19. Hayden
HAYDEN
A surprised gasp echoes through the cemetery when I choose Madison. I hold her frantic gaze, because I need her to know I’ll kill for her tonight and every night after.
One of the masked fuckers steps closer to my girl. His movements are deliberate when he reaches out, curling a strand of her hair around his finger. The motion is lazy, almost playful. It takes everything in me not to rush him, push him to the ground and beat his skull in until his brain is seeping into the ground. I can’t risk him hurting her before I get to him, or one of the other assholes grabbing her while I’m killing him.
“How does that make you feel?” he sneers, his eyes darting to me before focusing back on Madison. “He wants to fuck you so bad he’d let us slit his only sister’s throat.”
Something inside me snaps. I jerk forward, my body moving on instinct, but I catch myself just before I do something that could give him a reason to hurt her. They’re baiting me, and I need to keep my temper in check if I’m going to keep her safe. The sight of him touching her, his filthy fingers brushing against what’s mine . He’s fucking dead no matter how this ends. I’ll cut his fingers off one by one and burn every part of him that ever thought it could touch her.
Madison doesn’t cry. Her eyes stay fixed on mine, steady and unwavering, and something inside me shifts. She trusts me. Even now, with a gun pointed at her, with strangers threatening to destroy everything, she looks at me like she knows I’ll save her.
The motherfucker lets go of her hair, his smirk widening as he steps back, clearly pleased with himself like we passed whatever test that was. I keep my face neutral, but inside, I’m already planning. Before this night is over, I’ll make sure he pays for every second his hands were on her.
“For fuck’s sake, someone shut that bitch up,” one of the other men snaps, and it’s only then that I realize Bethany is crying, begging them to let her go. One of the men walks toward her and Kirsten begins screaming, Bethany’s shrill protests are enough to make my head feel like I’ve got an axe lodged in it.
I hear the thud of a boot connecting with flesh, followed by a sharp cry. I glance toward Bethany just in time to see her crumple to the ground, one of the masked men pressing his boot to the side of her face. She sobs, her voice muffled against the damp dirt.
I feel nothing. No pity. No anger. Not for her, not for my bitchy sister, who’s crying out as the third man yanks her head back by her hair. All I care about is Madison and getting her out of here without a mark on her.
A flicker of movement catches my eye, and I look toward Tristan.
He still has Winter in his grip, one large hand wrapped around her delicate neck. She’s perfectly still, leaning into his touch. The silent message is clear: if they try to take her, she won’t make it easy.
Tristan’s eyes meet mine, sharp and calculating, and I see him shifting, angling his body as he adjusts his grip on Winter letting me see the phone tucked away in her hand.
I already know who she texted, and as if on cue I hear Callum laugh. “Holy shit,” he says, stepping out of the treeline, his voice laced with disbelief. “I leave for five minutes and this shit happens.”
All eyes snap to him as he strides into the clearing, his cocky grin unwavering even as one of the masked men turns his gun on him.
The man barks a sharp command, but Callum doesn’t flinch.
Instead, he pulls a gun from his waistband with practiced ease and fires. He learned to shoot from the bull riders in his family, and I don’t think these fuckers know who they’re up against.
The crack of the shot echoes through the woods, followed by the masked man’s scream as he crumples to the ground, clutching his shattered kneecap.
Blood pools beneath him, and Callum shifts his aim to the man standing closest to Madison. The third guy must realize that he’s outnumbered because he makes a run for it, and we see him slip and fall down a ravine.
Before Callum can pull the trigger, I lunge at the fucker who had Madison, tackling him to the ground. The man with the knee wound writhes on the ground, his screams piercing the air, but my focus is already on this dumb fuck.
We hit the dirt hard, his body slamming into the earth with a satisfying thud. He swings wildly, his fists grazing my sides, but I don’t feel it. All I feel is rage as my fist connects with his face, the impact jarring up my arm, but it’s not enough.
He struggles beneath me, but I have the upper hand now, pinning him down as I drive my fists into him again and again. Blood spatters across his mask, his grunts turning into desperate groans. “She’s mine,” I scream at him. “And you touched her!”
I slam my fist into his face again, the sickening crunch of bone making my chest heave with satisfaction. “Now you have to die,” I promise.
