Page 38 of All Saints Day (Lucifer and the Saints #2)
If he's for real, if Francis Castle really means to atone for his sins—now could be the time to prove himself.
Dennis calls down the line, his whole being alight with manic terror. “You can't possibly be thinking that using Frank is a good idea!”
“Unless you have a better one? I’m sending Caz to give you, Seb, and Louise up in the kitchen. I'll get down to Frank, get him his guns, set him up to pick off these goons to give us a chance at escape.”
“And what happens if he starts taking shots at us? At Louise?” Dennis challenges, his alpha aura oppressive down the bond.
“Neither Frank nor Rook wants to hurt Louise. The rest of us. I'm not so sure—but it's a risk I'm willing to take.”
There's the sound of a bullet whizzing past me, then the dry, splintering sound of it finding its home in the wall of the log cabin.
“There's no time to discuss this, Dennis. We need to move now. ”
I can tell from the resonance down the mating bond that even though he might protest, he knows we have no other choice.
I roll from beneath the table and come to kneeling; gun held in a teacup grip as I squeeze off one, then two shots down the hall, dropping two men from their places leaning into the entryway from the main hall.
Once they’ve dropped, I take my opportunity to run in a low crouch for the pantry and the small brass ring handle on the trapdoor in the wooden floor.
I fling the panel open and descend the ladder to the bunker below.
When I drop down into the cool, dank bunker, Frank sits at the edge of his military cot—still bound at the wrists and ankles—his eyes directed toward the ceiling.
“What the hell is going on up there?” he barks, straining against his bonds.
“It's the Windmill. They found us. You need to help us get Louise out of here,” I blurt.
Frank lets out a low growl.
“I can't help like this,” he snarls, brandishing his chains.
In a few steps, I'm across the room and unlocking his handcuffs and the shackles around his ankles.
Bewildered, he looks at me—not quite trusting himself to make the next move.
“You said you didn't want to be a tool for the Windmill any longer—that all you wanted was revenge, for Michael, for yourself and to be with your fated mates,” I challenge, leveling my gaze at him.
Frank gives a single staccato nod.
“Then prove it. I've still got your guns and rifle. We need you to make an opening for us and Louise. We need cover.”
Frank shakes his head in disbelief.
“There's no way we can make it out of here,” he breathes.
“Not without your help, we won't,” I argue as Frank buries his face in his hands.
“Listen, Frank, it's this simple—we need to get out of here. If we don't, Louise goes back to the Windmill without a hope of rescue. You know what that means?”
Frank cups his hands over his ears and lets out a loud yelp.
“If you can keep them off us, we get her out of here, we get her to safety. I know that leaves you high and dry, holding the bag when the bad guys come calling—but right now, your sacrifice is one I'm willing to make.”
Frank puffs out his chest, his chin jutting forward. I can tell he is doing his best not to show how much I've hurt him in the face of my calling him expendable when it comes to Louise's safety, but he doesn't argue. He just gives a solemn nod before asking.
“Where are my guns?”
Frank and I make our way back up the ladder into the pantry where I've squirreled away our extra weapons.
Once outfitted, the pair of us make our way toward the kitchen—Frank and I dropping every Windmill thug in sight.
When we reach the others, Seb and Dennis are just barely managing to hold it down—Louise and Caz, unarmed, are doing their best to stay out of the line of fire.
Though none of us likes the feeling, we allow Frank to get set up at the window with his deadly sniper rifle so he can pick off Windmill henchmen as they make their way toward the cabin.
Dennis and Seb turn their attention to clearing the cabin of intruders.
After a few minutes, Seb and Dennis return—the cabin interior having been cleared—while Frank continues a valiant job of keeping anyone from breaching.
Our momentary sanctuary.
“Now what?” Dennis barks.
“We make a break for the treeline while Frank covers us. If he can reconvene with us, great. If not? We keep moving,” I bite out coldly.
Louise looks up at me from her place crouched on the ground, her whole body coiled like a serpent ready to strike.
“What? You mean we're just going to—to leave him here?” she stammers.
“That's exactly what you're going to do!” Frank bites out before firing another round into a man lurking in the tall grass that I hadn't even seen.
