Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
SADIE
I didn’t know how long I’d sat there, slumped against the concrete, my chin tucked to my chest as I stared at Dad’s lifeless form. He used to sit at that same kitchen table back home, coffee in hand, barking at the morning paper like it owed him something. And now . . . this.
The scent of metal and dirt filled the air, the concrete cold against my legs, anchoring me in the wreckage of what used to be my life.
I hadn’t realised how much blood could run inside a human body. Or how much could spill out. I’d been breathing the same stagnant air, the same dust, waiting for the world to snap back into ordinary colour.
Footsteps approached. I almost laughed it off as my imagination. But then they became heavier, more purposeful, like the person behind them was on a mission. Possibly to finish what they had started.
My heart catapulted into my throat, and I scrambled on my hands and knees, sliding across the concrete floor now covered in, not just dirt, but my father’s drying blood .
I reached out for his gun still resting against his cold palm, fingers stretching, and snatched it up with trembling hands. My arms were leaden, but I held the gun up in front of my face, my finger around the trigger.
I swallowed the scream gathering in my throat and kept the weapon pointed at the doorway, refusing to blink, to move a single muscle. My mind whirled through every moment I’d ever tried to be tougher than I was—which was most of my life.
I wasn’t going to let Snake walk in and finish me with a smirk on his face. I’d die shooting if I had to. I’d die angry.
But when the voice echoed around the concrete jungle, it didn’t belong to a monster. It belonged to the only person in the world that could hurt me even more.
“Sadie?”
Rowan was there, his voice echoing down the corridor, penetrating the fog I’d been living in for the last hour. It didn’t matter. He was alive. I choked on the relief, so raw and acidic it made me gag.
“Sadie! Goddamn it—Sadie. Answer me!”
I wanted to crawl over the floor. I wanted to scream his name and never stop. But for a heartbeat, I couldn’t move.
Then, everything snapped into focus, and I slammed the butt of the gun against the concrete, every ounce of strength I had left funnelling into the hollow thud.
“Rowan! Rowan, I’m here.” My voice cracked, the words crumbling past my dry lips. “Rowan!”
“Sadie? Baby?” The relief in his tone was instant, and his footsteps grew louder, faster, the rhythm matching the frantic pounding of my heart.
He skidded to a stop in the doorway, a dark shadow, chest heaving, sweat glistening at his temples and soaking into the collar of his white T-shirt.
“Fuck.” His gaze landed on what was left of my father, and he staggered, just slightly, before snapping back into action .
He made it to me in three strides, skidding across the floor and dropping to his knees.
A cloud of dust rose into the air, and I choked on it, dry retching, the pain ripping through my head.
He hauled me up with a strength I barely registered, but then .
. . he didn’t let go. Just wrapped his arm around my ribcage and crushed me to his chest, hard enough to hurt.
Every black thought that had gathered in my brain was wiped away by the simple, stupid miracle of being held by Rowan once again.
He pressed his palm to the back of my head and tucked my face into the hollow of his neck. I inhaled sweat and motorbike fumes and the faint, impossible memory of salt that lived in his skin.
He shook all over, and I realised he was crying—a quiet kind of relief. I’d never seen Rowan cry, not like this, not even when Logan had died. And his brother had been everything to him.
“It’s okay,” he whispered hoarsely, pressing his nose to my hair, rocking back and forth. “You’re okay.”
Perhaps the words were to convince himself more than me, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was Rowan was there, and I was still breathing.
We stayed like that for a long time—seconds, maybe, or minutes—until the sound of something scraping across the concrete floor reminded me what world we were in.
I glanced down. The gun had fallen and skittered away from my hand, landing against Rowan’s leg. He nudged it further out of reach with the toe of his boot, then shifted to look me in the eye.
Dust settled on his wild hair and bloodshot eyes. “Sades—fuck.” His hands were everywhere, frantic but soft, terrified but gentle as he inspected my arms, my legs, my face. “Are you okay? ”
I shook my head. Once. Twice. “I’m not. I’m really not.” I pointed to my father’s lifeless body. “Dad . . . he’s dead.”
We both knew that to be true, but just saying the words out loud made it real. And that made all the difference. Dad was gone. And I hated that I felt both heartbreak and relief.
Rowan’s face darkened, his jaw clenching as he processed my words. “Jesus, Sades . . .” He looked over at the body again, dragging a hand through his hair. “Your dad’s the reason you’re in this mess. You know that, right? He’s the one who put you in danger.”
