Page 122 of The Souls We Claim

There’s a ladder. Some rope.

Nothing I can use as a splint for Bates’s leg.

To the left of the garage is a narrow path down the side of the cabin. To our right is a heavily overgrown embankment.

“Hey, Bates,” I say.

“What?”

“At least if we die, I won’t have to watch you do all that ridiculous jump rope to stay in shape anymore.”

There’s a pause, and then Bates chuckles quietly. “Not ready to leave my girls yet.”

It sobers us. “Yeah. Me neither. So, let’s make sure that doesn’t happen.”

I glance down at my watch. I set the dial when King told me they were on their way. We’ve held them back for thirty minutes, but help isn’t coming for another ten. Even if they break all the speed limits, I doubt it’s going to be less than eight.

This isn’t Bates’s fight.

It’s mine.

“I’m going to go buy us some time.” We’re surrounded. It’s an undeniable fact.

“Don’t you even fucking think about it,” Bates says. His voice is so low, it registers like static.

“He’s not going to kill me straightaway. He’s going to want to mess me up first.” I remember the last time I was tortured. It took seven hours until I was rescued. Lost three fingernails, had thirty-seven stitches, needed three months of leave, and required five mandatory hours of psychiatric evaluations to make sure I was ready to go back into the field.

If I could withstand that, I can hold my own for some number less than ten minutes.

“You don’t know that. It’s a death sentence.”

“Would you do it if it were Avery in that house? Vi?” I ask.

Bates sighs and rubs his hand across his chin. “They can’t get to them in the panic room.”

I eye Bates. “But they can get to you.” I hand him my gun.

Bates shakes his head. “Not fucking taking it, man.”

The crunching gravel is getting closer. When I look out the window, I see three men coming from one direction and four coming from the other. Don’t know where the others are.

“We’re outmanned. Outgunned.” I put my SIG by his leg. “And I’m not leaving with it. They’re only going to take it from me as soon as they pat me down, and those three bullets might send you back home to your girls. Look after Ari and Lola for me if this goes to shit.”

Tears rim Bates’s eyes. “With my life. Do the same for Vi and Avery, yeah?”

“Call your old lady,” I say. The words are raw.

Old lady.

I’ve got to live so I can make Ari mine.

Before I can let the emotions he’s feeling seep into me, I stand and rearrange my knives. I put one into my boot. It’s uncomfortable but might save my life down the line.

One I slide down the back of my jeans and make sure my untucked shirt covers it.

It strikes me that while this is the most practical outcome, me leaving Bates in the shadows with a gun, it’s also a grand gesture of solidarity with a man I see as a brother.

But I make it anyway.