Page 70 of You've Got The Love
“Dad?” My voice comes out in a whisper.
“Amber.” Jack’s voice is rough, like he’s been yelling at someone. “Listen to me.The Reapersknow you’re inNordmarka.”
Ice sluices down my spine. “How?—?”
“Don’t matter,” he snaps. “What matters is, my boys in Denmark are already on their way to you. They’ll ride hard, but I don’t know how long it’ll take ‘em in that fuckin’ weather. Could be hours. Could be more.”
I glance at Bas. His eyes are on me now, unreadable but locked in.
Dad keeps going. “I’m leavingEnglandtonight, got some of the Miami boys with me. Ferry toDenmark, then we’ll push north. You stay put until you see my men, you hear?”
I swallow hard. “What if they find us before that?”
There’s a pause, like he’s biting back the words he really wants to say. “Then you and Bas keep your fuckin’ heads down and don’t be heroes. I mean it, Amber. Don’t get fuckin’ clever. Let them pass if you can.”
I want to tell him that sitting still is the exact opposite of clever when someone’s hunting you, but my throat feels tight. “Okay.”
“Kill that phone after this call. You’ve got the next one ready?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl. I’ll get to you as soon as I can. Love you, babygirl.”
The line goes dead, leaving only the crackle of the fire and my own pulse hammering in my ears.
I drop the phone onto the table and look at Bas. “They know we’re here. My dad’s MC is on their way from Denmark, but he doesn’t know how long it’ll take. He’s coming too.”
Bas doesn’t speak right away. He runs a hand over his jaw, the scrape of stubble loud in the quiet. “So now we know for sure,” he says finally. “It’s not just a feeling anymore.”
That should make me feel worse, but in a way, there’s a sick relief in having the fear confirmed. At least it’s real and not my imagination.
We move through the cabin together, checking everything again—not with military precision, just two people trying to make a thin shell of wood and glass hold against something bigger than us. Bas wedges a chair under the back door handle and tests the latch twice. He doesn’t set traps or string wires—that’s not him—but he makes sure our coats and boots are right by the couch, bags packed. “If we have to go,” he says, “we don’t waste any fucking time.”
I try to help. I fold the blanket on the couch so it’s easy to grab, line the torch up next to the matches, and make sure the food in my bag is on top. None of it stops the feeling that we’re just rearranging the furniture in a sinking boat.
By the time night falls, the wind has picked up, rattling the shutters in short bursts. The cabin feels even smaller in the dark, like the walls have drawn in close. We eat in near silence—soup from a tin, bread that’s starting to go stale, what I’d give for a decent meal.
“I’m sorry,” I say at one point, my voice barely carrying over the fire’s soft hiss.
“For what?” Bas asks without looking away from the flames.
“For snapping earlier. For… being scared.”
He shakes his head. “You think I’m not?”
I lean against him, feeling the tension in his shoulders. “You hide it better.”
“I just… try to,” he admits. “For you.”
That pulls at something deep inside me.
Before I can answer, there’s a sound outside. Soft.Deliberate. Snow crunching under boots.
Bas freezes, and so do I. It’s as if my entire body is suddenly tuned to that noise, every nerve standing on end. My skin prickles, my pulse stutters, and the heat from the fire might as well be a mile away.
The crunch comes again, closer this time, followed by the faint squeak of packed snow under weight. I can hear it in my teeth, feel it vibrating in my ribs.
Bas gets up slowly, crossing to the window. He doesn’t yank the curtain back—just eases the edge away from the frame enough to look out. I don’t follow.I can’t. My feet feel glued to the rug, as if moving might draw their attention. Cold spreads through my limbs like something liquid and poisonous, making my fingers clumsy.