I grabbed his arm, desperate to make him understand, nails digging in. “No, Ro. It was all a ploy. Dad . . . he set this up to lure Snake out. And it worked. Before he died, Dad shot Snake.”
Rowan’s eyebrows shot up, disbelief warring with a glimmer of hope. “Snake’s dead?”
I shook my head, my voice trembling. “I . . . I don’t know. It all happened so fast. Dad fired, and Snake went down, but then he was gone. There was blood, Rowan. A lot of it. But I don’t know where he is now.”
Rowan’s grip on my shoulders tightened, his eyes scanning the shadows around us. “If he’s wounded, he can’t have gone far. And Nicky?”
I sniffed and lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. He took off when the gunfire started.”
“Sounds about right. Fucking coward.” Rowan blew out a breath and scrubbed his hands over his face like he could scrub the nightmare off with it.
“Okay,” he said, brushing my hair back from my forehead.
“We need to move.” He cupped my cheeks, his touch firm and grounding, his eyes darting between mine. “Can you walk?”
I nodded, the movement small and incomplete, just enough to convince myself that I could still move. “Wait,” I said, grabbing his wrist as he started to pull away. “How did you know? About my father? About what he did to Mum?”
Rowan’s eyes softened slightly, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths.
He hesitated, his jaw clenching as if wrestling with whether to tell me the truth.
“Iron,” he finally said. “He gave me a USB. It had—Christ, Sadie. There was a video.” He dragged a hand down his face, voice cracking.
“Logan filmed it. Iron. Snake. My old man. Yours. They were all there.”
My stomach tightened, and I cupped a hand over my mouth, the images of my best friend witnessing something like that, shattering what little strength I had left, like I could feel his eyes watching it all, the camera shaking in his hands.
“Logan?” A soft sob bubbled out of me. “He . . . he recorded it?”
Rowan nodded, jaw tight. “Yeah, baby, he did. It was at Hollow Creek Farm. I’m so sorry, Sades.”
The world tilted. A breeze slipped through a cracked window, stirring the dust. Memories of Logan’s haunted eyes while he hung there flooded back, hitting me like a freight train.
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head, more out of disbelief than anything else. “No, that can’t be right. Logan wouldn’t . . . he couldn’t . . .”
But even as the words left my mouth, I knew the truth. The pieces fell into place, a terrible puzzle finally taking shape from the chaos. That’s what Logan had wanted to tell me that night. He was going to tell me the truth about my mother’s death.
My forehead fell against Rowan’s collarbone, and he held me, letting the emotions crash over me like a torrential downpour.
There was no anger towards Logan. How could I have been mad at him?
The guilt he would have felt in those last months must have been excruciating, enough that he couldn’t see any other way out.
The worst part? In all the wreckage, my mother had done the most damage.
She brought it on herself, and then she buried Logan right there with her.
She’d made him carry the weight of her sins. And it crushed him.
It was her I couldn’t forgive—not Logan.
“Ro,” I mumbled against his chest, my voice barely audible. “There’s more.” I swallowed hard, the words sticking in my throat as I pulled away, swiping my wrist under my nose. “Before . . . before my father died, he told me something. About Logan.”
Rowan stilled, bracing for a second blow. “What about him?”
“Logan wasn’t working for the club.” The words tumbled out, each one a weight lifting from my chest. “He was working for my mother.”
Rowan’s face went slack, and his hands fell away from me. “No. No way.” He stared at me like I’d spoken another language. “That’s bullshit, Sadie. The messages to my old man. I thought . . .” He frowned. “Fuck.”
I reached into the back pocket of my jeans, my fingers trembling as they closed around the worn leather.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Ro.” I pulled out the small, battered diary and held it out to him.
“Dad said it’s all in here,” I said, lifting a shoulder.
“He gave it to me—right before . . . I think he’d been trying to help Logan. ”
His eyes narrowed as he took it and turned it over in his calloused hands. “What is it?” he said, his voice rough.
“It’s my mother’s diary. The truth. About Logan, about why he was really working for my mother. He wanted to help your dad, Ro. He was trying to save him and apparently my mother promised to help. ”
Rowan’s jaw clenched as he flipped open the cover, his eyes scanning the first page. I saw the moment realisation hit him, his face paling as he read.