Chapter 35 Arlo
“Itold you it wasn’t fucking worth it!” Priest roars, slamming his fist into the steel wall of the truck so hard it rattles the bolts. “That whole fucking compound was wired to blow!”
His eyes are wild. One hand is braced on the ceiling, the other shaking as he points at Arsen like he’s moments from snapping his neck. “Sterling’s building a war—and you handed him our blood on a silver fucking platter.”
The truck jolts. I stumble forward, catching myself on a bench. The inside of the armored truck is a battlefield of its own. Blood, shouting, men groaning, someone trying to shove a morphine injector into a bullet wound. The floor is slick with mud, ash, and more blood.
Bullets ping off the armored SUV, the enemy still chasing, refusing to let go.
Arsen rips his gloves off and throws them to the floor. “You think I don’t fucking know that? You think I wanted this to go to shit?”
Someone slams a forearm across Priest’s chest before he can lunge at Arsen again.
“You need to get your shit together, Priest,” Arsen snarls. “We’re not out of this yet.”
“Want me to cut your goddamn hands off?” Priest snaps.
The truck is in total chaos. Shouts overlapping. Blood everywhere. Men struggling to stay upright as the vehicle careens through the trees, swerving to avoid bullets.
In the storm of voices, I catch pieces—Dalton was working for Sterling. Alistair was never in the facility. None of the teams found him.
Everything’s spiraling. Everyone’s talking over each other, arguing about regroup points, status checks, ammo counts. But it’s useless.
There’s no plan. No direction. Just survival. And even that’s falling apart.
I slide to the floor of the truck, back to the cold wall. The metal shocks through the sweat on my spine. Then the back of the truck explodes with gunfire.
Bullets violently smack the exterior. A sharp ping ricochets off the ceiling near my head. The vehicle jerks hard. Tires screech. We veer to the left. A soldier next to me goes down, clutching a bleeding leg and grunting through gritted teeth.
The world is still moving too fast—and then I hear him again.
“WE TAKE IT TO STERLING!” Priest roars, spit flying from his mouth as he thrashes against someone’s grip. “WE DON’T HIDE. WE DON’T CRAWL. WE MAKE THAT BASTARD BLEED!”
His voice cuts through everything else. Through the gunfire, the screaming, the pain.
And when I look up, I see it—
He’s not here.
He’s trapped in some other place.
He’s clawing at the side of his neck—at the one-eight-seven tattoo—ripping his skin raw. Blood’s running down his throat, smeared along his collar. His knuckles are white around the bar above his head, the veins in his arms straining.
He’s unraveling. Right here in front of us, and no one knows how to stop it. Except maybe…me.
A dark, awful part of me wants to scream at him. To hit him. To tell him to shut the fuck up and look around at what’s left of us. At who he’s going to lose next if he keeps spiraling.
But another part of me—one that’s cracked and bruised and still tethered to him—just wants to reach him. Wants to bring him back. Even if it means losing myself in the process.
I drag myself up off the floor.
One step.
Then another.
He doesn’t see me coming. He’s still shouting and trying to fight. I grab his vest, yank him down with every ounce of strength I have left, and kiss him.
His whole body goes still, just for a second.
Then his hand fists in my shirt. The other slides up, cupping the back of my neck like he needs the contact as much as I do. His mouth crashes into mine, violently.
I breathe him in.
Smoke. Blood. Gunpowder. Rage.
But also something deeper—something broken and buried. Something so raw it nearly cuts me open just to touch it.
And it hits me—how easy it would be to fall. To give in to this darkness between us and let it consume me. To become whatever it is he sees when he looks at me with that wildfire stare. Because he believes we’re the same. That I’m already gone.
When I pull back, he’s breathing hard, that wild, frenzied look has dulled—but it’s still there, flickering in the edges.
“We need you, Priest. I need you.”
The truck lurches violently. I slam into him. His arm catches me tight around my waist. He doesn’t look away from my face. Doesn’t blink. Just stares at me like he’s seeing me for the first, the last, and the only time.
Then he turns.
“New plan.” He releases me but keeps one possessive hand on my hip. “We regroup. Find the others. Somebody get on comms and give me a fucking body count.”
“Last communication had them heading south—following the river,” a soldier grits out, pressing a rag to his bleeding thigh.
“We ditch the truck. It’s a goddamn coffin on wheels.” He looks at Arsen. “Send word to the others—we jump at the bridge. Tell them to rendezvous downstream.”
Arsen’s already grabbing the radio, barking orders.
Priest’s grip tightens on me. “Get me a vest,” he snaps.
A soldier tosses one from the gear rack. Priest yanks off my shredded vest, tugging the new one down over my body. His touch is rough, but his gaze lingers on the bruises across my skin.
“I’m sorry about Raze.” My hand twitches toward him, then drops uselessly back to my side. His fingers freeze. Just for a second. Then he jerks the straps tighter.
“Message received, we’ve got—”
The soldier doesn’t finish. The truck screams, lurching hard right. The tires lose grip, skidding across slick mud. The whole world tips.
“Hold on!” Arsen bellows from the cab.
Everything blurs. I’m slammed into Priest again. His arms wrap around me, locking me in. We’re weightless for half a second before gravity hits.
The truck rolls.
The world flips. Screams. Metal groaning. Glass shattering. Another impact. We crash down hard, the entire vehicle shrieking as it settles, angled in a ditch.
Silence. Then shouting.
“Everyone out! MOVE!” Arsen’s voice roars from the front. “GET TO THE brIDGE AND JUMP!”
