Chapter 35
SAWYER
I can’t breathe, can’t sit in the kitchen while my whole life is laid bare in six neat, psychotic boxes. I grab the worst of it—therapy notes, the creepy, distant photos, the fucking marriage license that shakes in my fist and bolt for the basement steps.
Riot’s voice calls after me, “Sawyer, wait,” but I’m already halfway down the stairs, anger thrumming through every limb. I hear their footsteps pounding behind me, but I don’t dare slow down or look back.
The door to the basement slams against the wall as I shove it open causing Blake to jump.
The air down here is damp and cold, but my rage is wildfire.
Blake is still chained to his chair. Blood crusted under his nose and along his mouth, but his eyes are traveling all over me, but they freeze on what’s in my hands.
And then he grins like he’s been waiting for this moment.
“I told you, Sawyer,” he says. “You’ve always been mine. They don’t know you like I do and nobody ever will.”
My knuckles are white around the papers. I throw them onto the concrete at his feet—the therapy notes, the photos, the forged license—pages fluttering everywhere like broken wings.
“You sick fucking bastard,” I snarl, voice shaking with fury. “You’ve been watching me. Since before we were even together. Following me. Stealing my childhood items, my fucking baby teeth, my privacy, every secret I ever had—”
He leans back in the chair, smug as ever. “All I ever wanted was you, baby. I know every scar, every nightmare, every ugly little secret. Do you think they can handle that? Think they’d still want you if they knew all the shit I do?”
Riot is at my back in a heartbeat, fists clenched, practically vibrating with the urge to break him in half. Jasper’s eyes are black, but they let me speak.
“How did you do it, Blake?”
He straightens, smug. Proud that he got away with what he has.
“I didn’t need magic, just a dirty cousin from the Bureau and a few envelopes of cash. The rest was copy-paste. I did it because I love you. I loved you the second I saw you in The Hollow Cup. I knew you were made to be mine. And I know everything about you; I’m exactly who you need.”
“You don’t know a damn thing about love, Blake. You never did. All you ever did was lie and steal. You don’t even actually know me.”
Blake’s smile is slow, poisonous.
“Don’t say I don’t know you. I’ve read the files. I know how you break. I know every crack in you, Sawyer.”
He keeps going, pleased with his own rot.
“Cute nephew by the way… the one with the dinosaur backpack. Did your sister ever mention police showing up to her house? I made a wellness call, obviously anonymous. I thought a scare from home might put you back where you belong. But apparently not.” He shrugs.
“You’re lying,” I breathe, but the tremor gives me away.
“Check your ‘Digital Evidence’ box again, Mrs. Lewis.” He nods at the scattered pages I threw around the room. “You’ll hear me. I’m on half those voicemails. Spoofed numbers are a beautiful thing.”
He glances at Jasper and Riot, almost pitying them. “You boys ready to clean up the pieces when she falls apart? She’ll never be whole.”
“Maybe I’m broken, and yeah, maybe I have trauma,” I say, “but I choose them, and they choose me. You never get to choose for me again.”
Jasper crouches to pick up the marriage license, waving it in Blake’s face. “All this proves is how obsessed you are. And how dead you are.”
Blake tries to laugh, but it comes out hollow. “You’ll come back to me, Sawyer. You always do, just like your parents did. I’m your husband after all.”
I meet his eyes and let a every old scar flare hot. I have never wanted to be someone who goes back to the same person over and over. I will not be that girl anymore. “You’re not my husband. You’re my biggest mistake.”
I watch the smile twitch across his broken face. That smug certainty that no matter what I say, he’ll always find a way back in.
I step closer until I can see the madness swirling behind his eyes.
“You’ll never stop, will you? You’d rather rot in chains than let go.
And I know—if I walk away from this, if I let you go, you’ll keep coming back.
You’ll keep finding me, and you’ll keep finding my family.
My friends. You’ll never let me live. You’ll never let any of us live. ”
I could walk away and call the cops. Collect the boxes and hand over the files, the videos, the forged license, and all the years he carved out of me like souvenirs.
I could trust a piece of paper to keep him away.
A restraining order. A promise from a system that didn’t stop him when he climbed through my life the first hundred times.
I know how this goes. New number. New locks.
New city. Looking over my shoulder in every parking lot, every hotel hallway, every crowd.
I see my sister’s front door. My nephew’s backpack.
Macee’s laugh going quiet because a strange car idles too long across the street.
