Page 152 of Hurt

Ezra hollered instructions from his third-story balcony, looking scared.

Kurt licked his lips and tasted iron.

“Grant,” he whispered. “I’m here.”

I didn’t give up.

Jamie secured the hard-sided case on his back. Tightening the straps so it wouldn’t bounce too much, he rolled his shoulders and tested the weight. It was good. His hands flittered over the rest of his children: .454 Casull secured on one side of his shoulder holster and Chicken Nugget on the other. He didn’t have room to bring his sawed-off shotgun this time, and he felt bereft without it. Extra ammunition was clipped to his belt, and he had spare clips in every pocket.

Hair slicked back with a headband, and his sleeves rolled up well beyond his elbows, he flexed his fingers. The pair of fingerless leather gloves on his hands felt bulky. He didn’t like shooting with gloves, but he would need them for the climb.

Elijah handed him the navy-colored duffel bag, and he glared at it balefully. “Where the hell am I supposed to put that?”

Elijah didn’t say anything, kneeling to unzip the bag and retrieve the rope and grappling hook. He looped it around Jamie’s shoulders and secured the hook against his belt. Giving it a few experimental tugs, he nodded in satisfaction.

Jamie looked down at him through his lashes. Elijah wasn’t okay. He hadn’t been okay since Noah came into their lives. Jamie knew Elijah better than anyone in the world, he could read him like a book. But knowing what he was thinking didn’t mean he knew how to fix it.

Jamie was the last person in the world to give interpersonal advice.

Instead, he asked, “You good?”

Elijah nodded. “Yes.”

There was no conviction in his answer. They both knew he was lying, but Jamie didn’t push it.

Jamie offered his fist and Elijah’s lips curled faintly. He tapped his knuckles against Jamie’s.

“Who are we?”

Elijah rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying it.”

“Who are we?!”

Jamie waggled his eyebrows until Elijah sighed and mumbled under his breath.

“Louder!”

“No.”

“Elijahhhhh.”

“No.”

Jamie leaned his head back and howled to the waxing moon. “We are motherfucking Weavers, and we are coming for your souls!”

Elijah tried not to, but he smiled fondly. “Be careful.”

Jamie winked and watched as his friend went to take his place.

He adjusted his cargo once again and eyed the snipers Noah brought. They were older than Jamie by ten years or so. Their weapons were expensive and looked to be in good order when Jamie inspected them. Even if they were average marksmen, having more guns would only increase their chances of success.

Once night fell and they could move under the cover of darkness, they got closer to the Catacombs. Jackson took out any sentries so as long as the guards at the gate didn’t see them, they would have the advantage.

Jamie glanced over at Grant. He was standing at the front of the group. Under the moonlight his hazel eyes looked especially dark. With Roland to his right and Jackson to his left, he looked like a god about to rain holy hellfire on his nemesis.

Which, to be fair, he was.

As if sensing his stare, he looked over at Jamie and gave him a subtle nod.