Page 18 of Embers

Cal was about to kiss me.

I can’t shift gears nearly fast enough to handle this.

He’s backing up now. He’s got his hands behind him, pushing me with him. “We’re not pals anymore, and this is your last warning. Get out and never come back!”

If I were on the receiving end of that tone, I’d be scared shitless, but the big guy just laughs again. After all, there are four of them. And one of Cal. And only one of me, for all I’m worth at the moment.

“You got yourself a real nice setup here.” The man glances around our newly cleaned cabin. “Chickens out back and plenty of food. Even a pretty piece of pussy to keep your bed warm. Lot of men would kill for what you’ve got up here. Shouldn’t keep it all to yourself.”

I almost gag, although I’d never expect anything but crudeness from this horrible man. But the words still sicken me. I’m trembling so helplessly my teeth are chattering.

Cal moves us again until I’m trapped in the corner between his bed and the wall. His body is completely blocking mine. I can’t even see the men anymore. Just Cal’s shoulders. His straight spine. The perspiration stains on the back of his shirt. “We’ve got food. You can have what you want,” he says. One of his hands moves out in a placating gesture but the other is still behind his back.

He clenches his fingers a couple of times, and I suddenly know what he’s trying to say.

My knees bend, and I cower on the floor with a loud whimper. I don’t have to fake the fear, but I’d never let these men hear it under normal circumstances.

But I need them to believe I’m too scared to do anything.

I need them to be wrong about that.

“Oh, you’ll share your food,” the biggest man says. He’s clearly the only talker of the bunch. “And that’s not all you’ll be sharing.”

If I wasn’t distracted, this comment would have been the worst I’ve heard yet, but I’m too busy reaching under the bed to give the words much attention.

Cal keeps an old shotgun under the bed. It stays there no matter what. We just put it back after cleaning the floor earlier.

I get my fingers on it and slide it toward me, holding my breath and praying the friction of the weapon against the wood won’t make any noise.

Cal crouches down in front of me, blocking even more of me from the other men. I’m sure it looks like it’s a last-ditch effort to protect me from them.

And it is.

That’s exactly what he’s doing.

I get my fingers around the gun. Ease it off the floor. And press it into Cal’s hand, which is still positioned behind his back.

He mutters, “Dive,” and then he stands up and shoots the men without warning or hesitation. One right after the other.

I do exactly what he tells me. I dive under the bed before he’s even got the first shot off.

These men were stupid. Too relaxed. Too sure of their own advantage. And they pay for that arrogance with their lives.

I’m under the bed, so I don’t have a clear view, but I can see two of the bodies fall after he shoots them. One or two of them get a few rounds off, and I don’t know if they hit Cal or not. But he’s still moving. As I’m huddled under the bed, I can see Cal’s familiar feet taking step after step. From the little I can see and the sounds I’m hearing, I realize he’s now dragging the bodies outside. At least one must not have been all the way dead because I hear a couple more gunshots from outside.

After a minute, he comes back inside. He kneels next to the bed and leans over to see under. “Come on out, baby. They’re gone now.”

I make another whimper. This one is half-stifled. Real. I scoot out until he can reach me.

He helps me get out from under the bed. There’s blood on his hands and his forearms. And some on his shirt. With a little sob, I frantically check his chest and shoulder where the stains are to make sure he hasn’t been shot.

He could have been. Both of us could be dead now. I’m not even sure how we’re not.

“It’s okay,” he says in that same soft, hoarse voice. “They didn’t get me. And I’d never let them get you.”

I crumple. There’s no other word for it. My body starts to shake as sobs force their way up. I reach out for him, and he pulls me into his arms.

He eventually ends up sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed, with me in his lap. I’m crying like I haven’t done since the night after Derek died, burying my face against his shirt. It doesn’t matter that it’s sweaty, bloodied. All that matters is that it’s Cal. And he’s strong. He’s holding me tightly. And he keeps murmuring that it’s okay, I’m safe, he’s got me.

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