“Open the fucking door!”
He does and I shove my way through the group.
“Where is he?” I demand.
Nobody answers.
They’re all looking at the Pit. Or at each other.
Whistle: “He ran.”
Ran?
I start toward the slope.
“You can’t go back in there,” Whistle says, grabbing my arm.
I rip against his grip. “Let go.”
“He killed them,” he says loudly. “We all saw it.”
“He didn’t do it,” I snap. “You don’t know what you saw.”
Whistle tightens his fingers around my arm, leaning closer. His breath stinks like beer and ash.
“Your boy’s a freak, Sisk. He’s always been a freak. Tonight he just finally showed it.”
I slam my knee up between his legs and he makes a horrible sound, his eyes bulging as he instantly lets go of my arm to clutch himself. “You fucking bitch,” he wheezes, his face contorted in pain.
“At least he’s not a coward,” I snarl, stepping into his space. “He jumped in to save someone. What the fuck did you do besides stand there and watch?”
I shove him hard enough that he stumbles back and I run, barefoot and freaked out.
“Jax!” I scream. I force myself not to look at the Pit. “Jax!”
No sign of him.
I stumble closer to the edge and sink to my knees. I scan the slope, my eyes jumping from one piece of debris to the next. He’s not anywhere. “Jax!” I scream until it tears my throat raw. “Jax wouldn’t run,” I whisper. “He wouldn’t.”
My head snaps toward the Pit. The surface looks deceptively calm. I crawl closer to the edge. “Jax!” I scream again, my voice cracking on his name. The tar shifts slightly. A single bubble breaks the surface. “You don’t get him,” I snarl. The surface stills. I picture him down there, sinking in the cold dark, all alone. “You heard me,” I choke out. “I made my wish. Where is he?” I demand. “Tell me!”
Inside my head.
JAXWELL ST. CLAIR, THE GRANDSON IS ALIVE AND WELL.
I sob. Jax is alive.
WE FOLLOW THROUGH WITH OUR DEALS.
I want to scream.
DO YOU, SISK ZAITSEVA?
“Yes,” I whisper.
The surface ripples again. “Where is he then?” I demand.
HE RAN. HE WANTS TO BE ALONE.
