Then, for the first time since I tucked myself behind this machinery, I see a glimmer—blue and red lights, faint and blinking. They’re far, maybe a couple miles, but they’re coming fast. For a second, I allow myself to believe in a rescue. That they’ll find a way to get here in time to save everyone.
A sob slips out, too quiet for anyone but the ground to hear because I remember that there’s nothing left to do but wait. I try to see inside the barn, but all I can make out are the shadows, shifting and flickering, lit up by flashes.
“Come on, come on,” I whisper. “Get here. Please.”
I hear another shot. My teeth chatter. My entire body is shaking, almost convulsing.
I imagine Knox, hair wild, doing some stupid line dance.
Then another shot, and I picture Tristan, that heart stopping grin of his, calling me sugar. The way he kisses me, the way he looks at me like I’m the only woman he’s ever laid eyes on.
The blue lights are closer now. I hear the sirens, distant but growing. I watch as they bounce and dip across the ruts in the old farm road. I could run for them, flag them down, but it won’t help them get here faster.
So I wait. I listen to my own heart, and I try to breathe.
Let this end. Let them make it out. Let me see them, just one more time. I have so much to tell them that I never did.
I can’t move. I can’t scream. All I can do is hope.
The gunfire stops and there’s silence. This is the part no one ever describes, where everything stands still and your body doesn’t know how to react. It doesn’t know whether to move or be brave and find a way to function.
I slide along the tractor, and I peek—slow, slow, slow—around it. There’s nothing coming out of it. No movement. No more shouts.
The sirens are close now, so close. I inch closer to the barn and then I freeze. There’s movement. A figure—no, three figures—walk out. For a second I can’t tell who’s who, only that they’re upright and not shooting anymore. One of them is cradling his arm, the other is limping, the third just struts out like normal.
It’s not Knox. It’s not Trouble.
It’s Danger, Rogue, and Charming. They’re bruised but all look okay. Alive.
I straighten myself again, and I wait. I look for Knox. I look for Tristan. Nothing.
Then, finally, out of the shadows, two more bodies stagger into the light. One is half-carrying the other, and they look like the aftermath of a tornado—shirts torn, faces streaked with blood and dirt.
It’s Knox and Tristan.
They’re alive.
I’m moving before I know it, sprinting across the open, yelling something. Maybe their names, maybe just sounds. I cross the yard in what feels like a second and land next to them, hands shaking trying to wipe away the tears.
Tristan grins at me. “Hey, sunshine’,” he says, voice so soft it breaks me. “Miss us?”
I want to hug him, or attack him, just hold him so I can make sure he’s really here.
He lets go of Knox, who’s got a split lip but standing—alive. I open my mouth to tell him I love him, to say I’m going to kill him myself for this. I’m furious, but relieved. I know there has to be more to the story than what the Kennedys said about my brother, but I don’t care right now.
And then, like the world had only been on pause and someone just hit play again—a man stumbles out from behind a silo. Tank top stained. Gun raised. It’s pointed straight at Knox. I don’t even see him at first—just hear him: The anger and pain in his voice.
“You fucked everything up, Knox. Couldn’t just do what you were told.”
Everything slows, and my vision tunnels. My lungs forget how to work, burning in my chest. My knees go weak. I open my mouth and try to scream, but nothing comes out. I want to run to my brother and protect him. To keep the inevitable from happening.
The gun goes off.
But Trouble—Tristan moves first.
He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t think twice.
He throws himself in front of the bullet. Takes it straight in the chest.