His resistance weakens, his movements sluggish as I kneel on his neck, pinning him completely.
I glance up at Madison, my breath ragged as I search her face for any sign of fear, any hint that she’s upset by what I’m doing. She’s not. Her expression is calm, controlled, her anger directed squarely at the men who dared to attack us.
Suddenly she’s next to me, handing me what I realize is her box cutter, the blade gleaming. I accept it immediately and lower it to his right hand.
“Never touch what’s mine,” I bark the words out.
In one swift motion, I slice through his pointer finger, the same finger he dared to curl around Madison’s hair. He screams, the sound desperate, but I do not give a fuck.
Madison tilts her head slightly, her voice eerily quiet as she says, “Shut up. You look weak.” The man’s scream falters, and he passes out, his body slumping beneath me.
The guy with the knee wound continues to cry out, his voice grating on my nerves.
“Enough of that,” Callum mutters, his tone casual as he kicks the man in the face with his boot. The guy falls silent instantly, his head lolling to the side as Callum crouches down and rips off his mask.
Before any of us can react, Kirsten screams, her voice shrill and panicked.
“No, don’t!” she yells, her body trembling. “I don’t want to see him!”
“Dawson Meyers,” Callum says, his tone dripping with disbelief as he stares down at the bloodied face of the Castlebrook football player.
My jaw tightens, my fists curling at my sides. Of course it’s him. That arrogant bastard has been circling Madison like a vulture since the moment she set foot on campus.
Before I can process the fury boiling in my chest, Madison steps forward, her movements deliberate and eerily calm. She leans down, her fingers gripping the edge of the second mask.
With a sharp tug, she rips it off.
Kyle Roberts. My teammate.
“What the fuck,” Callum blurts out, his voice breaking the tense silence.
Tristan doesn’t say a word, his dark, intense eyes scanning the area like he’s already calculating our next move.
“Who’s the third motherfucker that was with you?” I snap, and I’m seething as I step closer to Kyle.
He groans, his chest heaving as he tries and fails to lift his head. His eyes remain shut, and he doesn’t respond.
“Answer me,” I demand, but he just groans again, barely conscious.
“He’s long gone by now,” Callum says, his voice edged with frustration. “We’ll never find him in the dark.”
Tristan nods, his expression grim. “We will find him,” he says quietly.
He turns his attention to Winter, his movements gentle as he leans down to inspect her neck. They move away from us, but I catch enough of the conversation to know he’s speaking in both English and Russian.
“I’m sorry, Dushen’ka,” he says tenderly. Winter’s birth parents are Russian, and from what she said, Tristan learned the language in a very short time when they were young. I assume it’s his way of keeping her to himself, since no one else we know speaks the language.
I glance at Bethany, who has woken up and is sobbing loudly, her cries grating on my nerves. I want to tell her to shut the fuck up, but I bite my tongue.
Kirsten, for once, is silent, her eyes staring off into the woods like she’s trying to see where the third guy went.
Then I notice Madison standing still, her gaze locked on Kyle, her expression blank and distant.
“That’s my father’s ring,” she blurts out, pointing to Kyle’s hand.
Madison’s eyes flash up to mine. We don’t even have to say it.
This wasn’t just some prank gone wrong. The note. The bloody necklace. It all clicks into place. We just still have no idea why. I step toward her, closing the distance between us, and cupping her face in my hands. Her skin is cool to the touch, and I tilt her head up gently, forcing her to meet my gaze.
“You’re okay, princess,” I murmur, my thumbs stroking her cheeks in slow, soothing motions. “You’re safe,” I whisper, leaning in to press a soft, chaste kiss to her forehead. “I’ve got you, baby. No one’s ever going to hurt you again. Do you hear me?”
She nods faintly, her hands gripping my wrists as if she needs to make sure I’m really here. I smooth her hair back, letting my fingers slide through the silken strands, and lean in closer. My lips brush against hers, gentle and undemanding, a promise more than a kiss.
“It’s going to be okay,” I murmur against her lips, my voice steady even as my heart races. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”
Her body softens against mine, her breathing slowing as she presses her forehead to my chest.
I wrap my arms around her, holding her close, cradling her like she’s the most precious thing in the world. Because she is. “Don’t worry, baby,” I murmur, my lips brushing against the top of her head. “I’ve got you.”