He appeared, but he wasn’t smiling. “Stay up there,” he said. “And pull that up.” He tried to push the ladder away.
“What’s going on?” The tone of his voice had the small hairs on my neck standing up straight.
“I don’t know, maybe nothing. But stay up there, okay?”
“Ren—”
“I’m not fucking around, Amber.” His eyes were fierce and he pulled a gun from his waistband. I sucked in a breath. I had no clue he had a fucking gun in the house. The sight of it made me panic, my heart racing, my hands sweating. “Stay up there and don’t move, no matter what you hear.”
“Where’s Mona?” The question came out strangled.
“Went to the city a few hours ago.” He looked away, face serious. “Thank fucking god. Now stay up there.”
He stalked off without another word.
I leaned back, heart racing, breathing hard. I crawled over to the attic vent but couldn’t see anything outside. I heard nothing downstairs, and I didn’t know what was going on, but Ren sounded intense, and he was holding a gun—which meant something very, very bad was happening. I didn’t think he’d pull a gun around me unless he felt like he absolutely needed to.
Time slipped past. It was almost the opposite of my painting zone. When I was making something, time began elastic and sort of slipped past like a river. I could float in that zone and nothing mattered to me as whatever I was making came out in gushes and fits and starts. But waiting around for something horrible to happen, that made time contract, and every second, every heartbeat felt like an eternity.
No sounds, no movement, nothing at all.
I crawled back to the hatch and opened it. “Ren?” I whispered. My voice sounded harsh, like I might cry. I realized I had a lump in my throat. “Ren, where—”
He appeared down below and I had to put a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. His face was serious as he put a finger to his lips, shushing me. I stared at him, on the verge of freaking out. He gestured for me to lower the ladder, and I did, nice and slow. He pulled it down the rest of the way, then helped me climb out.
“Why do you have the gun?” I whispered when I was practically in his arms.
“Someone’s here,” he whispered back, his lips against my ear. His stubble tickled my neck and god, I wanted to put my hands on his chest, but I thought I might pass out from how hard my heart was racing.
“Who? What’s happening?”
He held up a hand, listening. “Cars pulled up. Three guys got out. I don’t know who they are.”
“Where are they?”
“Downstairs, looking around. They came in the back.”
“Maybe they’re with Vincent.”
“Maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced. “I want to make a break for it.”
“How?”
He shook his head and put a finger to his lips then crept to the stairway. I heard voices downstairs, distant and muffled, then footsteps. Ren cursed and came back to me, grabbing my hand and pulling me along behind him. We ducked into Mona’s room and he closed the door, leaving a small crack to see through. I pressed my eye against it while he loomed above me, watching.
A guy walked into view. For an instant, I thought everyone was fine—until I saw the gun he held in his hands. It was a long rifle, one of those things you see on TV.
Ren pulled me from the door and gave me a look.
I sank down and sat on the floor, knees pulled to my chest. I couldn’t handle this, couldn’t handle it one bit, and I felt like I was having a flashback to that day when the bullets ripped into my body, flinging me to the ground—the day I almost died, but came away from irrevocably changed.
“Don’t move,” he whispered.
“Ren,” I gasped, but he slipped out of the door.
I climbed to my feet, freaking out. I poked my head out into the hall and watched him sneak almost perfectly silent up behind the guy with the long rifle. He bashed his gun down on the back of the gun’s head, knocking him forward, he did it a second time. The man’s scalp broke and blood dropped onto the floor as he stumbled and fell to the ground.
Ren crouched, listening. I held my breath. Nobody called the alarm.
He quickly took the man’s big gun. The guy wore black clothes, a long-sleeve t-shirt and dark jeans, and had a scraggly, ugly beard. I guessed motorcycle gang, based on his leather boots and the black wristbands, but I couldn’t be sure. Ren came back to me, opened the door, and offered his hand.
“Come on,” he said.
I nodded and let him lead me back to the steps. We headed down, trying not to make any noise, but I wasn’t as quiet as he was. He somehow managed to step over every spot where the wood creaked, and I somehow found it all.