The doors are kicked open. Cold, wet air hits me, and I stumble, the world tilting beneath my feet. Priest’s hand wraps around my arm, hauling me upright, dragging me forward.
We crash into the woods. The night exploding behind us, firelight painting the sky red. Branches tear at my skin. Mud sucks at my boots. Adrenaline drags my body forward, even as every cell in me screams.
The bridge looms ahead—a steel arch over a dark, rushing river. The others are already there, sprinting for the edge, leaping one by one into the dark below.
One jump and we’re free.
The shot cracks.
Priest jerks. Blood sprays across my face, and we collapse together at the edge of the bridge. His weight crushes me, his blood soaking through my shirt.
“Priest!” My voice breaks as I shove at his chest, trying to get him up, trying to push us toward the edge. “Get up, goddamn it—we have to jump!”
He doesn’t move fast enough. Blood pours from him in thick rivulets, soaking my hands as I claw at him. His body is heavy, pinning me down while Sterling’s men close in from both sides.
“Priest, please!”
He’s on top of me, shielding me with the only thing he has left. His blood is hot on my skin, slicking my fingers as I try to crawl us toward the edge.
“Move! We can make it! We can still—”
“You have to go,” he grits out, coughing blood. “I won’t let them have you, kitten. I can’t hear that sound again. I can’t hear you scream like that ever again.”
His eyes are blown wide, unfocused, but locked on me. For the first time, I don’t see rage. I see terror. Regret. Something almost human.
“Stop. Get up. Please…” Tears flood my vision. The world’s a blur of firelight and smoke.
His hand finds mine, slick and shaking, and he drags his forehead against mine. “I won’t let them take you. I won’t let him have you.”
Another shot rings out.
He grunts, the sound punched from his chest, and a new wave of blood spatters my face. “Fuck,” he hisses.
“Priest!” I press my hands against the wound. “You’re not dying! You’re not—”
“Go.” His lips find my forehead, pressing a hot, bloody kiss. “Jump, little one.”
“I can’t leave you. Please. You’re all I have left.”
He drags a breath through his teeth. “Your father told me—”
“No! Don’t!” I shake my head violently. “Not now. Don’t you dare—”
“He told me…”
“STOP! You don’t get to say that now!”
A bullet tears through the air, close enough to burn my skin. His good arm bands around my waist, holding me in place.
“I don’t know what love is,” he says, each word trembling. “I don’t know how to do it. I’ve never felt it—not once—not like this. Whatever this is, it’s killing me. It’s you.”
He swallows hard, blood bubbling at his lips. “You’re under my skin, in my head. You’re every bad thing I am, and every good thing I’ll never get to be. I can’t fucking breathe without you.”
He exhales shakily, forehead pressed to mine. “I’m broken, Arlo. I’m so fucking sorry. But I love you…in the only fucked-up way I know how.”
“Then don’t leave me!” I sob, clutching his arms. “Please, Priest, jump with me—please—”
His mouth crashes into mine.
It’s not gentle. It’s desperate, shaking, drenched in blood and salt and everything unsaid.
Another shot.
He jerks against me, grunting, his body convulsing. Blood gushes across my chest. His hand finds mine—forcing my fingers open, shoving me toward the edge.
“You’re strong enough to hate me forever. That’s why I love you.”
He shoves me with the last of his strength.
“No—” My scream tears from me, shattering whatever’s left.
The world drops away. Wind and cold and black water rising up to meet me. His blood still hot on my lips. His voice still echoing in my head.
“PRIEST!”
The river swallows me whole, the current ripping me under, and even as the darkness takes me, I can still feel him. His touch. His kiss. His goddamn love.
And I know, I’ll never forgive him.
I’ll never stop loving him.
I’ll never stop hating him.
I fight against the current, clawing my way to the surface, my lungs burning. I break through, the frigid night air a shock to my system. The bridge recedes in the distance, the flames from the truck a dying ember in the dark.
My voice is hoarse, useless, lost in the roar of the river and the thundering of my own heart. I’m alone. I’m alive. And I’m more broken than I’ve ever been.
“Arlo! Give me your hand!”
Arsen’s voice cuts through the night. Ahead of me, he’s half-submerged, one arm hooked around a fallen tree. A few others are already clambering up the muddy bank.
I swim toward him, every stroke a battle against the current. My fingers find his and he yanks me forward, dragging me through the freezing water until I collapse against the shore.
“He’s gone.” The words taste like poison on my tongue. “We have to go back, Arsen. They shot Priest. We have to go back for him.”
I push to my knees, reaching for the river again, but his hand closes around my arm.
“There’s no going back. The bridge is gone. If he’s not dead, they’ll have him.”
The world tilts. “No—no, you don’t understand—” My voice breaks into a sob. “I can’t leave him! I can’t!”
He grabs my face, forcing my eyes to his.
“Sterling will make a statement out of him. He’ll keep him alive. For a while.”
The words gut me.
For a while.
Like a countdown I can’t stop.
Voices shout from farther up the bank, one of our soldiers, yelling over the river. “We’ve made contact with the other sections! East and West are secretly mobilizing! They’ll rendezvous by dawn!”
Arsen nods without looking away from me. “We need to move. Now.” He pulls me to my feet.
“Arsen…he told me he loved me.”
He freezes. Just for a second.
“Arlo.”
“He said he loved me,” I whisper again. “Arsen, I can’t lose him. I can’t lose someone else I love.”
His hand tightens on my shoulder, pulling me forward through the mud and chaos as the river rages behind us.