Rosé crouched beside her father. He’d slipped into unconsciousness, his color wax, his body lying at an awkward angle. “Dad, can you hear me?”

“I only hit him over the head,” he gunman said. “He dropped instantly but was conscious so he’s not badly hurt.” 

“He hasn’t been well. He was in a car accident a few months ago.” 

“It don’t matter much,” he paused, then added in a hard voice. “I’m either going to put a bullet in him, or he’s going to get up and walk out of here. I can’t be leaving witnesses.” 

She closed her eyes. Damn it. She squeezed her father’s hand and caught back her gasp when he squeezed back. So very lightly but it was a definite attempt to let her know he was there. 

“There is another solution,” she said to the gunman. 

“Yeah,” he mocked. “And what’s that?” 

“I’ll go with you, and my dad won’t say anything to anyone because he’ll know I’m with you.” 

“But he won’t know cause he’s out cold and he might just say something anyway,” the gunman snapped. “Nice try though.” 

“Then as he doesn’t know anything and he’s injured and unconscious, leave him alone. He’s already been through so much I doubt his body will handle much more.” That truth hurt. 

Where the hell was Chanyeol? If this managed to escape with her as a captive, Chanyeol would never find her. And her father would die. He’d come close a few months ago. He was already weak. He might not survive this second trauma. 

She glanced around the storehouse. Her father had promised he’d reduce stock and clean this place out. Instead it looked like he’d stockpiled more. He was a bit of an “end of the world junkie.” Something else she’d tried to get him to see reason over, but he was who he was, and if he wanted to keep a ten year supply of canned food, who was she to argue? 

She shifted her position so she was sitting on the ground. If the gunman stole all this food and supplies, he could hole up for years. 

A sobering thought. She squeezed her father’s hand again, trying to impart a sense of security, reassurance to him. But this time there was no answering response. 

Her phone was still in her pocket. The gunman had either forgotten or didn’t care. That last part scared the hell out of her. 

“Why aren’t you running away and hiding?” she asked cautiously. “That’s what I’d do if my stash had been found.” 

“Why? They don’t know it’s me. Have no idea whose stash it is. Besides, I’m not leaving it all behind. And neither is it my only stash. The finished weapons are in a different location. And today is delivery day.” The gun prodded her back. “I need that payout. No way in hell I’m losing that.” 

She closed her eyes. . . . 

“Ah, I see you fully understand the situation you’re in now.” He laughed. “A bullet for both of you would be much easier, wouldn’t it? Well, I don’t feel like making things easier on you. You and your pretty little world, you have no idea what’s going on under the surface. You walk on people every day but think it’s your right. Well, maybe it is. Just like I’ve been doing my thing in the caves below, thinking it’s my right.” 

“It’s not your right to hurt people. To make bombs to blow places up.” 

“What do you know with your fancy house and job and lifestyle? You’ve never fought for something worthwhile. Something major that is