“Well, looks like this might be it for me. Tell Bam I saved you,” he slurs.
I don’t know what to do… what to say.
He hands me the gun, cold and sticky. “If anyone comes,” he rasps, “shoot them.”
I nod, too tired to argue.
He slumps over, breathing shallow.
I sit there, in the horror, the stench, the blood, watching the color seep out of the world, and try to remember when I ever felt safe.
Maybe never.
I look down at the pistol in my hand, then at Colton, unconscious but alive, and I wonder if Bam is still fighting.
I know he is.
He always is.
I close my eyes and wait for the next attack.
There’s a noise outside the chapel—soft, not the heavy stomp of boots, but the careful step of someone who knows how to move in silence.
Looking over at Colton, I know I’m on my own.
I brace myself, heart pounding. Gun up, safety off, finger resting beside the trigger.
The door opens. For a split second, all I see is darkness.
Then Bam steps inside, face cut, shirt ripped, knuckles raw. He takes one look at the two of us and collapses onto the floor, laughing.
“Fuck,” he says. “You two look like hell.”
I want to cry, but instead I crawl to him, wrap my arms around his neck, and hold him so tight I can’t breathe. He smells like blood and sweat and orchids, and for once I don’t care if anyone is watching.
He holds me, rocking back and forth, and I realize this is all I ever wanted—not safety, not power, but someone to bleed with.
Colton sighs, his chest rattling, eyes closed. “Told you he’d come.”
Bam grins, kisses the top of my head. “Not even a war can keep me from you, princess.”
I believe him.
I really believe him.
The world outside is still chaos, still full of monsters and men who’d kill for nothing.
But in here, we’re alive.
We’re together.
Chapter 14: Bam
Coltonistherealmess. He’s slumped against the floor, breathing, barely. Blood leaks down his bicep, soaking his pants, pooling at his heel. He’s too pale, too quiet. The only sound he makes is the whistle of breath through clenched teeth. I can smell the iron from here.
First move: secure. Second move: comms.
The desk has a landline. Ancient, but it’ll do. Just gotta hope the other Boys haven’t lost their cells. I snatch the phone, ignoring the slip of blood that makes the receiver stick to my palm. The dial pad is smeared, every number a blur, but I punch in Julian’s code from memory.
