Chapter 42 #2
The cutter is on the ground, wedged against the bolt at my wrist. She uses her foot for leverage and kicks it hard.
One side breaks free, and my hand drops uselessly, twitching against the floor.
She circles around, and another sharp crack sounds.
The second restraint gives way.
Still, my arms won’t move. They lie there. Heavy and useless. Trembling with aftershocks of pain that refuse to fade.
I suck in a ragged breath, the worst of it slowly ebbing—just enough that I’m not drowning in it anymore.
But even the little taste of freedom my arms have gained is not enough. Not nearly enough.
Because Charlotte’s right here. Pressed against me. Wiping away my tears as her own fall mercilessly.
And I still can’t fucking hold her.
“Fuck.” The woman’s voice echoes against the walls. “We… we gotta go. Let’s move. Now!”
Charlotte looks up at her, confused yet slightly grateful. “M-Mistress.”
Is that her name? Fuck it. I don’t care who she is as long as she’s getting us out of here.
The woman looks at my Charlotte, her body shuddering with every breath. But her face is blank. “We don’t have time for this. Move!”
My girl flinches before reluctantly disentangling herself from me.
They both help me up. My legs screaming with throbbing pain of disuse.
I grit my teeth through it all.
Then we’re walking. Or at least they are.
I’m simply limping, holding the bars with my numb hands as I walk past desperate looking men and women.
Charlotte clings to my one side.
“I’ll come back for them,” the woman says, loud enough. “But you gotta get out of here. I heard they were moving the two of you because of the breach.”
“Breach?” I ask, my voice surprisingly steady.
She glances back briefly. “Looks like Charlotte was right. Her brother brought an army of his own for her.”
I ignore the bitterness lining her words. Focusing on putting one injured foot in front of the other.
Wolf’s here. That’s what matters.
My vision swims every now and then. Blackness creeping in while bile rises in my throat.
Fuck, let me just—
I bend over near the heavy metal door. Bracing one hand on the wall, I hurl my fucking guts out.
I don’t look to see if that Mistress woman paused for us. But I feel Charlotte’s soft hands rubbing my back as I retch.
“Theo.”
I can hear the debilitating concern in her voice.
“I’m okay—just…” I manage to croak. “Just a second.”
Once the dry-heaves stop, I spit quickly before standing up straight and wiping my mouth.
“Better?” Charlotte asks, eyes still wide with worry.
I give her a weak smile. “Fuck yeah.”
We start moving again.
And I’m not lying—I do feel a fraction better. Just enough to keep my legs from completely giving out.
Mistress leads us through a narrow, dark hallway. The damp stone walls slowly give way to cracked concrete, the air shifting—less suffocating, but no less foul.
A flight of stairs nearly fucking kills me. Each step sends a jolt of pain through my leg that was shot, my abdomen, and my arms that still feel like they don’t belong to me.
By the time we reach the top, I’m seething, breath coming in harsh pants, sweat slicking my skin.
But I don’t stop.
Charlotte stays glued to my side, her arm wrapped around me like she’s the only thing keeping me upright.
Mistress doesn’t slow. She pushes through another corridor, then another door. “I’m taking you to the side exit,” she says over her shoulder. “From what I know, your men have the place surrounded. You should be able to meet someone there.”
My pulse kicks up.
Now that we’re moving through a more open space, I start noticing things.
Doors lining the hallway—each with small, reinforced windows.
Green exit signs flickering overhead. Rusted IV stands shoved into a corner. An overturned wheelchair.
My stomach twists.
It’s a fucking hospital, possibly an abandoned one. Fucking perfect for these operations.
We push forward, the air growing colder as we approach a set of double doors. Mistress shoves both the doors open and stops a few steps in.
I freeze, gripping Charlotte’s waist tighter.
Standing right on the other side blocking our way out—is Scar. Flanked by two men.
One of them I recognize instantly. President of the Reapers—Rebel, the traitorous piece of shit.
The third man is unfamiliar, but the gun in his hand tells me everything I need to know.
My body moves before my brain can catch up and I shove Charlotte behind me. Every instinct screaming to put myself between her and them. My stance is shaky and weak. But I stand anyway.
“Oh look,” Scar drawls, his grin stretching wide. “I was just coming to get you both. What are the odds?”
My hands clench uselessly at my sides. The urge to grab my gun from my back makes my blood boil—knowing it’s not there.
Rebel’s gaze drags over Charlotte, slow. Appraising. Vile.
Then Scar looks over at the other woman. “Didn’t expect you to betray us, Mistress,” Scar continues, glancing lazily at her. “Thought you came in highly recommended.”
“Speak for yourself,” I spit out, my voice rough but steady.
Scar chuckles, adjusting his grip on the gun. “You’re not looking too good, Ruin. Might want to lie down before you fall over.”
“I’ve been sitting on my ass, Scar,” I shoot back, teeth gritting. “Quite literally. I’m all rested up.”
His grin sharpens.
Rebel lets out a low laugh beside him. “You didn’t always bark this much, or is it because you’re about to bleed out?”
My vision flickers.
Charlotte shifts behind me, her grip tightening on my cut. The other woman shakes beside us, eyes darting frantically to find us a way out of this.
I don’t move. Don’t look back at Charlotte. Because if I do, I might break. And I don’t have that luxury right now.
Scar tilts his head, watching me closely. “You should’ve stayed down, brother. Would’ve saved you the embarrassment.”
