36. Chapter 36
Atlas
He said it. He actually fucking said it.
My fingers brush my lips, which still tingle, as I watch Hunter crash through the brush and disappear into the night. Wade takes off after him, the other shithead following.
I shove off the tree, my legs unsteady, but I don’t care. I have to help him. He can’t die. Not now.
Not ever.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
My upper lip twitches as I turn to face Garrett. He’s ten feet to my right, hunting knife in hand. “You seriously want to do this right now? They’re going to kill him.”
His brows and nose scrunch as he points the knife at me. “This is your fault.”
“How many times are you going to say the same shit?”
“Hunter and I were fine before you. We were a family.”
My fists curl at my sides, blood dripping onto my palms. “Some fucking family. You didn’t even try to stop Wade.”
Garrett takes a step forward, his nostrils flaring. “Shut the fuck up. You don’t know shit.”
“Neither do you.” I straighten, pulling my shoulders back, forcing myself not to wince at the tenderness in my ribs. “Hunter will never be like the rest of your sick, twisted family. I won’t let him.”
Garrett huffs. “Yet he ran. Didn't even look back. Left you here to die. Alone.”
“He’s not alone,” a deep voice says.
Well, fuck me.
I knew Rua was here. Hunter had his knife. Figured the others came too. But Blackwell? Didn't see that coming.
One side of my mouth pulls up into a lopsided smile as Killian steps out from the shadows wearing a black hoodie, black pants, and our signature white hunting mask.
Garrett stumbles sideways a few feet, eyes wide.
“Yeah no, Hunt didn’t leave me here alone.” I take a step toward him, eyes narrowing. “He actually left you with me .”
Garrett's knife swings from me to Killian and back. His breathing is erratic, his weight shifting from foot to foot. “You think this changes anything? You think your little hockey buddies scare me?”
“Yeah.” I crack my neck, then take another step. “I do.”
A twisted giggle cuts through the dark—high and bright and completely fucking wrong for the situation. It bounces between the trunks.
Shaw.
Garrett's face loses color, his eyes darting to the trees behind Killian as more shapes move in the gaps between the oaks. Black hoodies, white masks, silent except for that laugh growing louder, threading through the trees. Shaw never could shut up.
Garrett backs up, head swiveling as my teammates line up next to our former captain, all of them dressed identically.
“What's the matter, Garrett?” I sneer. “Thought you wanted a hunt.”
He snarls, but the knife in his hand shakes.
My smirk vanishes, eyes widening for a split second, heart beating faster.
His knife.
The knife.
Same one he tried to kill me with.
Garrett’s chin lifts, a faint smile forming on his lips. “Recognize it, eh?”
Without thinking, I run my fingers over my joggers, along the scar underneath. I take a deep breath, then release it slowly.
Half a second. That's all he gets.
My gaze locks with his. “Gonna be real embarrassing for you when I take that.”
A gunshot cracks through the air off in the distance. My whole body stiffens, and I whip toward the sound, heart slamming into my throat.
Hunter.
A branch snaps and my gaze cuts back to Garrett just as he bolts, disappearing into the woods. My fists clench, upper lip lifting into a snarl. Every part of me screams to chase him down. But I don’t. Not yet, anyway.
I face my teammates. “Hunt is out there alone. He needs us.”
“On it.” Rua takes off in the direction the gunshot came from, Shin on his heels.
I look at Cap. “There are two others. One’s sniping from somewhere.”
He nods, taps Shaw on the chest. Fucking Calix bounces on his toes, that laugh getting higher, more musical, in a way that makes the hairs on my arms stand up. They take off. I almost say God help whoever Shaw finds, but fuck them. They deserve what he’s about to dish out.
Now that Hunter is covered, it’s my turn.
I sprint after Garrett. My ribs scream on the second stride, but I push through. Killian is on my left. His stride is longer, yet he matches my pace, letting me lead.
Ahead, Garrett crashes through the brush. Not quiet. Not smart. Just running—branches snapping, leaves scattering, his breathing loud enough to follow with my eyes closed.
Killian taps my shoulder twice and veers right, disappearing into the trees to cut off the eastern trail before Garrett can loop back toward the road. I keep straight, breathing controlled, but when I swallow, the ache in my throat flares.
Fuck Hunter.
If we survive this, that asshole is cleaning my room for a month. And he's eating honey pizza every night while he does it. Every. Single. Slice.
