Chapter Twenty
Hazel
I slipped out through the broken window. Glass tore at my feet. My shoes were by the front door, and I had no way of getting them before fleeing the farmhouse.
I ran hard and fast with Bear at my side in the darkness outside through the field. Breathing hard, I stumbled over a rock, smashing my toe and landing face-first against the ground.
Dirt covered my face and filled my mouth. I spit and coughed.
Gunfire erupted from behind me inside the house. Bear took off, abandoning me in the open field.
“Mason,” I whispered, staring at the battered farmhouse. It hadn’t fallen yet. The structure looked unstable from the hundreds of bullet holes that littered the walls.
I needed to run, but my feet were sore and raw. My heart wanted to save Mason, but the only way to do that was to surrender to Franco. Even that didn’t secure Mason’s freedom.
A flashlight shined right on me.
“Freeze! Hold it right there!” A gruff voice shouted at me.
I ran, hoping the darkness would blanket me, but there was a full moon.
He shot off a warning. The bullet whizzed by my side.
“Stop! Next time I won’t miss.”
I came to an abrupt halt, my arms in the air. “Don’t shoot. I’ll go with you. Just leave my friends alone.” It wasn’t a bargain I could make. I had no leverage. He had the gun on me, but I still said it anyhow.
He snorted and grabbed my arm and yanked me to follow before he let go and rammed the gun into my back.
“Move faster,” he commanded. As we drew closer, he shouted at the others. “We got her!”
I glanced down at the golden bangle hidden on my arm beneath the sweatshirt. Mason would find me, assuming he was still alive.
I couldn’t allow myself to think like that. He was a fighter, always had been, even at boarding school.
The men repeatedly fired on the farmhouse, another round of bullets showering the building and the two men inside.
Uncle Jeb hadn’t looked in good shape when I’d come downstairs. We should have checked on him, helped him, put him into the hidden crawl space under the house.
My stomach ached wretched with guilt. Had I just married Franco none of this would have happened.
“There’s my little firecracker,” Franco said as he stomped through the grass, coming right for me.
I wanted to flee, but I couldn’t move. The gun was nestled against my spine. My feet throbbed, which made it difficult to walk.
He fisted my hair and tugged on the strands, jerking my head up and my gaze to meet his stern expression. “No more running, Hazel. The chase is over.” He dragged me by the hair and shoved me into the back of his town car, sliding in beside me.
“Don’t even try escaping. Child locks are an incredible feature.” His knees spread wide, taking up a seat and a half.
I scooted as close to the opposite door, trying to make myself small.
“It’s a shame you killed those men and the marshals,” Franco said. “I never thought my wife would take part in the messy aspects of the business, but it seems you’re as dirty as I am.”
“I didn’t kill anyone.” I wasn’t the murderer. He couldn’t blame me for what he did.
Franco turned to face me. “You don’t believe that. I know the way you think. You’re more guilty than I am. You reached out to him and sealed his fate.” His finger grazed my collarbone and touched the white gold chain my father had given me, holding a heart locket with a picture of my deceased mother.
He ripped the necklace from my neck, rolled down the window, and tossed it outside as we drove.