And I’d burn the world down to make sure she stayed that way.
30
Raine
The world was water and steel and screaming.
The Jeep plunged nose-first into the river, the impact tearing the breath from my lungs. Freezing water surged through shattered glass, slamming me sideways, pinning me against the door.
The boy screamed—thin, panicked—before the roar of the current swallowed it. His mother clutched him tight, fighting to keep their heads above the rising flood.
“Out!” Boone’s voice was raw, ragged. “Everybody out, now!”
The Jeep rolled, metal groaning as it flipped onto its side. I clawed at the seatbelt, fingers numb, lungs burning. My rifle slipped from my grip, vanishing into the dark.
“Raine!” Boone’s hand found me in the chaos, shoving me toward the jagged gap where the windshield had been. “Go!”
“I’ve got the kid!” I choked out, grabbing for the boy as the water surged higher. His terrified eyes locked on mine, lips blue, small arms wrapping around my neck like a vise.
The current ripped at us, yanking, trying to tear him away. I fought it, muscles screaming, one arm tight around him, the other shoving against the twisted frame. Boone hauled the mother through first, shoving her toward the surface.
The Jeep groaned, metal snapping, water swallowing fast. The man made it out.
“Raine!” Boone’s voice was hoarse. “Now!”
I shoved off the frame, dragging the boy with me, lungs exploding as we broke the surface. Rain hammered down, waves crashing over our heads. The mother surfaced beside us, gasping, clutching at Boone.
The river ripped us apart the second we cleared the Jeep.
The boy’s fingers dug into my vest, his sobs muffled against my soaked collar. I kicked hard, fighting the current, searching for anything—shore, branch, rock—something to cling to.
“Boone!” I screamed, voice breaking.
A flash of him in the water—then gone again, swallowed by black waves. I didn’t know where the man was now, I only knew I had to find something to hold onto.
The current spun me, slammed me against debris, and pain seared through my side. I held the boy tighter, every muscle on fire, refusing to let go.
I wouldn’t lose him.
Not tonight.
Not when Adam was still out there, fighting to believe I was alive.
31
Rain
The river wanted him.
Every surge, every pull of the current tried to rip the boy from my arms. His small body shook against me, his grip slipping with each wave. His sobs broke into coughing, his lips blue.
“No,” I gasped, tightening my hold, kicking hard against the current. My lungs screamed, muscles on fire. “I’ve got you. You’re not going anywhere.”
The flood hurled us against a half-submerged tree. Pain exploded through my shoulder, but I clung to the trunk, dragging the boy higher against my chest. His tiny hands clawed at my vest, desperate and terrified.
“Keep your eyes open!” I shouted over the roar. His lids fluttered, heavy, too heavy. I lightly slapped his cheek, forcing his gaze back to mine. “Stay with me, kid. Don’t you quit on me now.”
A branch cracked nearby—Boone’s voice bellowing something I couldn’t make out. Relief stabbed through me, but another surge of water pulled him under again. I couldn’t chase him. Not without losing the boy.
