Chapter 9 Betty
The night was pitch black as we ran for Hudson's car.
No moon. No stars. Just the thick canopy of trees blocking out any light, and Hudson's hand gripping mine so tight it almost hurt.
"Get in," he said, yanking open the passenger door. "Stay low."
I did as he said, sliding into the seat and ducking down while he rounded the hood and got behind the wheel. The engine roared to life, and we were moving before I'd even gotten my seatbelt on.
"How far away is he?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.
"Reeves said twenty minutes, maybe less." Hudson's eyes were locked on the dark road ahead, his hands tight on the wheel. "FBI's in pursuit, but Lang knows these back roads. He grew up around here."
Of course he did. Of course the dirty cop trying to kill me had home-field advantage.
"What's the plan?"
"We get to the main highway. From there, it's a straight shot to the city. We'll meet the FBI escort and get you to the courthouse."
"And if Lang catches up to us before then?"
Hudson's jaw tightened. "He won't."
The cabin disappeared behind us as we tore down the narrow dirt road, gravel spraying beneath the tires. I gripped the door handle, my heart hammering against my ribs, watching the trees blur past in the darkness.
Every shadow looked like a threat. Every curve in the road felt like an ambush waiting to happen.
One more night, I told myself. Just survive one more night.
We'd been driving for maybe five minutes when Hudson's phone buzzed. He answered it on speaker, not taking his eyes off the road.
"Talk to me, Reeves."
"He slipped the FBI." Reeves's voice was clipped, urgent. "Lost them about two miles from your position. Last known heading was southeast. He's circling around to cut you off."
"Shit." Hudson's foot pressed harder on the gas. "What about the highway?"
"Santos is holding position at the junction. If Lang tries to intercept there, he'll have backup. But if he gets to you before that?"
"Understood." Hudson ended the call and reached across the console, squeezing my thigh. "It's going to be okay."
"You keep saying that."
"Because I keep meaning it."
I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe that we were going to make it through this, that Lang wasn't going to succeed, that I was going to live long enough to testify and watch him rot in prison.
But the fear was a living thing inside me, clawing at my chest, making it hard to breathe.
The headlights appeared out of nowhere.
One second the road behind us was dark; the next, twin beams of light were cutting through the blackness, closing the distance with terrifying speed.
"Hudson!"
"I see him."
He floored it, and I was thrown back against the seat as the car surged forward. The engine screamed in protest, but Hudson pushed it harder, taking the curves faster than should've been safe.
The headlights stayed with us. Getting closer.
"He's gaining," I said, my voice pitched high with panic.
"Hold on."
Hudson yanked the wheel hard to the left, and we shot off the main road onto a side track I hadn't even seen. The car bounced over ruts and rocks, branches scraping against the windows, but he didn't slow down.
Behind us, Lang followed.
"Where does this lead?" I asked.
"Back road to the highway. Longer, but less predictable." Hudson's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. "He's not giving up."
"He can't. If I testify, he goes to prison for the rest of his life."
"He's going to prison either way. He just doesn't know it yet."
The road widened slightly, and Hudson pushed the car even faster. The speedometer climbed past eighty, ninety, the trees on either side becoming a solid blur of darkness.
And then Lang rammed us from behind.
The impact was jarring, throwing me forward against the seatbelt, snapping my head back. I screamed as the car fishtailed, Hudson wrestling with the wheel, fighting to keep us on the road.
"Son of a bitch," he growled.
Lang hit us again, harder this time, and I felt the back end start to slide. Gravel sprayed. The car spun. For one terrifying moment, I was sure we were going to flip, but Hudson regained control, straightening us out, his jaw set in grim determination.
"Betty, listen to me." His voice was calm, controlled, the voice of a man who'd been in situations like this a hundred times before. "There's a gun in the glove compartment. Take it."
My hands were shaking so badly I could barely get the compartment open, but I managed. The gun was cold and heavy in my palm.
"Do you remember how to use it?"
I nodded. Hudson had taught me years ago, back when we were first dating. I hadn't fired a weapon since, but muscle memory was a powerful thing.
"Safety's on the side. Flip it off, point, squeeze. Don't pull. Squeeze."
"Okay." My voice came out as barely more than a whisper. "Okay."
