Chapter 38 Raine
Raine
The barn groaned in the storm, its old beams rattling with every gust. Water dripped through gaps in the roof, pattering on the dirt floor. The boy had finally stopped crying, his head tucked against his mother’s chest, but her wide eyes never left the shadows beyond the doorway.
Boone leaned against a beam, pale but stubbornly upright, his hand pressed to his ribs. “They’ll come,” he muttered. “They won’t let survivors slip away.”
I swallowed hard, scanning the dark through the jagged gaps in the boards. My body screamed for rest, every muscle trembling, but my chest was tight with something sharper.
Gunfire still echoed faintly through the storm. Distant. Sporadic.
Too sporadic.
Adam. His men.
My stomach twisted. I knew that rhythm—the way a fight sounded when ammunition was running dry.
I pressed a hand against the beam, trying to steady my breath. Please, God. Not him. Not now.
Boone’s eyes flicked to me, sharp even through his exhaustion. “You’re thinking about him.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
He let out a rasping chuckle, wincing as it jarred his ribs. “Stoker’s too damn mean to die. Trust me. He’ll crawl back just to argue with you again.”
I wanted to believe him. But something deep in my gut twisted tighter with every fading shot in the distance.
I turned back to the mother and her boy, pulling a blanket tighter around them. “Stay quiet,” I whispered.
Because if Adam didn’t come back—then we weren’t just stranded in a storm.
We were already surrounded.