45. Reese
Rees e
She runs.
Bare feet. Wild hair. Blood on her hands.
Harmony disappears into the night like a ghost set free—and I don’t stop her.
Not this time.
Not when Damien is screaming and bleeding all over the floor of a cheap motel that smells like bleach and rot.
“Fuck!” he roars, clawing at his side. “She fucking shot me— you let her! ”
I drop to my knees beside him, pressing my hands to the wound. It’s low—side, not stomach. Clean entry. No exit. She missed anything vital, thank God or fate or the twisted part of me that still wants him alive.
“I didn’t let her do shit,” I say through gritted teeth. “I thought you had control.”
He spits blood. “She had a gun— how did she get a gun? ”
“I gave it to her,” I mutter.
His head jerks toward me.
I meet his gaze.
Ho ld it.
Lie.
“I gave it to her to gain her trust. To keep her inside. I didn’t think she’d actually use it.”
He stares at me for a long time, blood soaking his shirt, lips curled in something halfway between hate and awe.
“You’re either the dumbest bastard alive,” he growls, “or the smartest.”
“I just saved your life,” I snap, pressing harder on the wound. He hisses.
“I should kill you for letting her escape.”
“Then bleed out,” I say. “Right here. In a motel where no one will find your body until your blood’s soaked through the floor and into the bones of this fucking building.”
He grits his teeth.
“Call someone,” he demands. “Call Ansel. Get a car.”
“No,” I say.
His head jerks again.
I lower my voice. “We don’t move until we know where she’s going. She’s scared. She’ll reach out—to Astra, Evelyn, maybe even Dante. And when she does…”
His breathing slows. His rage doesn’t.
“You track the signal,” he finishes.
I nod. “Exactly.”
He groans and lets his head fall back against the wall. “You’d better be right, Reese. If I die…”
“You won’t.”
“If she escapes…”
“She won’t.”
“If you’ve betrayed me— ”
“I haven’t.”
Yet.
I grab a pillowcase from the bed and rip it into strips, tying it tight around the wound. He grunts in pain, face pale with fury and blood loss.
“I’ll make her wish she never left,” he mutters. “I’ll carve my initials into her spine.”
I say nothing.
Just press harder. Tie faster.
Let him bleed.
Let him plan.
Let him dream of revenge while I sit beside him, playing the loyal soldier.
Because if I move too soon, I lose them both.
And if I wait too long…
Only one of them survives.