Lang's headlights filled the rearview mirror again, and I braced myself for another impact, but it didn't come.
Instead, his car pulled alongside us on the left, and I saw the driver's side window roll down.
I saw the gun.
"DOWN!" Hudson shouted.
He shoved my head below the dashboard just as the windshield exploded.
Glass rained down on us, sharp and cold, and I heard the crack of gunfire, once, twice, three times. Hudson swerved hard to the right, and I felt the car leave the road, felt us go airborne for one stomach-dropping second before we crashed into something solid.
The world went white.
Then black.
Then nothing.
I came to with the taste of blood in my mouth and Hudson's voice in my ears.
"Betty. Betty, wake up. Come on, baby, open your eyes."
I blinked, trying to focus. My head was pounding, and there was something wet running down my face. Blood, probably. From the glass.
"Hudson?"
"I'm here. I'm right here." His hands were on my face, checking for injuries, his expression tight with fear. "Can you move? Is anything broken?"
I did a quick mental inventory. Head hurt. Neck was sore. But everything seemed to be in working order.
"I'm okay," I said. "I think I'm okay."
"We need to move. The car's not going anywhere."
I looked around and realized we'd crashed into a tree. The hood was crumpled, steam rising from the engine, and the windshield was nothing but a jagged frame of broken glass.
But we were alive.
Hudson helped me out of the car, and I stumbled on unsteady legs, gripping his arm for support. The gun was still in my hand. I didn't even remember holding onto it.
"Where's Lang?" I asked.
"His car went off the road about fifty yards back. I saw him crash, but I’m not sure how bad."
A gunshot split the night, and bark exploded from the tree beside my head.
Hudson shoved me behind the wrecked car, his own weapon already drawn, firing back into the darkness.
"Stay down," he ordered.
Another shot. Then another. I pressed myself against the cold metal of the car, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.
"Ramirez!" Lang's voice echoed through the trees, rough and desperate. "You should've kept your mouth shut! Should've minded your own business!"
"Give it up, Lang!" Hudson shouted back. "FBI's on their way. There's nowhere left to run!"
"Then I've got nothing to lose, do I?"
More gunfire. Hudson returned fire, and I heard a grunt of pain from somewhere in the darkness.
"He's hit," Hudson said quietly. "But he's still moving. Betty, I need you to stay here. Don't move, don't make a sound. I'm going to end this."
"Hudson, no."
"I have to." He grabbed my face, kissing me hard and fast. "I love you. Stay alive for me."
And then he was gone, melting into the shadows.
I crouched behind the car, the gun clutched in my trembling hands, and waited.
The silence was worse than the gunfire. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, made me flinch. I strained my ears, trying to hear something, anything, that would tell me what was happening.
A grunt. A thud. The sounds of a struggle.
Then a single gunshot.
And then nothing.
"Hudson?" My voice came out as a broken whisper. "HUDSON!"
Footsteps. Heavy. Coming toward me.
I raised the gun, my hands shaking so badly I could barely aim.
A figure emerged from the darkness.
Hudson.
He was covered in blood and there was a new cut above his eyebrow, but he was alive. He was alive and walking toward me with that same intensity in his eyes that had always made me feel like the center of his universe.
"It's over," he said.
I didn't wait for him to reach me. I dropped the gun and ran, throwing myself into his arms, sobbing against his chest.
"I thought…..I thought he….."
"I know, baby. I know." His arms came around me, holding me so tight I couldn't breathe. "But it's over now. He's gone. He can't hurt you anymore."
I pulled back to look at him. "Gone? You mean?"
"Dead." Hudson's expression was hard, unyielding. "He gave me no choice."
I should've felt something. Horror, maybe, at the casual way he said it. Guilt that a man was dead because of me.
But all I felt was relief.
Overwhelming, bone-deep relief.
"The trial," I said, suddenly remembering. "I still have to testify. Briggs?"
"Is in FBI custody." Hudson pulled out his phone, showing me a message from Agent Torres. "They picked him up an hour ago. He's done, Betty. They're both done."
I stared at the screen, trying to process the words.
It was over.
It was really, truly over.