Rebel chuckles darkly, looking at Scar. “Don’t kill him just yet, yeah? I want him awake when I go a round or two on Charlie.”
Rage coils tight in my chest.
But then I notice a lone figure just beyond the door they have their backs to. I know exactly who it is, so I force my face to stay blank.
“Oh, you should’ve heard her, Reb,” Scar adds casually. “She screams real pretty.”
That’s it.
I shift my head, subtle. Barely there.
A signal.
Behind them, the door inches open slowly, silently. But then it creaks, making me wince.
The man beside Scar stiffens, starting to turn—gun already rising. He doesn’t get the chance.
Spike puts a bullet clean through his head.
Everything detonates and I move.
I’m gambling on one thing—they need me and Charlotte alive. So I don’t hesitate.
I stride straight toward a distracted Scar. Beside me, Rebel spins toward the door, firing wildly as Spike ducks back. The shot cracks through the hallway, splintering what little silence remained.
Chaos erupts.
Spike disarms Rebel with a sharp, precise shot before lunging at him.
But none of it matters. Not anymore.
My world has already narrowed.
Sounds have dulled.
All I see is Scar.
My body shouldn’t be able to move. Shouldn’t be able to fight. But the rage—it doesn’t care about torn muscles or shattered nerves or even the blood loss. It simply consumes me. Firing up the blood in my veins.
And then, I snap.
My arms are useless—dead weight, still screaming in pain—so I use what I have.
A sharp kick lands square in Scar’s wrist. His gun flies from his hand, skittering across the floor.
He stumbles. Too slow.
I close the distance and slam my forehead into his face.
Once. Twice. Three fucking times.
Bone cracks under the impact. Blood spurting from his nose as he staggers back.
Somewhere behind me, I hear Spike’s voice, clipped and urgent. “Bug, I’ve got eyes on Ruin and Charlotte. West corridor.”
I’m barely holding on. Barely keeping myself tethered to the moment. Rage is still clawing at the edges, threatening to drag me under. But I force it down. Use it.
Control it.
Scar lunges again, and I meet him head-on, driving a brutal kick to his ribs. He grunts, slipping on his own blood.
I catch a glimpse of Spike and Rebel locked in their own fight.
Then I risk a glance over my shoulder.
Mistress is tugging at Charlotte’s arm. “Let’s go. We need to go!”
But Charlotte is frozen.
Her eyes locked on me. Torn.
She doesn’t want to leave.
I mouth it. Go.
Please. Don’t choose me. Choose survival.
Scar swings wildly, catching me off guard. Pain explodes across my ribs as I stumble, but I don’t fall.
I see a flash of Charlotte’s frame heading out the door. And I let myself relax a bit.
Then Scar and I both dive for the gun that slid across the floor earlier.
Our hands miss. We crash into each other, hitting the ground, grappling hard—our bodies slamming against the concrete. Muffled shots drown against Scar’s grunts and groans. His eyes brimming, blood blocking his vision as he blinks hard.
I don’t reach for the weapon again, though it’s too far.
Because I don’t want to kill him yet. Not like this.
He deserves slow, excruciating torture. I want the bastard begging for death by the time I’m done with him.
“R-Ruin.” Spike’s voice cuts through the haze just as something slides toward me.
A gun.
I grab it.
My fingers barely cooperate, numb and weak—but I don’t care. I wrench my arm up and slam the gun into the side of Scar’s neck. Hard.
A sickening crack sounds and he’s out cold.
I shove his limp body off me, chest heaving, vision swimming.
Then I look up. And everything inside me stops.
Rebel lies a few feet away with a hole blown clean through his head.
“Spike.”
He’s on the ground. Too fucking still.
Blood pools beneath him, dark and spreading fast.
“No—no, no, no—” I scramble to him, ripping off my cut and pressing it hard against his chest. “Stay with me,” I choke out. “Fuck—Spike, stay with me.”
His eyes flicker, barely.
His lips part and a broken sound escapes him. “C-comms…”
I fumble, yanking the earpiece from him and shoving it into my own ear. “It’s R-Ruin,” I rasp. “I’ve got… Fuck. Spike is down. I n-need help.”
Footsteps thunder behind me a few seconds later. Heavy and fast.
I don’t turn.
I don’t care who it is. I simply keep pressing down on Spike’s wound with arms that barely work, hands slick with his blood.
I quickly glance up as the shadow falls over us.
Tudor.
He drops to his knees across from Spike. For a second, I expect orders, action, or something.
Anything.
But he doesn’t move.
His massive hands come up, trembling, cupping Spike’s face like he’s something fragile. “Sh-Shane.”
The sound of his voice makes my head snap up fully. It’s raw. Broken.
His eyes are filled with tears.
What the fuck?
Without another word, he scoops Spike into his arms like he weighs nothing. My cut between their bodies.
He presses his lips to his clammy forehead. And then he’s gone.
“On my way, Ruin.” I hear Hound’s voice crackle in my ear, startling me.
“Char—Charlotte?”
“She’s safe,” he responds before yelling in my ear. “Healer, with me, now!” Then softly, “I’m coming, brother. Stay put.”
My strength finally gives out. Everything starts to spin. The adrenaline, the rage—drains out of me all at once.
Leaving nothing behind.
Just terrifying darkness at the edges of my vision.
And one last thought.
She’s safe.
Then I let go.