Shouts erupt all around me. Someone is calling my name. I turn my head to see who when I catch movement in the window of an abandoned and boarded up gas station across the street. Liam was right. It was a trap. Julio was already here, waiting for me. He shot his own son because of me. It’s my fault.
Rage like I’ve never felt detonates inside what’s left of my broken heart, incinerating it until there’s nothing left but hate and vengeance. A large body skids to a stop right next to me and without thought, I grab Rafe’s gun from his holster. I have the safety off and my finger about to pull the trigger before I realize it’s Liam.
I wish he’d stop yelling at me because I can’t hear a word that he’s saying over Kellan’s constant chattering in my head telling me to get up. To fight back. To make Julio and Alejandro suffer.
Liam tries to grab me, but I push him off. “Get Rafe to the hospital!”
I don’t wait. I’m up and running toward the gas station, my gun gripped and ready.
I’m an open target at this point. If Julio wants to kill me, I’m giving him a clear shot. I reach the cover of the gas pumps, breathless and already sweating profusely in the humid late spring air. And because I’m literally out of my mind, I dash toward the building and hurl myself through one of the broken front windows. Shards of glass and splinters of wood cut into my arms and back as I duck and roll when I hit the floor.
It’s a move, Cillian—my cousin on the McCarthy side and the man I called for help after Kellan died—had me practice over and over again. He told me that fighting was fifty percent skill and fifty percent of knowing how to pick your ass up off the floor and continue to fight. If there’s one thing the Irish are good at, it’s never backing down from a fight.
I remain on the floor to give myself a minute to control my breathing. Cocking my head to the side, I try to pick up the slightest of noise. All I need is a heavy breath or a scrape of a shoe across the dusty, trash-littered floor, and I’ll know exactly where the son of a bitch is. I never heard a gunshot, so Julio must be using a silencer. My fucking phone keeps vibrating like crazy in my back pocket, and I’m half tempted to hurl it out the window I just came through.
The inside of the gas station is too dark for me to make out anything other than the remaining metal shelving. The stale air clogs my lungs, but it’s the traces of animal piss and feces that has my nose wrinkling. The place is in no doubt infested with rats and other wild creatures.
When I don’t hear anything, I ease up off the floor, keeping my gun trained in front of me. The creak of hinges in the back of the store has me hurdling over a fallen rack and crashing through a door labeled Employee’s Only. I run after the blur of movement in a black hoodie. It’s definitely a man, and he’s carrying a rifle. But unless Julio found the Fountain of Youth, the guy I’m chasing isn’t him. His movements are too quick.
I fire off a shot, the bullet clipping the drywall inches from his head. I won’t miss again.
But then the man takes me by complete surprise by abruptly turning around and crashing into me like a fucking wrecking ball. We go down together, and I curse him as my gun flies out of my hand when my elbow cracks against the hard tile.Shit!I watch as both of our weapons slide across the floor to stop feet away from us. At least we’re on a level playing field now.
“Fuck!” I reach over my head and grab at the man’s hands when he pulls my ponytail and wrenches me back.
“¡Estúpida puta!”
“Fuck.You!” I scream with effort, getting a solid grip on his forearms and flipping him over me. Thankfully, he lets go of my hair. I can only imagine the huge chunk he would’ve pulled out at the roots if he didn’t.
The guy whirls around and jumps to his feet at the same time as I do. His hood no longer shrouds his face, and I get to clearly see him for the first time. The man who shot Rafe. He’s Hispanic with dark eyes and a shaved head. A gang symbol is tattooed across his forehead, but not one I’m familiar with.
Taunting him, I snarl, “Where’s Julio? Too scared to face me himself?”
“Bella!” Liam calls for me from the front of the store. It’s enough of a distraction for me to take Jax’s knife from where I secured it to my calf and leap onto the man. My knees dig into his chest, and my feet clench his ribcage to hold me in place as my left hand clutches the hair on his head.
“I hope my brother tortures you in hell,” I tell him before slamming the knife into the side of his neck, then wrenching it out.
Releasing the tight grip of my thighs, I land on my feet just as he stumbles back, knocking into the wall behind him. And because my rage hasn’t dissipated, I rush at him, punching the blade into his stomach with an under grip, then twisting it sharply and pulling up. He makes a pained, gurgled grunt, blood pooling around his cracked lips, the light flickering out of his eyes. I stand there and watch, fascinated and completely emotionally detached.
A warm hand reaches around me and gently extricates Jax’s knife from my grip. When Liam pulls me away, the man slumps to the floor and chokes out one word with his last breath. “Alejandro.”
Chapter 20
I feel it. That last innocent part of me slipping away. It’s barely there, stubbornly clinging on and refusing to give in. But the darkness is relentless as it tries to drag what’s left of my soul to hell. I remember seeing it happen to Kellan. I remember the exact moment when the light in his eyes diminished, and he was finally taken by the darkness. It was the night I’d snuck out of the house and followed him to the warehouse. When Max wrapped his hand around Kellan’s on the gun and forced him to shoot a man in the head. The gory scene I’d just witnessed didn’t horrify me as much as seeing the dead look in Kellan’s eyes afterward. That’s the night I lost my brother. That’s the night he became something else. Someone else.
“Andie, I’m so sorry.”
“Shut up! This is all your fault!” I scream at Kellan’s shadow that’s taunting me from the other side of the bed Rafe’s body is lying on.
If Kellan weren’t already dead, I think I’d kill him myself. Rafe should regret the day he ever became friends with my brother. Kellan was the one who recruited the guys. He’s the reason they got sucked into this godforsaken life. I loved my brother. Loved him so much that I was willing to sacrifice my life to avenge his death. But after everything I’ve been discovering, all the secrets and lies I’ve uncovered, that love has withered until there is only a small fleck of it remaining. It’s barely holding on, just like the last vestiges of my innocence.
Grabbing Rafe’s cold hand, I gently press it between mine, resting my cheek to where I feel the faint pulse in his wrist. Declan’s doctors did everything they could, but Rafe had lost a lot of blood by the time Liam was able to get him back here. I should know. I was the one who held the T-shirt to his gunshot wound in the back of the car. I’m the one covered in Rafe’s blood. There was so much of it. So much.
I look at my red-stained hands sandwiching his larger, tanned one. Congealed blood darkens underneath my fingernails. I should go take a shower, but I refuse to leave Rafe’s side.
He hasn’t regained consciousness yet, but at least he’s alive. I push a lock of his dark hair off his face. I would give anything to see his baby blues looking at me right now.
“I don’t hate you,” I whisper. “I know I said I did. I lied.”