Except why should I let him off that easy?
Cody is the one who should have beat my ass. Not Hunter.
A branch whips across my forearm. Garrett's footsteps get louder. He's slowing down. Running out of gas or running out of room.
I slow my pace and listen. My swollen eye throbs with every heartbeat, narrowing my peripheral vision on the left side, so I compensate—head tilting, scanning wider.
Garrett stumbles, and I close the distance.
To my right, Killian comes into view.
“He’s mine.”
Killian nods and hangs back. “Be careful, or I will step in.”
I don’t respond, not when Garrett stumbles again and comes to a complete stop. I lengthen my stride, and when he whirls around, I drop my shoulder and drive into his midsection, lifting him clean off his feet.
We hit the ground hard enough to knock the air out of both of us. Garrett lands on his back, me on top. He twists beneath me and slashes, the blade catching my forearm, dragging through skin. I hiss and jerk back.
Garrett gets his foot between us and uses it to push me away before scrambling to his feet, knife raised. He lunges, slashing wide as I’m getting up. “You won’t walk out of here, and my brother will be back where he belongs.”
I lean back just far enough that the tip catches the front of my T-shirt and nothing else.
His follow-through leaves him off balance.
I plant my feet and throw a cross, my fist connecting with his nose.
Cartilage crunches under the impact, and blood pours down his face.
“Not happening. Hunter’s not going back to the U.P. ”
Garrett staggers half a step, then comes at me again and kicks the outside of my thigh before jabbing the knife forward.
I twist and catch his hand, one of my hands clamping over the base of his thumb, the other braced against the pinkie side of his wrist. I wrench hard, and the bones in his wrist snap.
He screams, and the hunting knife falls to the ground.
He immediately follows up with his other fist, slamming it into my dick.
A strangled shout tears out of me, one knee buckling as my grip on him loosens.
He yanks free and dives for the knife. But someone steps on it.
Not Killian. Someone wearing a detailed golden wolf mask with ruby eyes.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I scramble to my feet once more. Who the fuck—Wait. Kill is just standing there, focusing on Garrett and me, completely unbothered by whoever the hell this new person is.
Garrett staggers sideways, trying to get to his feet. So, I kick him in the stomach. He folds, dropping back down to his hands and knees, retching.
I grab a fistful of his hair and yank his head back. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going? We’re not done yet.”
“Fuck you, Atlas.”
He grabs my wrist, digging his fingers into the open wounds. Pain flares up my arm, fresh blood flowing. But I don’t let go.
The guy in the wolf mask crouches, picks up the knife, then holds it out to me, handle first.
I take it, turning it over. My hand doesn’t shake, my chest doesn’t constrict.
“You know what's funny, Garrett?” My voice comes out steady. Calm. “You spent your whole life blaming me for taking your brother. But I didn't take him. He wanted out. Wanted to take you with him. Even after you betrayed him that night.”
“He'll never forgive you for this. You kill me, and Hunter will hate you for the rest of—”
“You threatened a child. Our boyfriend’s brother no less. Whatever he might have felt toward you is gone.” My grip tightens on the hilt. “You won't hurt anyone I love again.”
I plunge the blade into the side of his neck and twist.
Garrett’s mouth opens, and a wet, broken gurgle bubbles out as blood wells around the blade, then pulses over my hand in hot, slick beats. His fingers slap at my wrist, nails scraping.
I pull the blade out, then shove his head forward.
He hits the ground face-first, hands flying to his neck—pressing, squeezing. But blood pumps between his fingers in rhythmic surges, coating his wrists, dripping into the dirt.
A thick gurgle rolls out of his mouth. His legs kick once, twice, heels dragging through the leaves. The kicking turns to twitching.
Then stillness.
His hands slide off his throat and flop to the ground.
I stand there, breathing hard, the knife in my hand dripping. Blood coats my fingers, my forearm, and the front of my shirt.
The guy in the wolf mask crosses his arms and shakes his head. “Damn, I didn't believe it when Kill said what you all were capable of. Surprised you haven't invited Novotny to play.”
My eyes widen. “Reed?”
He scoffs. “Who else, shithead? You really think I was letting my boyfriend come by himself?”
Gunshots echo through the forest.
Killian places a hand on my shoulder. “Go. We’ll clean up.”
I nod and take off because Hunter Kincaid told me he loves me, and I'm not losing him.
Not for five minutes. Not for five seconds.
Not ever.