Page 76 of Outlaw Ridge: Griff
He leaned in close, his mouth barely moving as he mouthed:Movefast.
She nodded once.
Then, he kicked the door in.
It flew open with a crash, slamming against the wall. The sudden noise echoed like a gunshot in the tight space. Total darkness loomed ahead, but Lily heard it. Shuffling footsteps, rushed, panicked. Her body tensed, ready for the crack of gunfire.
But nothing came.
She reached blindly to the wall, fingers sliding over cold plaster until they found the light switch. She flicked it on. Fluorescent bulbs buzzed overhead, casting a harsh, pale glow over the small storage room.
Lily stepped into the room, heart hammering, weapon raised. Shadows loomed across the cramped space, strange shapes catching her eye.
Mannequins.
For one terrifying moment, Lily thought they were people, motionless figures watching from the corners. Her brain scrambled to make sense of them, her pulse surging.
Then her gaze locked onto something that didn’t belong. Someone.
And there he was.
Caleb.
Bound to a chair, blindfolded, just like in the photo. Shaking. He had a swatch of duct tape covering his mouth, and instead of his hands being tied in front of him, they were now tied behind, no doubt to prevent him from yanking off that tape.
Behind him, a figure in black, hood pulled up, ski mask covering everything but their eyes. The person had a gun pressed to the side of Caleb’s head.
Lily froze.
The gunman’s arm trembled slightly, the weapon not steady. Whoever this was, they weren’t calm. Weren’t trained.
They were desperate.
Griff’s voice was low and firm. “Put the gun down.”
The figure didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Lily’s pulse pounded in her ears. One wrong move, and that kid—
“Please,” she said quietly, trying to soften her tone, “you don’t want to do this. It’s over. The shooter on the roof can’t help you, and there are cops everywhere.”
Still nothing. Just a hitch in the gunman’s breath.
Lily took a careful step forward.
“Let the boy go,” Griff added. “We’re not here to shoot you. We want Caleb safe. You walk out alive if you put the gun down.”
But the figure didn’t lower the weapon.
Not yet.
Lily’s finger curled tighter around the trigger.
Waiting for a chance. For anything.
For the gun to move even an inch away from that terrified boy’s head.
Lily’s gaze swept over the figure’s broad coat, black hoodie, ski mask. At first glance, anyone would assume it was a man. But when the coat shifted with a slight movement, something about the way it hung, the narrow slope of the shoulders, the stance—
