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Page 110 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

And while he was still out there, this wasn’t over. Not even close.

A flicker of movement near the eastern edge of the tree line caught my eye—lower than the others had been, slower, and far more deliberate.

Clayton Barris was crouched low, slinking through the shadows like the predator he thought he was. He moved with purpose, avoiding the paths his men had taken. He wasn't shouting or panicking, his face was pure ice-cold calculation as he aimed straight for the cabin.

My jaw tightened. Barris wasn’t just guessing anymore—he’d been watching, learning, and now he was confident enough to move in himself, ready to get his hands dirty. I shifted lower behind the brush, adjusting my stance as my heart pounded in a steady rhythm, locked onto his every move. He was close now. Closer than he’d ever been, but so was I.

Gabby

Inside the cabin, I sat perfectly still, every muscle pulled taut with fear and anticipation.

Outside, the noise had built into a chaotic blur—shouts echoing through the trees, heavy thuds, something metallic crashing through the underbrush like a wrecking ball. At one point, I could’ve sworn someone yelled like they’d just been hit by a truck, followed by a solid, unmistakable thud that made the floor beneath me vibrate.

I gripped Tinkerbell with both hands, the cast on my arm making the hold awkward but still workable. The pepper spray was within easy reach, exactly where I needed it to be. I’d already shifted the cushions around, positioning myself for the clearest view of both the front door and the narrow kitchen window—every angle covered, just in case.

Webb’s kiss still burned on my cheek, and his words— “I love you”—echoed in my skull, competing with the thumping of my heart.

Suddenly, the world went quiet. Too quiet.

I leaned forward slightly, every nerve in my body alive and straining.

Something was coming, and this time, I knew it wasn’t a raccoon.

Webb had told me to stay down, to protect my head, and let them handle everything. It was the smart thing to do—the safe thing. But sitting here, curled up on these damn cushions while the chaos outside ramped up like a warzone, was eating me alive. I wasn’t helpless. I was bruised, stitched, sore, and maybe half-broken, but I wasn’t powerless.

I stared at the door, heart pounding. My hands tightened around Tinkerbell’s grip. I wasn’t sure if it was courage or stupidityfueling me, but I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. Not while they were out there risking everything.

I shifted forward and winced. Every movement tugged at healing muscles, and my ribs throbbed with sharp protest as my cast dragged heavily across the floor. Still, I pressed on—slowly, silently—until I reached the cabin door.

The wooden storage box sat just to the side. I paused, hesitating for a moment before lifting the lid. Inside were the dusty, dented cans of expired food I’d set aside earlier. I reached in and grabbed two tins of tuna, stuffing them into the front pocket of my hoodie. Maybe they’d be useful as bait, a distraction, or, if I was desperate, a projectile to the face.

I eased the door open just wide enough to slip through.

The night air hit my face like a slap—cool and damp, thick with the scent of wet leaves and tension. A distant shout echoed somewhere to the east, followed by the unmistakable metallic clink of something being dropped or triggered. I couldn’t tell which.

My breathing quickened as I eased down the steps, dragging myself inch by agonizing inch across the damp grass. My casted leg caught on a stone, and I nearly cried out, biting down hard on my lip to silence it. The world around me had changed. It wasn’t chaotic anymore—it was still like the storm had moved from the outside into the eyes of the men who were still standing.

That terrified me more than the shouting ever had.

The bushes were only ten feet away, but it felt like a mile. Every movement sent new flares of pain through my side and head, but I kept going. I had to. I pressed forward until I slipped beneaththe branches, leaves brushing against my arms as I curled myself low into the shadows.

I was shaking. Not just from pain or the cold—but from fear, anger, and this gnawing guilt that if anyone out there got hurt, it would be because of me.

But beneath the fear was a burning edge of fury. How dare Clayton Barris bring this to us—this violence, this chaos, and this fight. How dare he think I’d just be cornered and caged like I didn’t know how to bite back. I was done running. Done being the girl hidden behind others.

I adjusted my grip on Tinkerbell and glanced toward the cabin. The door still hung open slightly, the porch lamp flickering faintly in the breeze. Somewhere out there, footsteps crunched through the brush. Slow and measured, getting closer to where I was. I didn’t know who it was and if they’d find me first or if I’d have to make the first move. But I was ready, even if it killed me.

The sound of footsteps crunched through the underbrush, drawing closer. I held my breath and pressed myself deeper into the damp ground beneath the bush, doing everything I could to stay still. My heart thudded against my ribs, the pressure behind my eyes building with each second the boots crept nearer.

They stopped just inches from my hiding place.

Holding my breath, I scanned the person's body, noting the combat boots, tactical vest, and helmet. The guy was dressed head-to-toe like a soldier, but the kind you’d expect to see at a surplus store fashion show rather than on an actual battlefield. He even had sunglasses perched on his helmetat night.

The absurdity of it nearly made me forget the danger—until something cold and smooth brushed against the back of myhand. My breath hitched, heart leaping into my throat, and I immediately conjured the worst. Gator, snake, or some hell-beast of the bayou come to finish what Barris started.

But when I turned my head just enough to see what it was, relief surged through me. It wasn’t a reptile, it was Malcolm.

My cousin’s face appeared through the leaves like some mischievous cryptid, smudged with mud and wide-eyed with excitement. He spotted the guy pacing past us and, without a word, pointed at him and made the most theatrical wanking gesture I’d ever seen. I slapped a hand over my mouth to stop the laugh that threatened to explode out of me.


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