Nina
I expected Angelica back by now, but so far there’s been nothing. I get to my feet, shaking my self-pity and doubts aside. I will not give you the pleasure of killing me, bitch. I look around the room once again, searching for anything that’ll get me out of here. The nails. After pulling them from their hiding place under the mattress, I stick one in my pocket and approach the door. It’s an old lock, and those are usually the easiest to pick. Why did I waste precious time with the whole pity-party thing when I could be escaping? I’m even more exasperated when I have the damn thing unlocked in all of two minutes. Not my proudest moment. No way am I telling Minka that part. It creaks so loudly when I open it that I expect to see Angelica at any moment. Come to think of it, where are the damn guards? I hesitantly slip my head out into the hallway. It’s dim and musky smelling but deserted. I slide my back against the wall, trying not to think of what I’m brushing past, and go in the direction I hope leads me to an exit. I keep waiting for something, anything to startle me, but I literally walk straight up to and out the back door without a hitch. This is all wrong. Where in the hell is Angelica? Even Marco will be impressed if I make it out of this alive. What if I never see him again? Why do I even care? He’s a liar and God knows what else. Yet… stop it. Shelter first, questions and heartbreak later.
I’m standing at the bottom of the steps choosing my direction when an unmistakable click sounds behind me. “Really, dear, I didn’t think you’d ever take some initiative. A five-year-old could have picked that lock. What took you so long? The cavalry is on the way, so I need to wrap this up.”
My brain is urging me to run, but at this distance, she’ll easily hit me. No, my only option is to catch her off guard and buy a few extra seconds. That’s all I’ll need. So I turn slowly to see Angelica standing near the top step, holding a gun. The sound I heard had been her chambering a round. It seems insane that she would not have already loaded the gun, but who am I to judge? This lady is seriously batshit crazy. I open my mouth to say something that will likely get me killed, but in the end, that isn’t necessary.
The blast knocks me off my feet. I’ve barely processed that when my chest is on fire. I clumsily bring a hand up, trying to push aside whatever’s crushing me. My vision dims, and my reality is distorted. Fragments of sound and motion flit around me, but it’s as if I’m watching from a great distance. It’s a dream, it must be. How else would Minka be standing over me with her gun drawn as she screams my name?
Why is it so cold?
Why is everything… so dark?
Marco
Our radios are going wild as we arrive at the old farmhouse. “Stand down, stand down! Friendly fire. I repeat, stand down. Do not fire. Agent is securing the scene.” Another beep sounds. “Ghost, advise. Has the threat been eliminated?”
We all wait with bated breath. I hope to God Moose is dead, but I’ll be much happier if I put him down myself. Belle, hold on. “Threat eliminated, but get the fucking medevac here now, asshole. Gunshot wound to the motherfucking chest.” The last part comes out as more of a sob than a shout, which is somehow even more terrifying.
“Ghost is a woman?” my father asks absently as we run toward the house. I could give a fuck if she’s a woman or the pope at this point. My Belle.
Malone mutters something I can’t make out. Another agent points us toward the back, and I vaguely hear the medevac landing in a nearby field, but all that is just background noise. But then I see something that brings me out of my haze and crashes me into a reality I could have never imagined. A blonde is huddled over something on the ground, and she’s cursing and saying shit that makes no sense. “You remember when you broke my Wonder Woman snow globe, and I sewed all your shirt sleeves up? Well, I’ll do much worse if you don’t get your shit together. I’ll tell Marco you have Google alerts set up on him. And that you have a picture of him as your iPad background.” Then the ranting stops, and my blood runs cold as a loud keening fills the air. “I swear to God, Nina Gavino, if you leave me, I’ll never forgive you. I can’t live in a world that you’re not a part of. You and me forever, we promised each other. We promised.”
Minka? What? Why is she here? My mind is slow to comprehend what my eyes are telling me. Ghost is a woman? A woman. Minka? My bewilderment is pushed aside as we all stand frozen, transfixed by her all-consuming grief. I’ve never loved like this before—it’s been limited to family—until Nina. But I’ve never witnessed the type of bond that would bring this level of despair. I’m not even sure I’m capable of that depth of feeling—or so I thought. Three things show me that not only can I reach that level, I can surpass it: seeing Minka being physically lifted from her protective crouch over her best friend’s body is bad; Nina lying utterly still and deathly pale with a crimson bloom covering her chest has me shaking in reaction; and finally, hearing my father’s shout of alarm and numbly turning to see him clutching my mother against his chest as he screams her name.
Malone is before me now. His lips are moving, yet I hear nothing but a buzzing in my ear. My earlier thoughts are confirmed in the most horrifying fashion imaginable.
This is a cataclysmic event unfolding. Focus. Do the job. From out of nowhere, one thought rises above the wreckage around me, and my mouth drops open incredulously. “You knew.”
He doesn’t reply, but the look on his face tells me all I need to know. “Focus,” he says softly.
I see Nina being loaded onto a stretcher, and there’s no longer an internal debate. “Vitals are stable for the moment. Let’s get her out of here.” The team working on my mother gives a sign I’ve seen before. Dead at the scene.
My father looks shell-shocked, but he would be the first to tell me to go with the woman I love. And that’s exactly what I do. “Fuck the job,” I toss out as I push past Malone and join Minka and the emergency team. I’ll have my answers later, but right now, there is only the woman on the stretcher fighting for her every breath. The beautiful spitfire who once saved my life. And I will call in every marker owed to me to save hers.