they showed me your pictures too.”
She speaks so matter-of-factly, like she’s reciting facts, not pieces of a stolen life, and it guts me. My vision blurs, emotion pressing hard against my chest. I shove it down, forcing myself to stay steady.
“It was an okay life,” she continues with that same detached tone. “Better than foster care was. I suppose I should thank you for that.”
I blink at her, throat aching. “N–no. God, no, you don’t have to thank me. You shouldn’t thank me.” She shrugs again, and I realize how careful I need to be with her. One step at a time. “Come on, we’re getting out of here. We’ll talk more when we’re home.”
“We can’t leave.” Her voice goes low, her body stiffening. “The man who brought me here—he has guards watching me. So I don’t run. They’re dressed as abbey workers.”
My hand moves towards my gun. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll protect you.”
Kayla hesitates, and I hold my breath while I wait for her decision.
Her life has been nothing but upheaval—first losing our parents, then getting torn away from me, then being imprisoned by Stacey.
Because fancy house and education or not, she was a prisoner.
And right now, I can’t tell if she’s even glad to see me…
or if she hates me for becoming the reason she was used as collateral all these years.
“Okay,” she finally exhales, getting to her feet.
Dizzying relief floods through me so intensely I nearly sway. I smile at her as I stand as well, then quickly scan the cathedral. No one seems to be paying us any attention.
“Come on.” I slip my hand into hers and tilt my head towards the large doors. She nods, notably not pulling her hand out of mine, and my heart squeezes at that small, simple trust.
We move together, out of the cathedral and through the courtyard, heads down, her small hand clenched in mine. Shit, I hope Dhimiter and the others have managed to lose the priest and are ready to get out of here too.
The hallway leading to the main entrance feels longer now, every footstep echoing loudly against the stone floors, syncing with the frantic pounding of my heart.
Almost there. Just a few more steps. Once I get Kayla into one of the cars, I’ll give the others five minutes to catch up before we leave.
I have the wide double doors in sight when someone suddenly moves into our path, blocking the exit. Kayla gasps beside me, and I tighten my protective hold on her hand as I look up.
It's the priest who greeted us earlier, now flanked by three altar boys who are too big and alert to be ordinary teenagers serving the church. My instincts scream danger as I study them more carefully.
The priest’s expression remains polite, but his eyes are anything but, flicking from me to Kayla and back to me with obvious suspicion. I shove her behind me, heart thundering.
“Sister Catarina, where are you going with Sister Sarah?” he asks, his calm voice bellying the clear warning underneath.
Sister Sarah. Disgust curls my lip as I size him up. I can take him in a fight. It's the ‘altar boys’ I'm worried about. But I know if push comes to shove, I can take them too.
I won’t let them have her again.
"We're going for evening prayer, Father." I smooth my expression into something serene and innocent as the lie slides off my tongue.
He opens his mouth to say something—I don't know what, and I never will—because a side door not far from where he's standing suddenly swings open, and chaos erupts.
Dhimiter storms in, gun raised. “Down!” he roars as the four monks behind him—Roan's men—drop their act. They whip out their guns and open fire at someone in the room they’ve just exited.
“What the fuck?” I shove Kayla to the floor, drawing my own gun as I glare at Dhimiter and his team. The plan was to hold our cover until the very end. What the hell changed?
A nun emerges from the same doorway Dhimiter’s team just came through, but this is no peaceful servant of God. She’s got guns raised in both hands, professional military stance, sweeping the space for targets.
Fuck. She must be one of Fabian’s moles, and she obviously caught on to them.
"Watch out!" I scream at Dhimiter as she fires, and he barely dodges in time, the bullets whizzing past him before punching into the stone wall.
Before I can track her again, movement flashes at the edge of my vision. One of the altar boys yanks a gun from under his robes and shoots blindly, dropping one of our men hard, his blood splattering the wall.
Hysterical screams from genuine clergy members mingle with the explosive gunfire, and through it all, the priest murmurs frantic prayers, hands raised as if he can will the violence to stop. Another altar boy shoves the man against the wall, pulls a gun, and levels it at me.
I drop and roll instinctively as he shoots, bullets shredding the floor where I just was, then return fire from my new position. Kayla screams behind me, and I twist around in time to see one of the nuns hauling her to her feet and dragging her away.
“Move!” Dhimiter shouts over the chaos. “Go! Get her out of here now!”
I don’t hesitate. I put a bullet through the nun’s head, then grab Kayla’s trembling hand and pull her with me, wrapping my arm around her back and forcing her head down so my body shields hers as we move.
Together we run down the crowded hallway, past the priest lying motionless on the floor. Fuck—he’s been hit in the crossfire. A nun shrieks and rushes to him, pressing her hands desperately against his bleeding shoulder. But we don’t stop. There’s no time.
The doors ahead are shattered now. Bullets whistle past as we burst through them, and I suck in a sharp breath, relief washing over me as we finally make it outside the abbey walls.
