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She told herself to calm the hell down. She told herself it was nothing. She hated how jumpy she’d become. Even a twig falling made her heart pound.
Warranted. You've been through a lot. The more you're on edge the better chance you have to react.
I’m not going to let my family starve while you sit here in decadence you didn’t earn and don’t deserve.
“It’s complicated.” Quinn frowned. “And stupid. Everyone is stupid.” “That’s your answer for everything.”
“Yeah, well, it seems to fit everything these days, doesn’t it?”
Quinn wanted them out. She wanted to fight them, if that’s what it took. Gran had told her to be careful, to keep her eyes open and stay watchful. And above all, not to do something stupid.
Luther gripped his AK-47 and followed close behind. He was Caucasian, slim but muscular. All Quinn remembered about him was that he was a polite thief, as if manners made their armed robbery palatable. It made her hate him even more.
Desoto didn’t hesitate. He didn’t give a speech or ask for any last words or even give them a chance to defend themselves.
Desoto squeezed the trigger. He fired a double tap into the man’s chest.
Outrage burned through Quinn’s fear. Whatever crimes these people were guilty of, it didn’t warrant death.
Milo pushed away from Quinn.
He ran toward the white house, toward the murderers masquerading as militia.
“Leave them alone!” Milo screamed. “Stop hurting people!”
Brave little guy.
Without thinking a coherent thought, Quinn sprinted after Milo.
Luther grasped Mrs. Blair beneath her arms and lugged her down the porch steps. He pushed her into the snow. She landed on her hands and knees.
“Run!” he shouted. “Go!”
Brave, fearless Milo acted like he didn’t even see the gun. He ran straight at the fake soldier and pummeled his stomach with his tiny fists. “Go away! Leave us alone and go away!”
He seized Milo around his thin neck with both hands and lifted him clear off the ground.
Quinn did not miss. She never missed.
She shot Sebastian Desoto in the throat.
Milo scrambled to his feet. He stood between Desoto and Quinn, nervous and indecisive. He looked scared now. Good. A little fear never hurt anyone.
If Noah don't do something after this I'ma know something.
She did not back down. She couldn’t afford to.
“Sinclair wouldn’t like it. You and I both know that. And what the superintendent doesn’t like, Sutter doesn’t like.”
“You really don’t want to hurt these kids. We’ve done enough. It’s enough.”
Milo peeked around her side. “Go to hell!”
“Language, Small Fry,” she said. “He deserves it!”
“Desoto, shut your trap already. Talking can’t be good for your throat. Let’s go see that nurse at the shelter, get you fixed up.”
Luther didn’t answer. He glanced back at Quinn. There was something in his face—remorse, regret maybe. The same as that day at Gran’s house. It just made her more furious.
“Make no mistake,” Desoto said, his lip curling in contempt, hatred flashing in his eyes. “This town isn’t yours. Fall Creek belongs to us.”
He’d finally come to a decision on the matter of his progeny. After he killed the girl, he would return to Fall Creek with the child. He would bestow it upon his mother. When the time was right, he would teach it the ways of the world. How to hunt. Who to kill.
They wanted him to leave, he felt it, but they were too polite to ask.
He didn’t care what they wanted. He would rely on their generosity until it ran out, and then he would take what they had left via gunpoint. Break a few bones in that little boy’s hand, and their attitudes would transform with fantastic swiftness.
How sickening.
He acted sicker than he was.
Lol no really!
Her infant daughter slept downstairs. Liam was there, too—the gruff, reticent soldier who’d saved her life more than once. He had also become someone she cared for. Someone important.
The terrible flashbacks of her captivity were fading before a slew of brighter, happier memories.
She was braver, less fearful. She no longer cowered. She was shedding the old Hannah to make way for something new.
Liam had used the washing machine’s supply hose to connect to the water heater valve and drain the water into several cooking pots, a couple of empty water jugs, and their water bottles.
He’d also collected the water from the back of the toilet tanks in the three bathrooms. Since it was clean and hadn’t been chemically treated, it was drinkable.
Man… I don't know now lol.
It was more than just hair she cut. It was years of nightmares, years of abuse, years of degradation, pain, and horror.
Soon, she would be home. Home to her family. To Milo. She wasn’t sure what she would be returning to. What Noah would be like. How they might resurrect their failing marriage.
The new Hannah Sheridan looked in the mirror and smiled.
While Hannah recovered physically from the ordeal of childbirth, Liam had spent the days strengthening their defenses.
which they should make in less than a day if he could scavenge them a working snowmobile or truck with a snowplow.
In the last three weeks, he’d pushed his body further and harder than he had in years. His spine had protested, but he ignored it. The pain wouldn’t be ignored forever.
She was looking healthier. It was more than that, though. Her green eyes were shining. Her chocolate-brown hair was brushed, clean, and swished around her shoulders. She’d cut it. It looked…good. She looked good. Beautiful, even. As if she could read his thoughts, she blushed and gave him a shy smile.
Liam found it difficult to look at her for too long. It was a bit like looking into the sun. Warm and inviting, but painful.
Her presence did something to him, unnerved him in a way he wasn’t prepared for. She threatened to awaken a longing inside him that he didn’t deserve and could never have.
After she’d nearly died in childbirth, he’d been hesitant to push travel, even though he was antsy and hated being cooped up day after day. She was already exhausted from her ordeal, not to mention everything that had come before.
If he was completely honest with himself, maybe he’d been putting it off. Three weeks ago, he’d been eager to deliver her home and be rid of the burden of responsibility.
Now, the thought of delivering her to her husband and heading north alone to his own isolated homestead left him feeling strangely bereft.
She deserved to see her son again.
