Page 140 of Painted Scars
The man from the nightclub in the purple suit and top hat. Katar, Grayson called him.
An ambush erupts. Blades flash as Harper throws them into the throats or foreheads of Romans inching closer to corner us. Oh, God, she’s beautiful. Grace spun from danger and seduction. Burlesque in motion with each prowling sway of her hips. Except this tease doesn’t hide her teeth.
Her friend… killer… book boyfriend… whatever he is, he drops men with clean, merciless shots, every bullet or blade punctuated by the mad grin on his face. He crouches beside every bloody corpse and removes each blade, tasting blood. Hasn’t he ever heard of blood-borne diseases?
The two of them don’t miss a kill. Precise exterminators. Partners in crime. My Book Girlie will fill in the details later when it’s safe. Because Harper is not escaping answering.
“What’s going on here?” I shout over the racket.
“Reinforcements with cover fire,” August replies, half carrying, half dragging me to the wagon.
“We can’t leave Harper,” I protest as he shoves me into the passenger seat. “There’s Pluto men firing at Neptune men.” I recognize the tattoos they wear on their neck.
“Does she look like she needs a hand?” August slams his door shut and starts the engine. “They’ve got it covered.”
I plant my face against the window as he peels away, tires screeching, cracked asphalt kicking up behind us. My best friend turns into a speck behind me. Romans fall all around her as she, manic guy, and Pluto men dispose of Neptune soldiers. August reaches across the console to grab my hand, never letting me go, and I know he’ll never leave my side again.
For the first time during this whole experience, I’m filled with the hope and confidence that we’ll actually survive this.Not alone, but together. He’s the grumpy shadow in my world, and I’m the sunshine in his. Together, we burn brighter than anything the Romans have ever seen.
CHAPTER 40 - KATE
The cabin looks like something out of a postcard. Smoke curls from the stone chimney. Pine needles crunch under my boots. Mountain air carries that sharp, crisp bite that smells like freedom from the city. August swings the heavy duffel over his shoulder and lifts a box of tinned supplies from the trunk, rattling the cans and jars. We’ve bought enough to survive a month-long siege in the SUV we traded for his bike. Just for the meantime, at least.
Shadow Lake is burning, figuratively, since August’s video dropped. Grayson’s been keeping us abreast of the escalating public outrage. Politicians are scrambling, and authorities are denying all knowledge of the Roman order. Journalists are spreading lies and discrediting him. Internet sleuths and content creators are digging into Spartacus’ evidence and public archives. Conspiracy forums are melting down at being right for once.
August and I have retreated to ride out the worst of the wildfire, and we’re holed up in a cabin so deep in the mountains that the wind seems reluctant to find us. Minimal cell reception. No Romans or guns. Battery-operated radios only. Trees, birds,and the quiet hum of a revolution taking root. Turf August knows well.
The inside of the cabin features rough-hewn timber and the smell of smoke and cedar. I glance at the cozy touches, plaid throws, stacked firewood in an iron rack, and vase of fresh flowers on the dining table. I smile, grateful. It beats a cold warehouse somewhere in the middle of the city. Or the incessant noise of his loft apartment. Sure, the cabin technically belongs to an ally, but with the two of us alive and safe, it feels like our little slice of heaven.
Fruit sits in a bowl. The scent of fresh cookies and brownies in a plastic tub perched on the counter fights the woodsmoke for dominance. I pick up the note on the tub and read it.
Proud of you, Kate. Catch up soon. Enjoy the treats.
Sally-Anne.
August called the news anchor ahead of our arrival, and she permitted us to hide out here for however long we need to make our next tactical move in the war, keep the pressure on the Romans’ throats, and prevent public outrage from waning.
“Aww, she left us baked goodies. And set the fire for our welcome.” I drum on the tub, hoping to sneak a bite. We haven’t eaten in hours, and my blood sugar’s been low. “Martha Stewart, watch your back.”
August doesn’t rise to the bait. He sets down our belongings and moves to the windows, double-checking locks, scanning the place like it’s a safehouse rather than a cabin. “This place belongs to her family. It’s hidden by shell companies and a paper trail buried three layers deep. No one will find us here, Glitter Bomb. We’re lucky to get it last minute.”
Such an August thing to say. Not homey. Safe and hidden.
He finishes with the sliding door next to the dining area and nods to the black and white photos on the fireplace mantle. Portraits of people who would faint if they saw the armory August is going to stash across the cabin and out in strategic places across the property.
August comes up behind me and smacks my backside. “Unpack first. Food later. I know you’re starving, and I’ll feed you soon. Now be a good girl.”
Again, classic August. Get organized first, then settle in, while I’m the opposite. We don’t know how long we’ll be staying here and haveplentyof time to get settled in. I go with his plan because it makes him less twitchy knowing we can protect ourselves.
“Yes, Grumpy Daddy.” I fight a smile.
He leaves the kitchen to unpack our clothes in the drawers in the bedroom.
Meanwhile, I get stuck into filling the pantry with bottled water, canned beans, vegetables, fruit, protein bars and other non-perishable food. When we’re done, we meet by the fireplace, folding into each other’s arms.
“Romance isn’t dead,” I say. “You brought enough firearms and ammo to overthrow a dictatorship.”
“We need to set up precautions if the Romans find us.” He kisses the tip of my nose.