I see Jasper and Riot sleeping in shifts with a bat by the door while I pretend my hands don’t shake.
He will find a crack. He will make a crack even if there isn’t one. He’s shown now that he always has.
I think about the boxes. My childhood in plastic, my body on a screen, my name on a license I never signed.
About the mic in my nightstand, my window left open.
About the way his voice has lived in my head so long it sometimes sounds like my own.
Am I choosing mercy for him or another sentence for me? For us?
This isn’t about rage. It’s about ending a hunt.
I’m not asking permission for air anymore.
I look Blake straight in the eye, letting him see every ounce of my hate, every scar he ever left. “That’s not love. That’s sickness. You want to keep hunting me? Keep playing your sick games? Not this time. You don’t get to win.”
He opens his mouth—maybe to threaten, perhaps to gloat one last time, but I cut him off.
“I won’t spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. I won’t give you the satisfaction of turning me into prey.”
“You hear that, asshole? She’s done being your victim.” Riot stalks forward.
Blake finally looks scared for the first time. “You—you won’t do it. You’re not a killer—”
Jasper answers for all of us, voice serious and deadly. “You made us killers the second you decided she was yours.”
“You think they’re gonna stick around, Sawyer? You think they’ll want you after all this? What a fucking mess you are. Trust me, no one wants to keep cleaning up your disasters forever.”
His words slice the air, bitter and venomous, and for a second I feel the old ache—like he’s dragging me back under. But this time, there’s something inside me he can’t touch. Not anymore.
“You’re wrong. I’m not yours to break anymore.”
He snorts, eyes flicking to Jasper and Riot, desperate now.
“What, you think these guys want a girl who can’t sleep through the night?
Who wakes up screaming? Who’s too fucked up to be loved?
You want to be fucked by a masked man, for Christ’s sake.
You’re a weirdo and burden, Sawyer. A fucking liability.
They’ll leave you just like everybody else. ”
I ignore him as I turn to look at Jasper and Riot. “You guys don’t have to help me do this. You don’t have to keep saving me. I can clean up my mess. I won’t drag you down with me.”
There’s a heartbeat of silence between the three of us that drowns out the sound of Blake trying to save his ass.
Riot closes the distance, crowding in, eyes burning into mine.
“You don’t get it, Hellcat. I want to help you.
I want to be the one cleaning up your messes, every goddamn one, for as long as you’ll let me.
I love you. I fucking love you, Sawyer. And nothing you’ve done, nothing he says, is ever gonna change that. ”
The words land like lightning, warming everything inside me. My knees tremble, and then he’s wrapping his strong around my waist.
“He’s right,” Jasper murmurs. “You’re my everything. I’m here for it all. The good, the bad, the fucking ugly. I’m not going anywhere.”
My chest hurts with how much I want to believe them. I nod, tears spilling free. “I love you. Both of you. More than I’ve ever loved anything or anyone.”
Blake spits at my feet, eyes crazed. “You’re lying! You love me! You’re mine! You’ll always be mine!”
Riot’s face twists with fury as he grabs Blake by the jaw, squeezing so hard that Blake whimpers. “She was never yours. You never deserved her, but we’re happy to show you a taste of what you deserve.”
There’s no more mercy left in the room.
Riot’s boots echo on the concrete as he circles Blake. I see Jasper grab a crowbar from the toolbox—no hesitation, no second thoughts. Riot spits at Blake’s feet, all the softness gone from his eyes. “This is your end, motherfucker.”
Blake tries to say something, but Riot’s fist cracks across his face, snapping his head sideways, splitting his lip wide open again. Blood spatters onto the floor. “You like hurting her?” Riot snarls. “Let’s see how you like it then.”
Jasper tears Blake’s shirt off, raking the crowbar down his ribs, and then swinging, making him howl on every impact.
Riot grabs a leather belt, folding it over his hand.
“Let’s see you beg, asshole.” He lashes Blake’s thighs brutally, leaving purple welts.
Once he’s done Jasper starts hitting him in the ribs, jaw, and stomach until Blake is a sobbing, snotty, bloody mess.
I watch and I don’t flinch. My chest is tight, heart pounding so hard it hurts, but I can’t look away.
I’m not afraid. All I feel is a cold, clean kind of satisfaction—watching him fall apart the way he made me fall apart so many times before.
My men are doing this for me. Because they love me.
So many emotions hit me at once and I realize I’ve never felt more seen, cared for, or loved.