Page 120 of Touch of Hate

Scarlet’s soft gasp is lost to the sound of chair legs scraping the floor not twenty feet from where we’re pressed against the ground.

It’s still completely dark out here, the only lights mounted on tall poles inside the compound. When a dark figure fills one of the guardhouse windows, all I can do is hope he assumes an animal did it.

Hopefully, he’s tired after a long, boring shift with another hour and a half to go, so he’s not particularly interested in a harmless stray on the other side of the fence. Every beat of my heart draws the tension out like a blade.

Go, dammit. Go back to what you were doing. Convince yourself that keeping children locked behind a fence topped with barbed wire is a good thing, and you’re a good person for it.

It can’t be more than a few seconds, even though it feels like a year, but finally, he backs away. My chest tightens, but I can breathe again. Still, I wait a slow count of ten before crawling the last few yards.

Once Scarlet’s beside me, I lean close to her ear.

“The gate will begin to slide open automatically. I need you to be ready to run. Go through the second you can fit and duck behind the other side of the building. When he comes out, I’ll take him out.”

I can’t make out her face in the darkness, but I’m fairly confident she’s nervous as hell and probably wide-eyed with fear and dread. It’s not enough to make her back down, though—she nods, her cheek brushing mine as she does.

My racing heart swells with pride.

My angel. My queen.

Here we go. No turning back now.

Christian, if you can hear me while burning in hell, you’d better not have fucked me here.

I squint at the keypad, my fingers sliding over the buttons before I press decisively, entering the numbers he gave up: 1-0-6-7-9.

For one excruciating moment, nothing happens. Scarlet lets out a strangled gasp while my brother’s voice rings out in my head.

You fucked it up, just like I knew you would. I should’ve done it myself.

Instead of a screeching siren signaling a breach, a soft buzz sounds before the gate begins to slide open. We both scramble to our feet before I shove Scarlet toward the growing opening, close on her heels. The guard will be out of his chair by now, going to the window before heading for the door. It’s what I would do.

And it’s what he does, the door to the guardhouse clicking open not even a heartbeat after Scarlet and I round the corner. He wastes no time pounding down the wooden stairs, jogging toward the gate.

Since he leaves the door open, a rectangle of light pours from inside, giving me a clear view of the butt of a gun protruding from his waistband.

He begins reaching for it…

Here goes nothing.

I dart forward, reaching him before he wraps his fingers around the butt. I take hold, instead, while wrapping my left arm around his neck from behind, jerking sharply, cutting off his air so there won’t be any screaming.

He fights or tries to—one thing about the guards around here that I remember from the past is their lack of physical size and strength. There were never any brawny guys in the ranks. They didn’t need physical strength when they had rifles and handguns on their side.

In other words, it doesn’t take long before my prey slumps, his legs turning to rubber. I jerk hard again, as hard as I can, satisfied by the feeling of something giving way under my arm. His windpipe. Satisfaction rings proudly through me.

Quickly, I drag him into the deep shadows behind the guardhouse, leaving him wedged between the foundation and a dumpster after checking him for more weapons. He only had the single gun. Not even a knife.

I wonder if that means Rebecca’s feeling lax, secure. I can only hope so.

Scarlet exhales when I reach her, still crouched in the shadows. She leans against me for a beat before straightening up again. There’s no time for emotions now. The gate opening was quiet enough, but if anyone happens to be up and notices it sitting wide open the way it is, we’re fucked.

Yet I can’t take the chance of closing it to cover our asses—that means having to open it again. We might not have time to get into the guardhouse.

All we can do is keep going, staying low as we cut diagonally from the guardhouse to the shed Christian assured me houses the group’s growing collection of weapons and ammunition.

It never ceases to amaze me that no one thinks the presence of a cache of rifles in what’s supposed to be a peaceful religious community is odd.

Another keypad is mounted beside the door, and it’s with more confidence that I punch in the code. A buzz, a click, and the door unlocks.