Chapter 18 Saint
Saint
The first explosion doesn’t sound like a bomb.
It sounds like the sky tearing open.
The windows of The Last Stand shudder so violently the glass screams in its frames. The entire building jolts like something enormous just slammed into it.
“What the hell—” someone starts.
Then the alarms kick in.
Then the radios explode with noise.
“Fire on Main!”
“Possible secondary device!”
“Civilians in the street!”
The room shifts from shock to action in less than a heartbeat.
I’m already moving.
Wolf and Havoc fall in beside me without a word. Trigger is shouting into his comm unit while Marco stands frozen for half a second, his face pale but his eyes sharp with recognition.
He knows this pattern.
He knows what his mother does when she starts a war.
“Laney and the baby are moving. Now,” Wolf says in my ear.
“Good,” I snap. “Get them gone.”
I reach behind the bar and grab my rifle, the familiar weight grounding me as adrenaline floods my system.
“Saint,” Trigger says sharply. “This is what she wants. You out in the open.”
“Yeah,” I growl.
I shove the door open.
“And I’m not letting her burn my town to get to my family.”
My family.
The words hit me as hard as the explosion did.
I don’t stop to think about them.
Outside is chaos.
Smoke pours into the sky from Miller’s Hardware, thick black clouds twisting upward like something alive. Flames lick up the side of the building, spreading fast, hungry.
People are running.
A woman screams.
Someone is yelling a name over and over.
“Secondary could be anywhere,” Havoc says, scanning rooftops.
“Split,” I order immediately. “Cover the street. Evac first.”
Wolf and Havoc peel off in opposite directions.
I spot Mrs. Kline from the bakery stumbling near the curb, clutching the side of her head.
I’m there in seconds.
“Hey. Hey. I’ve got you.”
Blood runs down her forehead, bright against her gray hair. Her eyes are wide, unfocused with shock.
“Where’s Tommy?” she keeps asking, gripping my arm. “Where’s my boy?”
I scan the street.
Smoke.
Flames.
People running.
Then I see him.
A little boy standing frozen in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at the burning building like his brain forgot how to move.
Not moving.
Not breathing.
Just standing there.
I’m sprinting before anyone else does.
The crack of a rifle shot snaps past my ear.
The bullet slams into the wall behind me with a sharp burst of concrete dust.
“Sniper!” Wolf shouts.
I don’t stop.
I grab the kid, wrap an arm around him, and throw us both behind a parked truck as another round smashes into the metal above us.
“Saint, get down!” Trigger yells through my comm.
“Negative,” I snap. “Civilians still out!”
Havoc is already laying down suppressing fire toward the rooftops.
Wolf calls out coordinates.
“Third building north! Roofline!”
More gunfire cracks across the street.
But the damage is already done.
This wasn’t just arson.
This wasn’t just intimidation.
This was theater.
A message written in fire and bullets.
They want blood.
They want panic.
They want me to choose.
I look at the burning buildings.
The terrified civilians.
The child shaking in my arms.
And only one thought burns through my mind.
You will not take my daughter’s world.