A heavy thud sounds behind us, and I gasp when I see another of our men collapsed on the front steps, his blood soaking into the stone. Fuck.
I keep running, dragging Kayla with me.
We hit the gravel path at full speed, sprinting towards the sedans. So close now.
We’re almost there when sudden, explosive pain tears through my side. I groan, my feet stumbling, but I keep going, not daring to stop or look back until we reach the car.
Beside me, Kayla is sobbing, her body trembling uncontrollably, blood visible on her sleeve. “Get in!” I yell as I wrench the door open and shove her into the back seat, ignoring the burning agony in my side.
Gunfire sprays the gravel inches from my feet, and the last of Roan’s men collapses, a gaping hole in his back.
I dive into the sedan next to Kayla just as Dhimiter yanks the driver’s door open.
Blood is spurting from a wound in his shoulder, but his face remains grimly determined.
He throws himself behind the wheel as more of Fabian’s men come pouring out of the abbey.
Then his phone rings—like some absurd reminder of normal life in the middle of chaos—and I gape as he answers it.
“Drive.” I try to yell, but it comes out as more of a wheeze through the increasingly sharp pain in my side.
The door slams, tires scream, and the sedan lurches forward.
I hit the seat hard and swing myself over Kayla’s smaller frame, inhaling sharply at the blinding agony the movement causes.
But I keep her body down and out of the line of fire as the windows shatter around us.
One bullet hits the rearview mirror, spraying more glass shards everywhere.
I stay curled over my sister while Dhimiter drives us away from the abbey at breakneck speed, my body a shield until the noise fades and the danger feels distant. Only then do I sag back, my vision spinning, the world tilting sideways.
“Katie!” Kayla yells, and I don’t understand the frantic panic in her voice. “You’re bleeding.”
“We have Kayla,” Dhimiter’s stoic voice cuts through my growing confusion. “But Katie—she’s been shot.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and I close my eyes, letting my head fall back—the secret to managing dizziness is staying still. But then Dhimiter inhales sharply. “She’s alive, but it’s bad. She got Kayla out and took a bullet to the side while shielding her.”
My eyes flutter open, my heart pounding in my throat, wrestling the pain in my side for dominance. Because I know who he’s talking to.
Roan.
Will he even care that I’ve been hurt?
“On the road. Heading south. We’re going home.”
As much as I’m interested in Dhimiter’s conversation, it’s becoming an impossible struggle to keep my head upright and my body from slumping.
My head lolls heavily against the seat, and when I finally look down, my heart jackknives.
Crimson is soaking through the side of my nun’s habit, spreading rapidly.
I press a shaking hand to it and it comes away slick with blood. Fuck.
Dhimiter stiffens, glancing back at me, but I don’t have the strength to ask him what’s happening.
“No, that’s too risky. I’ll be asked questions I can’t answer, and the cops will probably be called and—”
His voice dissolves into a dull buzz as I force myself to check on my sister. Please don’t let her be hurt.
Strange that I can’t feel any pain now, just a spreading cold numbness. Somewhere in my foggy mind, I know that’s not a good sign, but I quickly assess Kayla. If I got hit, she might have been too. My gaze homes in on the red spot at the sleeve of her right arm.
“Let me see your arm,” I say, voice slurring no matter how hard I fight it.
“It’s just a graze. I’m fine.” She rips off her veil, tears slipping down her face as she presses it against my side. She’s crying—for me.
I reach out to touch her shoulder, intending to check her wound anyway, but my vision swims for a scary moment and my body sways, slumping heavily against the car door. “Kayla—”
“Don’t fuss,” she says through her tears. “You’re hurt way worse than I am. And if I die...” She swallows, throat working. “If I die, at least they can’t use me to hurt you anymore.”
“Don’t t–talk like that,” I murmur, fighting with everything I have to keep my impossibly heavy lids open. Why do my limbs feel like lead? And when did it get so cold? My teeth start chattering uncontrollably, and somewhere beside me, Kayla gasps.
“How badly is she hurt?” Dhimiter groans from the driver’s seat, and as I try to shift my gaze to him, all the lights—inside the car, outside on the road—smear and blur, then dim at the edges.
“Badly,” my sister replies. “She’s losing a lot of blood.”
“I’m—” I’m fine. The lie won’t come out. Breathing hurts now. Inhaling and exhaling feels like dragging air through broken glass. My tongue is too heavy to move.
Fuck, is this how I die?
I try to blink my eyes open, to reassure them—Kayla sobbing beside me, Dhimiter swearing viciously from the driver’s seat—but my eyelids refuse, and after a few seconds of struggle, I give up.
Roan’s face flashes through my rapidly fading consciousness, and I wish—God, I wish I had told that fucker I loved him before we left. I shouldn’t have let my stupid pride get in the way. Shouldn’t have wasted what might have been our last conversation being cold to him.
I love you, you infuriating bastard…
The last thing I hear is Dhimiter’s muttered curse and Kayla’s frantic, “Hurry!”
Then everything goes black.