Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Behind her, she heard Gloria’s surprised “Steve! She’s going out the window!” Panic swelled, and Ren pushed harder, feeling the wet slide of blood down her neck as she scraped her chest against the sill, shimmying to get out her waist, her hips, her thighs—
A strong hand clamped around her ankle. “No you don’t,” Gloria growled, and leaned back, tugging hard.
Ren kicked her legs and reached for anything she could find, trying to get leverage to pull herself free. Gloria’s grip tightened, and she shouted for Steve to go out the front and catch Ren on the other side.
With panic sending fire into her pulse, Ren screamed in the quiet between fireworks, the two hopeful syllables cutting a shrill knife through the air—“EDWARD!”—and finally managed to wrench one leg free of Gloria’s grip. She kicked once more—hard—and felt her foot connect with something soft. A groan sounded from inside, and then Gloria’s hands fell away and Ren tumbled to the ground just as the front door opened.
Steve’s eyes met hers. “Stay right there, Ren,” he warned, racing down the front steps, but she scrabbled to her feet, pushing off into a sprint down the driveway. In the distance, she could see a line of cars, flashing lights, and the silhouette of figures.
“Edward!” she screamed, praying he was there. She had no one else. Nothing else. He was the only person who hadn’t betrayed her. “EDWARD!”
In the moonlight, she saw a commotion and then two figures breaking away from the line, sprinting toward her. Instinctive fear pulsed for a flash before an explosion went off overhead, the gentle raining of blue and silver illuminating the homestead. She could see them. They’d broken free from the barricade and were sprinting right for her.
“Ren!” Edward yelled. “Run!”
Gunfire sounded behind her; a whistle seared past her head, close enough to send goose bumps down her arm.
Another voice. A man’s voice, one she knew somewhere, deep in the marrow of her bones. “Gracie!”
Thirty feet from the two figures…twenty feet…ten…
Another bullet kicked up dirt beside her feet just as she collided with Edward’s chest, his arms coming around her, pulling her tight into him, before someone else captured them both from the side, tackling them into the brush just as gunfire rained down on the cabin.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
EDWARD
Edward didn’t care about the thorns or the branches or the cold. He was never letting go of her.
Voices rose, footsteps pounded toward them, muted shouts and directions. Ren was curled into a tight ball in his arms, hands over her ears, shaking violently. “Ren, shhh, I got you,” he told her. “I got you. I got you.”
“What’s happening?” she asked into his chest. “Where are they? Are they coming?”
“You’re safe,” Chris said, sending a careful hand over her back.
“They were shooting,” she sobbed into Edward’s chest. “Were they shooting at me? Were my parents shooting at me?”
Edward’s helpless gaze met Chris’s over the top of Ren’s head. Panicked, he shook his head, not knowing what to say.
“The police are here,” Chris said softly. “Lots and lots of them. It’s going to be okay.”
Edward knew Chris was probably right, but Edward wasn’t entirely convinced yet. There was a lot of yelling, and something somewhere was on fire. He was aware of a handful of SWAT officers moving past them down the driveway, the dark, ominous sound of gunfire, and then the piercing, high-pitched misery of Gloria’s scream.
Ren violently flinched in his arms. “What happened? Oh my God, what’s happening?”
He craned his neck, trying to see anything, but it was suddenly impossible, with another cluster of bodies in dark combat gear jogging past. All he could sense was that the energy had shifted, and everything quieted. And then two medics sprinted past with heavy bags.
“I think they’ve got the cabin surrounded,” he told her.
“Is Gloria okay?” she asked. “Is Steve okay?”
Edward looked over the top of her head to meet Chris’s eyes again—because honestly, he wasn’t sure that everyone in that cabin was going to make it out—but Chris was staring at his daughter in Edward’s arms, tears brimming.
“Hey,” Edward said gently, urging Chris to look at him. “Should we move back there?” He lifted his chin to where the police cars, ambulances, and SWAT vans were parked in the darkness.
Just as he said it, a low voice came from beside them in the bushes: “Guys, we gotta move you out.”
Movies always made the climax of a story seem so tidy, so compact. Police surrounded the suspects, apprehended them, carted them away in cop cars, sirens wailing victoriously. The victims were tucked safely in the back of an ambulance with a cup of tea and a blanket over their shoulders. Viewers caught up four months later with the characters, now smiling and healthy, walking in the park with a new puppy.
In reality, it wasn’t anything like that. In reality, the supposed climax was confusing, cold, dark, and time passed without any obvious plan or momentum. After the agents brought Ren, Edward, and Chris back to the protected line of cars, vans, and ambulances, she was quickly whisked off to the care of a pair of emergency medics; Chris was led to another ambulance a bit farther down the road, and Edward was asked to wait, out of the way, for further instruction.