I had to shoot him.
I had to.
He was going to get away.
A chill rushed up my arms, and I shivered, trying to ignore the throb in the side of my thigh where a bullet had gone through and through. It wasn’t so bad. I could keep walking.
Didn’t matter.
So what if I collapsed?
So what if I fucking died right here in the road?
I’d almost killed them.
If Diesel had been even another minute later, I would’ve.
But he needed to die.
No.
I could’ve held. I could’ve let him go.
No.
I beat my fists against the sides of my head, growling my frustration, bending to a crouch.
Corvus was right. This was all my fault. Axel was still alive, but I’d seen the others among the dead. Crowley and Derrik. They wouldn’t be going home to their families. Grey would never see right again. Rook was shot at least twice, if not more, his older bullet-wounds still healing. Corvus had been shot in the stomach, and even if he seemed all right, the recovery from that would be brutal.
My Crows.
I’d always thought they would be the death of me. Maybe it was me who was always destined to be the death of them.
The tears came hot and fast, welling from a spring deep down inside that I thought had rusted over a long time ago.
I beat my fist against my skull again, relishing in the pain.
I deserved it.
I deserved every bad thing that ever happened to me. That ever would happen.
My fingernails bit into my scalp as I rocked there at the side of the road in the dark, stuck between wanting to run and keep running and never come back…
…and turning my ass around and marching back there, to the place where I belonged.
I choked on a painful sob, swiping the backs of my palms over my eyes as I pushed myself back to standing, wincing at the wound in my leg. It could just fucking get in line with all the other aches and pains on the surface that did nothing to distract me from the deeper ache.
The one quivering in my chest like a dying thing.
Grey was going to live.
He would live and Corvus would live and Rook would live.
Diesel was alive.
The Aces and the Dead Men were dead.
I inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the dry dirt along with the earthy tang of dried blood coating the inside of my nose. The crispness of mountain trees.
My stomach dropped at the realization that I would need to go back. I had to face them.
And fuck…Becca.
I’d completely forgotten about Becca.
She was probably catatonic right about now.
The twin beams of headlights swept up the road from behind me, and I turned, instinctively reaching for a blade that I didn’t have. I didn’t have any of my blades left. They were all sunk into the corpses of our enemies now. At least one of them permanently lost to the sea with an Ace I’d sent right over the edge of the dock.
My hands glared red in the headlights as I backed up further onto the side of the road, bending to conceal myself in the bushes. I squeezed my fists, blood making them stick like that, crimson stuffed into every crevice, dried onto the backs of my knuckles.
A van barreled past, Diesel at the wheel. Another van followed.
I stepped out of the shadows.
“Wait!”
A Jeep blared it’s horn at me and a familiar voice called out the open window, mostly lost to the wind. “Angel!”
“Drake?”
He pulled up alongside me, leaning over to shove the passenger door open. “Get in. Corvus needs a surgeon. We’re headed to the vet.”
I hesitated, my mind reeling, feeling sick all over again at my mistake. My mistake. I pressed a hand to my stomach. “Is he…”
“Come on, Angel, get in. We’ll meet them there.”
I climbed into the Jeep, sitting up high to see if I could still see the van ahead of us around the next bend as Drake tore off down the road after them, his blond hair catching with strands of silver in the moonlight.
Drake cursed as he reached over my chest and grabbed the seatbelt, pulling it across my body to belt me in.
“This is all my fault,” the words fell from my lips, the truth of them forming a hard ball in my throat.
Drake nodded, shifting gears, the back tires spinning against the dirt road as he pushed the vehicle to its limits.
Fuck. He could at least lie to me. I opened my mouth on a sharp remark, but stopped.
Drake’s hands tightened on the wheel, an unnamable thing charging the air around him.
Something changed, like the plates of the earth beneath our feet were shifting all out of place, and I was losing my balance.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Drake said, his cheekbones flaring. His eyes seemed brighter, I thought, something in my stomach turning.
No. Just one eye.
He’d had brown eyes, though. I was sure of it. But right now, one was blue.
My pulse picked up.
There were brown roots peeking through the strands of his blond hair.
My breath caught in my throat, my hand inching slowly toward the buckle holding me in, readying myself to strike.
Could I survive a crash at this speed?
“Drake?”
He turned to face me, his expression unreadable, the carefree mask of Drake gone.
“I hope he dies.”
A stinging pain bit into my thigh, heat spreading like wildfire up and down my leg.
The Jeep kicked out to the left as Drake wheeled right, putting us onto the dirt road leading through the Deadwood and away from the convoy of Saints.
I fumbled with the seatbelt, my fingers numb and sloppy, the back of my palm hitting something in my leg.
A knife.
No.
Something much worse.
My thoughts turned sluggish. Blood rushed in my ears, deafening.
In my leg was the plunger end of a syringe. I blinked, and a riot of colors were thrown over the back of my eyelids, blinding me. An odd smell stuck in my nose. Like limes and rotting flowers. I sagged against the seat, gravity churning my belly until I couldn’t hold my head up any longer.
The syringe was yanked from my leg.
My eyes crossed, and I drowned in an all-encompassing dark.
