10. Cara
Cara
The first gunshot sounds wrong. For a second my brain refuses to translate it into anything real, it tries to call it a car backfiring beyond the gates, or someone dropped something near the garage.
Then the second shot comes, it’s closer, sharper, and every woman in the living room goes still at once.
Nobody screams. That's the part that scares me most.
The security phone starts buzzing before I've even processed what I'm hearing.
Security Phone:
ACTIVE THREAT. NORTH PERIMETER brEACH. LOCKDOWN NOW. MOVE TO DESIGNATED ZONES. DO NOT LEAVE HOUSE.
The words hit my bloodstream like ice, and then, right behind the fear, this is what we planned for. We've talked through this. I know what to do and knowing that is the only thing keeping my hands from shaking as badly as they want to.
"Zones," I say, and my voice comes out steadier than I feel.
Maya's already moving toward the living room kit. Sarah grabs the second security phone off the charger. Lena heads for the back hall instead of following everyone into one room, which means she's remembering exactly what we practiced.
"Anyone upstairs?" I ask.
"Emily and Rachel," Sarah says.
Another burst of gunfire erupts. It sounds farther away, but not nearly far enough. Someone screams upstairs. I recognise Emily’s voice and start moving before the sound fades.
Sarah grabs my wrist. “Cara.”
“It’s Emily,” I tell her, pulling toward the stairs.
“I’ll go,” Sarah offers.
“No.” I look back at her. “Stay with the others.”
Her grip tightens around my wrist. “You said nobody does this alone.”
Damn her for using my own rule against me.
“Fine,” I concede. “We go together.”
We take the stairs together while men are shouting outside, radios crackling, engines starting near the garage. Part of me is terrified. Another part recognizes exactly what the sound means. They're here, and I’ve got to remember that we're not facing this by ourselves.
Emily's crouched by her bed with both hands over her ears. Rachel's frozen against the wall.
“Come on,” I urge them. Neither Emily nor Rachel moves.
I crouch beside Emily and place myself directly in her line of sight. “Look at me.”
Her eyes are huge with fear. “They’re here.”
“I know,” I tell her.
“They found us,” Emily whispers.
“Maybe,” I admit. “But we aren’t waiting to find out.”
I hold out my hand, palm facing up. “Take it.”
Emily’s trembling fingers close around mine. “I can’t move,” she says.
“You can,” I assure her. “You don’t have to feel brave. You only have to stand up.”
Beside us, Sarah crosses the room to Rachel and offers her hand. “Come with me.”
Rachel remains frozen, her gaze fixed on the glass. “I can see the window.”
“Then stop looking at it,” Sarah instructs. “Look at me instead.”
Another shot cracks outside. Rachel flinches, and so does Sarah. Neither of them runs, which is its own kind of strength.
I help Emily to her feet. Her knees nearly buckle, but I keep hold of her hand.
“There,” I encourage her. “You’re doing it.”
“I hate this,” Emily says, her voice shaking.
“I know,” I reply.
Her fingers tighten around mine. “I thought it was over.”
That one almost breaks me, because I understand it too well. "I know," is all I trust myself to say.
The security phone changes tone in Sarah's hand. She reads it.
Security Phone:
North breach contained. Possible second approach at rear property.
My blood turns cold. Rear of the property. That's us.
"Downstairs. Now," I tell them, trying to keep the panic out of my voice, but I don’t think I’m doing a good job.
We move as fast as fear allows, which isn't fast enough for my liking. Halfway down, something slams against the back of the house. Rachel screams. Emily nearly falls and I catch her.
"Keep moving." I urge them.
Glass breaks somewhere below and every muscle in me locks, because for one terrible second I'm not here, I'm somewhere else, a door opening, men coming through, and I have to force myself back into this house, this life, this different ending.
“What was that?” Sarah asks, looking toward the back of the house.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
The security phone crackles in her hand.
“Women’s house, report your status,” Zip orders through the speaker.
I take the phone from Sarah. “The upstairs group is coming down. We heard glass breaking near the rear of the house.”
“Stay away from the kitchen,” Zip instructs. “Ice Pick is moving toward you.”
“Is anyone inside?” I ask.
“There’s no confirmation,” he answers.
It isn’t good enough, but it’s all we have.
We guide the women into the living room. Maya has done exactly what she promised. The curtains are closed, everyone is away from the windows, and the emergency supplies sit in the middle of the floor.
The chocolate is included.
Maya looks toward the rear hallway. “What about the kitchen?”
“Stay here,” I tell her.
“I can help,” she insists.