Louise doesn't press, just takes stock of the rest of us before reaching a hand out to me.
“I know you've got plenty—I want a gun, Quentin.”
I'm almost embarrassed that I've thought of her as the damsel in distress—of the baby bird needing protection since we rescued her from the Country Estate.
This is still Louise Penny we're talking about, after all, and though she may have had a rough go of things—she's still one of the best in the business.
I reach into the bag slung over my shoulder and press one of the cold, heavy pieces into her hand along with several full magazines.
With a devilish smile, she leans in and kisses my lips.
“Thanks, Q. I love you and I trust you, but some things a girl just has to do herself.” She winks at me, slamming the magazine home and flicking the safety off as she walks in a squat toward the edge of the window.
All of us are looking out of the remnants of the back sliding doors from the kitchen leading to the woods and the bank of the lake, the sound of the chopper still whirring overhead.
The thick forest could provide an opportunity to slip through unseen, if only we could get to the treeline.
“Caz, you're the lightest on your feet; you take point, I'll bring up the middle, and Seb—you and Dennis bring up the back with Louise.
If we need to, you and I can scoop her up.
We can carry her if the running becomes too much—we just need to keep moving.
As soon as we're outside of the building, nothing else matters except getting to those trees.”
Frank grunts his assent, firing off round after round as he keeps our attackers at bay
while the five of us are getting ready to make a break for it.
Suddenly, there's the shattering of breaking glass and the low hissing of a gas canister as it empties an acrid yellow fog into the room.
“Cover your nose and mouth!” I manage to cry out as I tuck my face beneath the collar of my damp t-shirt. I stumble forward blindly in the thick fog—my body moving on instinct toward cool, fresh air.
I can hear the clamoring of feet, the clanging of metal, the scuffling of my mates moving in the surrounding chaos.
As soon as I'm outside, I see Caz’s buzzed blond head shining in the sunlight as the two of us sprint for the trees.
I look back over my shoulder to ensure that the others are following close behind, but Seb is nowhere to be seen and Dennis is moving low and staggered through the high grass; a bloom of bright red blood peeking through the bandages on his left shoulder.
We need to keep moving. If we don't, there'll be no chance of making the treeline safely.
I don't see the others—though I can still see the long black shining barrel of Frank's rifle propped up on the kitchen windowpane as he continues to fire at oncoming Windmill agents.
The panic that wraps my chest threatens to crush me out of existence as I pass from the bright golden sunlight into the cool shade of the trees—Caz's footsteps crashing ahead of mine through the sticks and leaves.
I reach out down the bond, trying to see where my other fated mates are.
I am met with the horrifying vision of Seb moving on his belly through the grass, a stab wound in his side—his bullets spent and gun long abandoned—as he makes his way toward us in the trees.
Inside the house, Louise and Frank remain pinned in the kitchen—Louise having been pushed back from the pack after the commotion with the smoke bomb.
“We have to turn back!” Dennis screams as Caz and I continue to bomb through the tree boughs, and over logs, deeper into the forest.
I want to turn back, to rush the cabin—to hold Louise in my arms once again—but I know if we turn back now, all of us will be captured—wiped from the board. No one will be left on the outside to save Louise—or the rest of us for that matter.
I can feel Caz, the heavy sorrow of his understanding—of Seb's hateful but complete comprehension as I send the thought down the bond.
I feel the fire of rejection as Dennis threatens to come about—to turn back toward the cabin and his own certain doom.
It is Louise who makes him stay his course.
As clearly as if she were standing before me, before each of us, with her cinnamon eyes soft—her hands outstretched, pleading.
“You have to go. All of you. Get out there, gather your weapons and your strength to come save me. You've done it before, so you can do it again. I will wait for you. I will be strong. I love you.”
And just like that. She's gone.
We can't get eyes on the cabin this deep in the woods, but just before we broke the tree line, the black shining helicopter had touched down in the small field between the gravel road and the log cabin’s sturdy walls—the high grass bending in the wind of the blades.
Louise and Frank have fallen back into the clutches of the Windmill, with the Saints helpless to stop it.