Page 95 of Freedom’s Inferno

Charlie pushed himself off the floor, his breathing ragged, eyes fixed on Elliott.

The stench of blood and gunpowder hung heavy in the air, clinging to everything.

I remained on the floor, my back against the wall, Tony’s weight heavy and unmoving across my lap. Blood had soaked into my leggings, his and mine mixed together, the chain of the rosary tangled between my fingers. The crucifix glinted in the dim light, smeared red.

Charlie’s gaze dropped to my hands.

Reality hit me all at once—what I’d done, what I was touching—and a strangled, broken sound escaped my throat.

I let go, the rosary clattering to the floor.

Charlie crossed the room fast, every movement sharp with panic. He shoved Tony’s body aside, the impact of it hitting the concrete making me flinch. Then he was kneeling in front of me, his hands on my face, tilting it toward the light.

“Hey,” he said, his voice shaking. “Hey, look at me.” His fingers brushed my hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear, sweeping away the streaks of dirt and tears. His eyes darted over me, searching, frantic, desperate to find something that wasn’t broken.

“Charlie‒” My voice cracked on his name, barely audible.

He didn’t answer, just caught my hands in his, turning them over. His breath hitched when he saw the cuts, the thin, angry lines crisscrossing my palms, the blood beading at the edges. He touched them gently, his thumb tracing one of the deeper grooves before he closed his fingers around mine, holding them tight like he could take the pain for himself.

“Jesus, Lana,” he murmured, voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

That was what undid me. The apology. The fracture in his voice. I was shaking, sobs rising fast and uncontrollable.

“I tried to warn you not to come‒”

“And I told you before,” he cut in, something hard settling into his expression. “Once you’re devoted, walking away stops being a choice.”

My face crumbled.

He pulled me into him, his arms wrapping around my shoulders, his body solid and trembling against mine.

I buried my face in his chest, gasping, crying, unable to stop. He pressed his hand to the back of my head, murmuring something, words I couldn’t make out but felt in the way he said them.

I don’t know how long the two of us stayed there on the cold concrete floor, surrounded by the dead, clinging to each other like the world hadn’t already gone to Hell. My tears soaked into his shirt, and still he held me tighter, whispering my name like a prayer.

Charlie pulled back enough to see my face, his hands still framing it like he couldn’t believe I was real. His eyes were glassy, and rimmed red, terror and relief warring across his features.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Look at me. You‒” He swallowed hard, his thumb brushing a smear of dirt from my cheek. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. You saved us both.”

I shook my head, the movement weak, tears still streaking my face. “This is my fault,” I choked out, my voice small and shaking. “You told me not to go anywhere, and I did. I walked away, and they took me. If I’d listened… If I’d stayed… None of this would’ve happened.”

Charlie shook his head hard, his grip on me tightening like he could shake the blame loose. “No, no, no… don’t do that,” he said, his voice breaking. “This is on me. I never should’ve left you alone. You saved us, Lana. You did that. You saved both our asses. It’s over now. It’s over.”

He glanced toward the floor, where the rosary lay half in shadow beside Tony’s body. The beads were sticky with blood. For a moment, he stared at it, his expression unreadable. Disgust, awe, grief, all twisted together. Then he crouched, picked it up gingerly by the chain, and grimaced.

“Christ,” he muttered. “What a mess.”

Still, he didn’t leave it there. He wiped it once on the leg of his pants, then shoved it into his pocket with a grim sort of reverence, something sacred even in its ruin.

Through the tears, I gave a broken laugh that hitched in my chest. “Guess your mother’s rosary wasn’t so useless after all.”

Charlie laughed, a low, shaky sound that wasn’t quite whole. He tugged me against him again, one hand at the back of my head, the other tight around my shoulders. Charlie pulled back enough to look me over again, gaze sweeping down my arms, my face, my side, everywhere, checking me for damage.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice tight with worry. “Lana, can you stand?”

I nodded, though my knees still wobbled. “I’m okay,” I managed. The words sounded thin and fragile.

A throat cleared from the center of the room.