“You are helping,” I assure her. “Stay with the others. That’s your job.”
Maya nods.
Another crash comes from the rear hallway, followed by a man’s voice. It isn’t one of ours. My focus narrows to the baseball bat tucked behind the bookcase. I grab it without thinking twice.
Frankie emerges from the downstairs office. “Cara.”
“Someone is at the back of the house,” I tell her.
She takes the heavy flashlight from the emergency kit and grips it like a weapon. “I’m coming with you.”
“No,” I order.
Frankie’s eyebrows rise, and I almost laugh at entirely the wrong moment.
“You said nobody does this alone,” she reminds me.
Apparently, I’m surrounded by women who have made a hobby of using my own rules against me.
“Stay behind me, then,” I tell her.
“Not a chance,” Frankie replies, moving to my side.
We approach the kitchen door together. Something scrapes against the other side. Metal shifts, followed by heavy breathing.
Then a man shouts. “Back away from the door!”
It’s Ice Pick. My knees nearly give out with relief.
“Cara, are you inside?” Ice Pick calls through the door.
“Yes,” I answer loudly enough for him to hear.
“Don’t open this door,” he orders.
“I wasn’t planning to,” I assure him.
Gunfire erupts directly outside the kitchen and we both drop, a bullet punching through the wall above the counter, and plaster exploding across the floor.
"Move!" I grab Frankie and pull her into the hall as another round hits, and there's more shouting, Sterling now too, everything is happening too fast to separate one sound from another.
I get her into the living room. "Down!"
Everyone drops, the room is full of frightened breathing, and someone is whispering a prayer under her breath. It’s the sound of my club fighting outside for a house full of women who've already survived worse than this once.
I kneel by Emily. "Stay low."
"Are they coming in?" she whispers.
"No." I stop myself before I say more, because I can't promise that. "We're ready if they do."
That's the truth, and it's better than a lie would've been. Something shatters at the side window and a woman screams. Then the front door bangs open. Everyone recoils and I raise the bat.
"Saint’s!" Sterling comes through first, both hands up where we can see them. Ice Pick follows behind him with blood on one sleeve.
"Back room's clear," he says. "One shooter got as far as the kitchen exterior, but he didn't enter."
"Your arm?" I ask.
"Not mine." He looks down then shakes his head.
Sterling looks around the room, counting the same way I already have. Sarah. Maya. Emily. Rachel. Lena. Frankie. All accounted for.
Then someone cries out behind me. Emily's staring down at her side, and for a second my brain refuses to understand it, because she was fine two minutes ago. That’s when I see the tear in her shirt and the blood and everything in me stops.
"No." I can’t help the strangled sound that leaves my throat.
I drop beside her. "Emily?"
She looks at me, her face gone gray. "I feel weird."
"Get Knox!" I press both hands over the wound, blood pushing between my fingers, warm and too much. But I don't leave.
"Emily, look at me.” I need to distract her.
“Am I dying?" Her voice cracks on the question, and I know exactly what it feels like to ask it and wait for someone else to decide.
"No." The word comes before I can stop it, and I hate myself for promising something I don't know. "Knox is coming, and we're going to keep you with us until he gets here. Can you do that?"
Emily begins to cry. “I don’t want to die.”
“You’re not doing anything except breathing for me,” I tell her. “That’s your only job right now.”
My hands are shaking, but I press harder against the wound.
Emily cries out.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I know it hurts.”
Frankie drops beside me with towels from the emergency kit. I keep talking because talking means breathing. It keeps me breathing, and it keeps Emily with me.
“What’s your favourite colour?” I ask.
Emily stares at me through her tears. “What?”
“Your favourite colour,” I repeat. “Tell me.”
“Yellow,” she answers weakly.
“Good.” I keep the pressure steady. “What’s your favourite food?”
“Pizza,” Emily says.
“Terrible choice,” I tell her.
A weak sound escapes her, almost a laugh, and I hold onto that.
Boots pound down the hallway and Knox drops beside us. "Talk to me."
"A bullet came through the wall, I think. It’s her side, I've had pressure on it for maybe two minutes."
"Good." He opens his bag. "Cara, move your left hand slowly."
I do, and blood wells the second I lift it. He replaces my hand with gauze and checks for an exit wound and thankfully he finds one.
"Is that good?" I ask.
"It’s better than it being inside her." He looks at Emily. "Hey, trouble."
"Knox." She looks at him, but I’m not sure she’s taking him in.
"That's me. Stay awake for me." He’s gentle and reassuring, you’d never guess he was the medic for a MC.
"I’m tired,” she says, closing her eyes.