Page 39 of Huck Frasier

“We’re clear,” Lark called from behind me. “All kids accounted for.”

“Get them out,” Frasier ordered. Then he looked at me. “Can you move?”

I nodded. “Don’t let go of my hand.”

“Never.”

We ran.

Gunfire echoed behind us—Axel handling stragglers.

We burst out the back of the warehouse just as Axel rounded the corner, shirt ripped, lip bleeding, eyes wild.

“Van’s ready!” he shouted.

The kids climbed in fast. Reina followed, then Lark.

Frasier turned to me. “Get in.”

I hesitated.

“Now, Marley.”

I climbed into the passenger seat and collapsed against the window.

Frasier slammed the door, jumped into the driver’s seat, and hit the gas.

As we peeled away from the warehouse, tires screeching, adrenaline still roaring in my ears, I looked at him.

“You came,” I whispered.

He reached over and grabbed my hand, squeezing hard.

“Every damn time.”

Frasier

Safehouse – Just Outside Tucson – 1:14 AM

Icarried her in.

Not because she couldn’t walk—though she could barely stand—but because I needed her in my arms. Needed to feel her heartbeat against mine.

Marley didn’t argue.

Her face was pale. Sweat beaded her forehead. Her breaths came in shallow bursts.

“Easy,” I murmured. “Almost there.”

The safehouse was quiet. Low lights. Reinforced doors. A short-term haven run by a friend of Axel’s who didn’t ask questions.

I laid her down on the small bed in the corner and pulled off her boots, careful not to jostle her ribs.

“Can’t breathe,” she rasped.

I knelt beside her. “Is it sharp or pressure?”