“But . . .” Oh. It hadn’t belonged to his grandfather. Karl had made it for him only three days ago. Rafe was faking it. He had a plan.

She drew a shuddering breath. “Don’t do this,” she whispered, not faking her fear.

Rafe continued to slowly lower himself to the ground. “Tell Gideon that I’ll always owe him for saving us that night.”

Mercy’s eyes filled with tears and she bent over, trying to pull him back up. “Please, Rafe, don’t do this.” She tried to make him take back the cane, but he kept pushing it back into her hand.

“Keep it,” he finally snapped. “You might need it someday.”

And that was when she saw movement behind Ephraim. Gideon had come out of the woods and was soundlessly approaching Ephraim. Then she understood.

With Ephraim pointing his revolver at Rafe, that was one less gun pointed at Farrah. But he still had the pistol pressed against Farrah’s temple, his finger still on the trigger. If I can make Ephraim angry enough, he might point the second gun at me. Then Gideon could make his shot and Farrah would be free.

But goddammit. That was still one gun pointed at Rafe. Panic began to swell in her mind and she dug her nails into her palm again. Think. Think. Be ready for whatever happens. At least Rafe’s wearing tactical gear. Farrah has none.

“Take off that damn helmet,” Ephraim ordered.

Fucking hell.

One side of Rafe’s mouth lifted. “Somehow I thought you’d say that.” Resting his weight on one knee, Rafe tugged at the strap holding the tactical helmet in place. “Anything else?”

Gideon was two feet behind Ephraim now, weapon in one hand, his other outstretched toward Ephraim’s pistol. Ephraim didn’t notice, too focused on Rafe, the revolver in his hand steady. And pointed at Rafe’s head. Rafe’s gun was out of reach and all Mercy had was his damn cane.

Keep it. You might need it someday.

I took you out from a wheelchair, using only my cane.

Oh my God. Really? She wanted to scream. This was Rafe’s plan? For her to hit Ephraim with the damn cane while Gideon wrested the revolver away from Farrah’s head?

Apparently so.

Gripping the cane in both hands, Mercy was shaking, but chanced a glance at Farrah. Her best friend’s eyes were narrowed, aware that something was going down.

“Say goodbye, Mercy,” Ephraim said, smiling. “But make it quick.”

But his smile vanished when Gideon reached for Ephraim’s wrist and bent it at an odd angle that had Ephraim howling in pain and his hand opening completely. The revolver went off as they’d feared, but it was no longer aimed at Farrah. The bullet hit the road, sending asphalt chips flying. Farrah immediately dropped to the ground and Mercy brought Rafe’s cane down on Ephraim’s other wrist, hearing a cry that sounded agonized and feral and . . .

And was coming from her own mouth as she swung the cane at Ephraim’s head, at his face, at his chest. She kept swinging and swinging.