He understood.
He had lived it. The choice he made in the name of love, the sacrifices demanded by loyalty, the brutal necessity of becomingwhat you loathe to protect what you cherish. We were the same now, a storm of steel and fury, a unified front against the encroaching shadows. The road was a canvas for our vengeance, and Karlyn was the masterpiece we were riding to reclaim.
Nothing else mattered.
Only her.
As the sun crested the horizon, we rode through the night, our destination a burning obsession, a siren call we couldn’t ignore. The throbbing in my temples intensified with every passing mile, a desperate rhythm mirroring the frantic beat of my heart.
When the thunderous roar of the falls finally clawed its way into my awareness, a primal instinct screamed at me to push harder, faster. She was up ahead; I knew it, and a twisted, desperate hope warred with a chilling dread within me. As we crested the hill, and my breath hitched, my vision blurred with a sickening mixture of relief and horror.
There she stood, a fragile, broken doll, mouth gagged, tears carving raw tracks down her pale face. Vulture, an evil villain in human form, gripped her arm with an insidious smile that promised only pain. But before the desperate urge to slam on the brakes could fully form, before I could even articulate the silent, agonizing plea that clawed at my throat, he smiled.
Time stretched, each agonizing second an eternity as I watched, frozen, knowing I should have intervened, should have done something. Yet, a paralyzing fear, a cowardice I’d sworn I’d purged, rooted me to the spot. And then, in utter, soul-shattering horror, I watched as the motherfucker pushed her over the cliff, the roar of the falls swallowing her scream, and mine.
The image seared itself into my mind—a brand I would carry forever, a testament to my failure, to the moment I chose survival over salvation, the moment I let her die.
The metallic shriek of steel against stone tore through the air as I flung my bike aside. “KARLYN!” Her name ripped from my throat, a raw, guttural sound that clawed at the very sky. Each desperate stride was a drumbeat of terror against the trembling earth, a frenzied rhythm of a heart that refused to break. Then, a ghost of a sound, a fractured echo of my brother’s desperate cry. “GRACE!” It was a shard of ice in my soul, just as I saw it—the hulking silhouette beside her, the brutal, sickening shove as the roaring maw of the falls also consumed Grace.
Fury, a wildfire of pure, unadulterated rage, consumed me.
Thoughts fled, a panicked bird from a predator’s shadow. My hand, a stranger possessed, lurched for the cold, familiar weight of steel. It was there in my grip, an extension of my burgeoning madness.
Vulture. His name was a curse on my tongue, his smug arrogance my target. Without conscious direction, I squeezed the trigger. The roar of the gun was a symphony of destruction, a desperate litany of bullets tearing through flesh. His body convulsed, a grotesque puppet dancing to the rhythm of my vengeance. My last shot, a desperate final plea for oblivion, found its mark. The sickening thud, the explosion of crimson and bone, the void where his head had been—it was a testament to a hell I had unleashed.
My gun clattered, a discarded husk of my rage. Again, instinct, primal and untamed, seized me as I removed my cut and let it fall to the ground behind me. Faster than bone and sinew should allow, I flew. The wind screamed past my ears, a banshee’s lament. The cliff face—a precipice of doom—loomed. Without a second thought, I plunged over the falls and into the abyss. The thunderous roar of the falls became a deafening symphony of my descent, a watery grave beckoning below, as the icy embrace of the churning water ripped me down. Thefragmented roar of my father’s painful howl was the last human sound I heard before the icy darkness swallowed me whole.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Karlyn
Cold.
Icy cold enveloped me, robbing me of the very air in my lungs as I sank deep into the dark, chilling, cavernous waters below. Cold was no longer just a sensation—it was a living thing, an icy specter clawing through my veins and gnawing at the edges of my sanity. I gasped, lungs burning as I tried to reach the surface, the fall’s relentless current battering me beneath the surface, tossing me between hope and oblivion. The water pressed in on all sides, numbing my limbs, stealing away the last remnants of warmth and resolve, but something deep inside refused to yield.
Somewhere between drowning and waking, memories flickered—of laughter, of sun-warmed rides on summer roads, of secrets whispered in the dark. For a heartbeat, the pain faded, replaced by a desperate yearning to hold on, to emerge from the suffocating blackness. But the river was relentless, twisting me in its icy grasp, punishing every attempt to reach the surface. Still, I fought, even as hope slipped through my numb fingers, clinging to the last thread of will that defined me—refusing to be lost, to let the darkness win.
Kicking, I fought, moving my leaden body toward the surface, determined to survive. That was what Jackson demanded above all else. That I survive. And I would.
I broke the surface with a desperate gasp, limbs trembling, vision blurred by the shock of cold and the violence of my plunge. For a moment, I floated in limbo—caught between therelentless current and the aching need to breathe, to live. The river battered me, but I clawed toward the light above, driven by memories and promise. Even as exhaustion threatened to pull me back under, I found strength in the echo of Jackson’s words, in the knowledge that survival was not just for myself, but for those waiting on the other side.
The river spit me out onto a rocky shore, coughing and shuddering as my body tried to remember warmth. I lay there, uncertain if the world around me was real or some cruel vision conjured by my mind. But as the sky slowly lightened and air returned to my lungs, a fragile hope emerged—one shaped by pain and loss, but no less fierce for it.
As I lay on the cold, unforgiving ground, each breath a battle, I became acutely aware of the silence left in the wake of chaos. The water still roared behind me, but in this fragile dawn, every sound felt distant, muffled by the relentless pounding of my heart. I tried to move, testing aching muscles and bruised bones, uncertain if I could stand, let alone take the next step toward whatever waited beyond the river’s edge. But as the first rays of sun crept across the horizon, painting the world in pale gold, I realized I was alive—battered, haunted, changed, but not broken. The war within me was far from over, but for now, survival was enough.
And then I remembered Grace.
Moving faster that I thought possible, my own fear evaporated as I scrambled to my feet, my voice hoarse as I shouted, “GRACE!”
Scanning the roaring river, I searched, praying that she too had survived. But my voice was swallowed by the rush of the river and the empty expanse beyond, echoing back at me with no reply. Panic sent a jolt through my battered body as I scanned the landscape, searching for any sign of her—a shadow, a silhouette, any movement that could mean hope. The ache ofloss mingled with determination, driving me forward through pain and exhaustion. I couldn’t give up now, not with Grace somewhere out there, not when survival meant more than just my own.
Then a head popped up and another, as I saw King holding onto Grace’s lifeless body as he fought the river’s current, trying to get her to shore. Wading back into the cold water, I reached for her, helping him to get her to safety.
She wasn’t moving. Her skin a pale blue, cold to the touch.
“Come on, baby.” King’s voice was hoarse as he tilted her head back, breathing life into her corpse. Panic surged as I dropped to my knees, trying to remember everything Jackson had taught me about saving a life. My hands shook as I searched for a pulse, ignoring the biting cold and the terror clawing at my chest. With King beside me, I started chest compressions, willing Grace to come back, counting each beat and silently begging for a miracle. Time stretched, each second burning with hope and dread, until at last a faint gasp escaped her lips, fragile and small but unmistakably real. Relief washed over me, fierce enough to bring tears, as Grace’s eyes fluttered open—proof that sometimes, even the relentless river could be defied.
Sitting back on his haunches, King sighed, his body wracked with the same tremors I ignored. Looking around, he frowned. “Where is Jackson?”
