Chapter 18 Raine
Raine
The Jeep jolted over potholes, tires spitting mud as Boone gunned it down the flooded road. The survivors huddled in the back seat, wide-eyed, whispering prayers under their breath. I should’ve been focused on them, but all I could hear was the gunfire behind us.
Every shot felt like a hammer against my ribs.
I pressed a hand to the door handle, knuckles white. Adam’s voice was still in my ear, rough and unyielding: Don’t argue. I’ll find you when it’s done.
Like hell.
He thought he could shove me into the background, keep me safe while he burned himself alive in the fire. He still didn’t understand—I wasn’t a distraction. I wasn’t baggage. I was part of this fight, whether he wanted me there or not.
Boone glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his mouth pulling into a knowing grin. “Don’t even think about it, Carter.”
I snapped my eyes up. “Think about what?”
“About jumping out of my ride and running back into the bullets.” He swerved around a fallen tree, steering one-handed like it was nothing. “I’ve seen that look. Same one Stoker gets before he does something stupid and heroic.”
My chest tightened. “They’re outnumbered. If we leave them—”
“They’ll manage,” Boone cut in, grin fading. “We’re the best there is, sweetheart. You know that.”
I hated that he wasn’t wrong. But knowing didn’t stop the knot twisting tighter in my stomach. Didn’t stop the fear clawing at me with every distant crack of gunfire that echoed back through the night.
I looked at the boy beside me—the one I’d pulled from the van. His eyes were hollow, his small body trembling under the too-big blanket Russ had thrown over him.
I reached for his hand, squeezing gently. “You’re safe,” I whispered, more to convince myself than him.
Because if Adam didn’t come back—if this night swallowed him—I wasn’t sure I’d ever be safe again.