“I think so,” I whisper, pushing up onto shaking hands.My muscles scream but I grit my teeth and keep moving.The drugs are still clinging to the edges of my senses, but seeing him, watching what he just did to the ones who had me, there’s something steadying in it.Anchoring.
He crosses the room fast and grabs my elbow, steady but gentle.His other hand is still slick with blood.
“We’re going now,” he says.“More are coming.”
No time for questions.I nod, and we run out of the room, down a hallway and toward what I hope is an exit.
Behind us, I hear shouting.Ethan's voice, screaming orders.More footsteps, more threats.
But we don't stop.Can't stop.
We burst out into the night air, and I've never been so grateful to see stars.The warehouse is in the industrial district, abandoned buildings stretching in every direction.
Hades pulls me into the shadows between buildings, and we pause to catch our breath.He's bleeding from a dozen wounds, his face a mask of blood and bruises.
I probably look worse.
"You saved me," he says, his voice rough with emotion.
"You taught me how."
Sirens wail in the distance, getting closer.Someone must have called the police when they heard the gunshot.
"We need to get clear before they arrive," Hades says."My brothers will handle the cleanup, but we can't be here when the cops show up."
"Can you make it?"
"Can you?"
"Together, remember?"
He pulls me close, his hand steady at the back of my neck, and presses a kiss to my forehead.“Together.”
No promises.No speeches.Just that one word.And it’s enough.
I used to think he was the one who did the saving.The one who stood between me and everything dangerous.
But tonight, I didn’t wait for rescue.
Tonight, I fought beside him.
And we’re getting out.
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
hades
Every bumpin the road is a reminder of her pain.Every breath she takes, shallow and pained, is a countdown on the bastard who caused it.
The truck's passenger window is shattered, cold air whipping through the cab.Glass crunches under my boots every time I shift gears.Blood dries on my hands, my knuckles split and swelling, but I don't feel any of it.
All I feel is rage.
Evangeline leans against me, barely conscious, her body trembling despite the jacket I wrapped around her shoulders.Every few minutes she makes a small sound of pain, and each one drives a spike deeper into my chest.
I did this.Not directly, but I let it happen.I should have made it clear that she wasn’t to leave the clubhouse.Should have told her if she needed anything to send the prospect, not go anywhere herself.I underestimated Morrison, underestimated his connections, underestimated how far he'd go to get what he wanted.
And she paid the price.
