Page 42 of Last Man Standing

“Yeah,” I cry out and dart into the hall. “I’m coming.” I slide into my room and almost crash into Sebastion on his way out, but we pass with barely a touch, then he’s gone again, while Lincoln’s furious shouts echo back to me.

“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.” I dump my book and markers on the bed and whip my gaze to my vibrating phone. Pouncing on the device, I spy Nova’s name flashing on the screen.

Tears dribble from my eyes, soaking my cheeks and dripping off the edge of my jaw, but I swipe and slam the phone to my ear. “Yeah? Nova?”

“I think you should go with Tank.” Her voice is a rushed whisper, while my brother’s snapping tone fills the background of our call. “Did you hear me, Scar? Go with Tank.”

“But Linc⁠—”

“Lacks the ability to think clearly when you’re involved. The new note scared the hell out of us, so he’s spiraling. Now Tank wants to take you away. You know Linc isn’t capable of hearing that and not overreacting.”

“But what if Sebastion is wrong? What if⁠—”

“What if Lincoln’s wrong? We don’t know what time that note arrived on your door, so we don’t know if we’re two hours behind him, or twelve hours. If it’s the latter, he could already be where you are. If Tank is wrong, then there’s no harm. You’ve just been moved. But if Lincoln is wrong, then the consequences could be way worse.”

“But—”

“Take your phone. Stay in contact. We’re gonna figure this out.”

“We don’t know if the lock is here in Mount Gaines,” Sebastion booms. “Or there in Denver. You rushing back here is stupid.”

“No, stupid is me being anywhere except where my sister is,” Lincoln bites right back, his voice first coming through the call I share with Nova, then again through Sebastion’s phone speaker. “I’m not staying away!”

“You are the worst fucking soldier I’ve ever worked with! There’s no room for emotion in war, Castro. Stay where you are, keep hunting your man. I’ll move your sister, and then I’ll put eyes on this house, in case he turns up. Until we know where he is, we need our net to stay wide. You running back here is the exact opposite of what you should be doing.”

“Just go with him,” Nova whispers. “The sooner you leave and Lincoln realizes everything is still okay, the sooner we can figure out our next step. But this in-between, right now,” she presses, “when he thinks he can control a situation he can’t, it needs to end.”

“O-okay.” I draw a shuddering breath and glance at my mountain of clothes, then setting our call on speaker, I toss it onto my bed and go to work flattening my things. I stuff bits and pieces into available gaps and get most of it zippered away, then I grab a pair of jeans from my floor and, casting a look back to the hall, I tear my shorts down and trade them for denim. I select the first sweater my fingers touch and whip it over my head, and while I work the fabric down my torso, I stride back to my closet and snag my overnight bag. It’s a dark-brown, faux-leather cross-body bag, larger than a purse, but smaller than a carry-on suitcase. Tearing the zipper open and setting it on my bed, I toss my pyjama shorts inside, then my pencil case and books. I turn to my bedside table and whip the phone charger from the wall, tossing that in, too, then I peel the hair elastic from my wrist and push my long locks into a ponytail.

“Scarlett?” Nova whispers. “You’re going?”

“Yeah.” Finishing with my hair, I snatch up a rolled pair of socks and plop onto my bed so I can tug them on. The waistband of my jeans digs into my belly, especially when I lean forward and snag a pair of sneakers from under the bed, but I slip my feet inside and keep moving. “Where do you think he’ll take me?”

“I don’t know. But I’m gonna trust that it’s the right decision. We’ll catch up soon.”

The house remains dark, like Sebastion prefers to work in the shadows, but that darkness makes it impossible to miss the beams of a car’s lights on the road outside.

“Scarlett?”

“Shh.” I hold my breath and stare at the wall, waiting, waiting, waiting to see if the car will keep going, then I choke out an impossibly quiet sob when Sebastion ducks into my doorway, a finger pressed to his lips and a long-barreled handgun clasped in his hand.

“Hang up.” He darts across my room and takes my phone before I get the chance. “We’ll call you when we’re on the road. Keep Lincoln under control until we make contact again.”

“Okay,” Nova responds quickly. “Be safe.”

He kills the call, locks the screen, then hands the phone back and grips my arm instead. Scanning my packing efforts, he nods his approval and drapes my cross-body bag over my shoulder, then he snags my suitcase and carries it back to the door.

The car outside passes us by, continuing along the road and away into oblivion.

Instead of relaxing, Sebastion tightens his grip on my wrist and leads me into the hall.

“Do you think they’re already here?”

“Don’t know.” He brings me to the end of the hall, where turning one way leads to the living room, and turning the other goes to the kitchen.

He sets my suitcase down and meets my eyes for a long, intense pause. Stay the fuck here, Princess. Without a word, he sprints into the living room and crosses to the front door. He doesn’t open it, and he doesn’t shift the heavy window blinds, either.

Instead, he takes out his phone and navigates to whatever app he’s looking for, then he studies it for a full minute.