We stare at each other for a few moments. Long enough that I notice… he and Savanah have the same eyes.
“Noted,” he says. “I’m here to help, Legion. Just like the other night, remember? I left the gate open. I let you in to the engagement party. I made it happen. We’re not enemies, Legion. We’re not.”
It’s true. He did let me in. I saw him in Terry that first week I was out. I didn’t even ask to be let in, either. He offered. Why would he do that?
“It wasn’t for me,” I say.
“No,” he agrees. “It wasn’t for you. It was for Savannah. She was dyin’ without you, Legion. Dyin’. And this Marcus fuck… I can’t stand that asshole. Maybe you and I aren’t friends, butwe’re not enemies, either. We both want the same thing right now. Get Savannah home safe.”
I scoff. “Home safe? Thisishome, Colt. She’s alreadyhome. Home isn’t safe. Not with a bunch of psychopaths runnin’ things.”
Colt’s shoulders drop. Like he was holding in this judgement and suddenly decided to let it go. He knows it’s true. Savannah isn’t safe here anymore. “Let’s just go get her.” Then he turns and walks out.
I follow him out into the dusky evening, each step a negotiation between pain and necessity. My ribs are screamin’, my head is thumpin’, and the late afternoon sun burns my eyes after days in that dark cabin. My vision swims, but I force myself to focus.
Three horses stand tethered to a nearby pine. I recognize Cassia instantly—Savannah's mare. The sight of her makes something twist in my chest that isn't just broken ribs.
Colt reaches into his saddlebag and pulls out two guns. He hands me one, and I immediately check the chamber, the weight familiar in my hand. Then I notice what he's holding.
"What the fuck is that?" I demand.
"Tranquilizer gun." He says it like it's the most reasonable thing in the world.
"A fucking tranq gun? Are you serious?" I stare at him, incredulous. "Your sister's been kidnapped by some psycho politician's son, and you brought a goddamn dart gun?"
"We're not killing anyone, for fuck's sake." Colt's voice rises. "We're rescuing someone. Marcus can be put out. He's the senator's son—we can'tkillhim."
I feel something shift inside me. A door opening to a room I promised myself I'd keep locked. But promises are just words, and words don't mean shit when someone you love is bleeding.
"Watch me," I say, each word dropping like stone.
"Legion—"
"No." I cut him off. "You don't get it. Three days, Colt. Three fucking days she's been up there with him. If he's touched her, I'm going to cut off his fingers one by one. Make him eat them. Then I'll open his stomach so he can see them sitting there."
Colt's face pales, but I can't stop. The images come too fast, too vivid.
"Maybe I'll start with his eyes. Scoop them out with a spoon so he feels every second. Feed them to the crows while he listens." My voice doesn't even sound like mine anymore. It's the voice from The Pit. The one that kept me alive when they tried to break me. "Or I could just skin him. Slow. Strip by strip. Salt each piece before starting the next."
"Jesus Christ, Legion."
"You think that's bad?" I laugh, and it's a sound that belongs in a nightmare. "I haven't even gotten creative yet. I could?—"
"Enough!" Colt snaps. "This isn't helping Savannah."
Her name pulls me back. Just enough to remember why we're here.
"Listen," Colt says, "There's more to this story than you know about."
"Oh fuck you, Ashby. But yeah," I narrow my eyes down at him. "There's alotfuckin' more to this story. Shit that would turn your insides sour if you knew."
Colt loses some color in his face, but he recovers quick—meeting my gaze straight on. "You think I don't know that? Why the fuck do you think I'm here?"
"Because you got a conscience? Little fucking late for that." I spit blood onto the dirt between us. "Three years late."
"I'm not Cash," he says, checking the tranquilizer gun. "And I'm not Wyatt. I've been planning this for a long time."
"Planning what?" My fingers tighten around the gun he gave me.