The adrenaline that had been keeping me upright suddenly drained away, and my legs gave out. Hudson caught me before I hit the ground, scooping me into his arms like I weighed nothing.
"I've got you," he said. "I've got you."
I buried my face in his neck and let myself fall apart.
The next few hours were a blur.
Reeves and Santos found us first, then the FBI, then the local police. There were paramedics checking my head wound, insisting Hudson get looked at despite his protests. There were statements to give and questions to answer and forms to fill out.
Through all of it, Hudson stayed by my side. His hand in mine. His presence steady and solid and reassuring.
Agent Torres found us around dawn, as the first gray light was filtering through the trees.
"Ms. Ramirez," she said, her expression softer than I'd ever seen it. "How are you holding up?"
"I'm alive," I said. "Thanks to Hudson."
Torres glanced at him, something like respect in her eyes. "Mr. Cole, your actions tonight were impressive. Lang would've killed her if you hadn't intervened."
"That was never going to happen," Hudson said flatly.
"No," Torres agreed. "I don't suppose it was." She turned back to me. "The DA still wants you to testify. Even with Lang dead and Briggs in custody, your testimony will help seal the case. Make sure Chris Greene gets justice."
Chris Greene. The man who'd started all of this. The man who'd died in that alley behind my bar, whose murder I'd witnessed, whose death had set my entire life on fire.
"I'll testify," I said. "Whatever it takes."
"Good. Trial starts in four hours. Get some rest if you can. We'll have a car pick you up at your hotel."
Torres walked away, and I turned to Hudson.
"Hotel?" I asked.
"The safe house isn't exactly habitable anymore." He pulled me close, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Martinez booked us a suite. You can shower, eat, maybe sleep for an hour before we have to be at the courthouse."
Sleep. I couldn't remember the last time I'd really slept.
"What about you?" I asked. "You need rest too."
"I'll sleep when you're safe on that witness stand."
"But?"
"Non-negotiable," he said, echoing the word I'd used on him before.
I was too tired to argue.
The hotel suite was obscenely luxurious. The kind of place I never would've booked for myself. But Hudson insisted, and frankly, after the night I'd had, I was willing to accept a little pampering.
I showered first, standing under the hot water until my skin turned pink and the shaking finally stopped. When I emerged, wrapped in a fluffy white robe, Hudson was waiting with room service. All the things he knew I needed.
"Eat," he said.
"I love you."
The words came out before I could stop them, surprising us both.
Hudson went still, his coffee cup halfway to his lips. Then he set it down and crossed to me, cupping my face in his hands.
"Say it again."
"I love you." I reached up, covering his hands with mine. "I know I said it before, at the bar. But I need you to know, it's not just the danger talking. It's not just adrenaline or fear or gratitude. I love you, Hudson. I've loved you for twelve years, even when I was trying my hardest not to."
"I don't deserve you," he said quietly.
"Maybe not. But you're stuck with me anyway."
He laughed. A real laugh, the first I'd heard from him since he'd shown up at my door all those nights ago, and pulled me into his arms.
"I'm never leaving you again," he said against my hair.
He kissed me then, soft and sweet and full of promise. And for the first time in years, I felt like everything was going to be okay.
Not perfect. The trial was still looming, and there would be questions and statements and probably a lot of therapy in my future. But okay.
Because I wasn't facing it alone.
I had Hudson.
And that, it turned out, was enough.
The courthouse was chaos.
Reporters lined the steps, cameras flashing, microphones thrust forward as Hudson guided me through the crowd. He kept his arm around me, his body between me and the press, his expression daring anyone to get too close.
Inside, it was quieter. Agent Torres met us at security and escorted us to a private waiting room where I could prepare for my testimony.
"You ready for this?" she asked.
"No," I admitted. "But I'm going to do it anyway."
Torres smiled and nodded. "That's all any of us can do."
She left to coordinate with the prosecution, and I turned to Hudson.
"You can't come in with me," I said. "I have to do this part alone."
"I know." He took my hands, squeezing gently. "But I'll be right outside that door. And the second you're done, I'll be there." He kissed me one more time, then stepped back as the bailiff came to escort me to the courtroom.
I walked through those doors alone.
But I wasn't afraid.
Because I knew what was waiting for me on the other side.