Pressing Simon to my chest, I glanced down at his pale face, recognizing the shock that was starting to take over—a deadly sign. “Alright, buddy. I need you to talk to me. Tell me a story. Anything.”
“Heh… now you… w-want me to talk?” Simon’s eyes fluttered, but a slight smile rested on his face. He tried to lift his hand, but it flopped back onto his chest. “Shit… can’t punch you y-yet.”
“You can kick the shit out of me when we get back, okay?” Tears welled in my eyes, the sight of him faltering, of himdying, pushing me to the brink. “But you’ve got to fight to do that. Plus, Liam and Oren couldn’t survive without you. You’re like the trio of dumbass musketeers, and that can’t be the case if you give up. Youcan’tgive up.”
He coughed, a splatter of blood coating his chest. “Shit… Unpleasant,” he mumbled. “But, a trio d-doesn’t include you.” The corner of his lip tugged upward.
My bottom lip quivered, my strength fracturing into a million pieces. “Simon. Please. God, I’m fucking sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“It’d be like me… to go out in a blaze, but if I don’t… If I don’t…” He groaned, his complexion far lighter than even a few minutes ago. “You’re not a-a shit.Farfrom it,” he spat, causing himself to heave in a shaky breath. “And tell… Tell Liam…”
“Tell Liam what, Simon?” I questioned frantically, too familiar with the concept of parting wishes. “Because anything I tell him, you’re perfectly capable of telling him yourself.”
“N-Not this time.” His eyes fluttered shut, a shuddering breath exhaling. “He knows…God… He…He?—”
“Simon…” My breath stilled in my chest, panic surging over me like a tidal wave. “SIMON!”
The hum of a helicopter consumed every thought, a spark of hope igniting in me. Pushing myself harder, I picked up my pace, rushing toward shouting voices and our chance at escape. Without faltering, the gap between us and the evac unit closed, medical supplies ready as they ushered us on board. Passing Simon off to them felt wrong in so many ways, and as soon as they mentioned he’d flatlined, Liam lost it.
Matt tugged him close, burying Liam’s face into his chest as he rubbed his back. Silent tears fell down his cheeks, but that’s who he was. He’d be a pillar for Liam despite his own wavering emotions, a pillar for him since I’dfailed.
Again.
I’d failed.
As the soldiers escorting us out worked to bring Simon back, the sounds around me faded. Stumbling, I collided with the wall, my back sliding down it as my eyes fluttered. I’d forgotten about the blood loss, the gunshot wound, but my body hadn’t.
Good.
Struggling to lift my gaze, I watched through a flicker of light and dark as panic consumed Matt’s face. Before I could utter what I wished to say, the shadows of my faults swept me away, consuming me with their unrelenting embrace.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
OREN
Simon’s arrival was a flurry of chaos. They’d managed to bring him back, but he wasn’t faring well. It was still too close to call, and Liam?
He continued to refuse medical attention, his focus entirely on the man hooked up to tubes and wires of machinery. I admired his dedication, his intense feelings for Simon. What would it feel like to love someone that much?
To be on the brink of faltering, of dying simply from the fact of someone else hurting?
I wish I knew, but I’d discarded that baggage. I had a job to complete, and while Matthew and Liam tended to Simon, I needed to tend toothermatters.
Matters I’d waited too fucking long to do.Mattersthat would never haunt me again. Never… Never take root in my heart like Liam.
To love was frightening; look at the weakness it etched into his features. The way he crumbled to the ground as Simon remained unresponsive…
I couldn’t do that. Never again. Not anymore.
While Liam might not have caught on, Matthew knew.
The instant his gaze landed on mine, he saw the despair, the soullessness in my eyes, and I flicked them away quickly. I was beyond one of his lectures, and his hugs wouldn’t cure me this time.
There was one thing that would, and he’d been tossed into the interrogation room.
Wounds healedjustenough per my father’s orders to maximize blood flow. To make him feel every hit I was about to inflict for my friends, my stolen life, and my nonexistent future.
I cracked my knuckles as I followed the familiar corridor, which I knew Thorne traveled through often. Did he feel this powerful, this full of rage each time he trekked down this hallway? Or did he feel remorse for those he’d fucked over?
