“If I don’t come back,” he says, and the words punch the air out of my lungs, “get on that flight.Take the IDs. Take Neve. Get the fuck out of here.”
“Damian—”
“Promise me.”
I shake my head, tears already hot in my eyes. “Don’t do this.”
But he leans in.
And he kisses me. Hard. Deep. Desperate. It tastes like goodbye. And I can’t breathe through it. His hands hold me like he’s afraid to let go, like this is the last time. When he finallypulls back, his forehead rests against mine. “I’ll come back,” he whispers, like it’s a vow stitched from blood. “I fucking have to.”
And then he’s gone.
Out the door.
And I’m left trying to hold myself together while everything starts to fall apart again.
Chapter Twenty-Five
DAMIAN
Ishove out of the bedroom, my shirt half over my head, arms tangled in cotton and panic. My boots are in my hands.
Bridger’s pacing the living room like a caged animal, his jaw locked, eyes wide with something I don’t see often—fear. It sinks into my gut and whispers that this might be it. And fuck, I feel it. Because we both know Cody. He’s young. Stupid. Reckless as hell when his pride gets bigger than his common sense—and right now, his chest is probably full of that old Cross rage, the kind that makes you feel invincible right up until the second you’re dead.
He’s going to get himself killed.
“What happened?” I snap, chest heaving, still tugging the hem of my shirt down as I cross the room. “What did he say?”
Bridger turns sharply, stops pacing, and holds up a folded piece of paper with fingers that shake more than I’ve ever seen from him. His cheeks are flushed bright red, jaw clenched like he’s holding something back that’s trying to rip its way out.
“You guys were in there…” he mutters, voice rough, “fucking.” He stops.
I blink, confused, and then his gaze flicks toward the hallway.
“And me and Neve were…” He trails off again, choking on the words. His expression shifts, and something flickers across his face—something I can’t quite read. Regret? Guilt? Shame? He clears his throat hard and looks down. “We were in my room. Talking. And when I came out… this was on the table.”
I snatch the note from his hand just as I hear footsteps behind me.
Marlowe.
She’s fully dressed, moving fast, eyes wide and sharp, that determined fire already burning behind them like she’s about to charge straight into the center of this mess with us.
But she can’t.
Not with Clay.
Not with Cody alone and reckless and dragging his Cross blood straight into the fire.
I feel her behind me—close enough to feel her breath on my back—but I don’t turn around. I can’t look at her right now. Not when I know she’s going to beg to come. She has to stay here. She has to get on that fucking plane. She has to live. I force myself to ignore those piercing blue eyes burning a hole through me and look down at the note in my hand.
Cody’s handwriting. Sharp. Rushed. And every word feels like a fuse that’s already been lit.
I’ll take care of Clay.
– C
That’s it. That’s all he wrote. My hand closes into a fist, crushing the note without thinking. The paper crunches between my fingers as something violent coils in my chest. Fuck. “How did he even know where to go?” I growl.
