68. Jude
Jude
THIS ISN’T GOODBYE. IT’S A DECLARATION OF WAR.
She is terrified. No, she’s fucking horrified.
But I still see the fire in her. Even when she was breaking down in my arms during the initiation.
Fuck, a bullet to Kevlar still hurts like a bitch. Briella doesn’t let go of me.
No others lurk in the shadows. It’s only him. If I can get close enough, it would be no effort to disarm him. And promptly bash his skull in.
It’s simple to see why he is called the Prophet, the leader of a cult. Not taller than me. Few are. But his ritualistic collar and black robe scream priest, one with no celibacy or vows of poverty.
Similar to Raphael, his sharp, dark eyes pierce into your soul.
While he’s in his early 40’s, he has aged well. He’s charismatic, attractive, magnetic, manipulative.
And dangerous.
This man wants power over everyone. Raphael has power over the five of us because he fucking earned it and saved our lives.
He doesn’t give a fuck about power beyond Kinship.
We are enough for him. And hunting. And he has not simply lived.
He has thrived with Briella. Claiming her soul became his obsession.
But whatever chain he holds over her soul, she holds one equally as strong. She is an extension of himself.
I have looked into the eyes of the enemy too many times than I care to count. And this man reminds me of the director of our foster home more than anything else I have ever seen on the battlefield—or out of it.
The first thing I do is rise with her still in my arms, and tell her, “Get behind me.”
She shoves me, stepping in front of me instead. “No. He won’t shoot me, isn’t that right, Alden?“
He stiffens. The hand holding the gun is firm, unshaking.
When I try to shift her out of the way, she dares to use the cane to thwack me on my shin. Hard. I can’t risk struggling with her and damaging her leg.
“No, I have no intentions to shoot you,” Alden replies, velvety smooth. “The gun is for my protection alone.”
Of course, it is.
“It is good to see you, Bri.”
“Do not call me that,” Briella snarls.
She spits venom. Pure, fire-forged rage. And yet, her hand in mine trembles.
Alden inspects me. Cool. Measuring. The bastard thinks I’m competition. Good. Let him.
“As soon as Reddick informed me of your presence,” he says, smoothly, “I knew I’d move heaven and earth to bring you home.”
Briella doesn’t blink. “I am home.”
The words hit harder than any bullet. She’s still our unshakable Queen.
Alden’s gaze flicks to her leg, then to the cane.
“My dear Gabriella.” He gives a pitying shake of his head. “Nathan told me about the limp. I see it now. And the cane…” He gestures lightly toward it, feigning sadness in every syllable. “Please believe me. I never wished harm upon you. Never.”
She laughs. Bitter. Ugly. Beautiful.
“Yes,” she spits, “that’s why I spent years doped up on medication until I could barely function.
Or locked in straitjackets when I didn’t behave.
Or prodded like cattle. Or your revolting cleansings.
I don’t care about your goddamn rituals.
I’d rather drown in an ocean of sewage and filth than so much as touch you again. ”
His jaw clenches, but only for a moment. He schools his face into a practiced expression of hurt. Fucking narcissist. At least we assholes admit we’re assholes. Not this psychological fuckery. Not even Raphael and his god complex.
“It breaks my heart to hear that, Gabriella,” he murmurs. “I only ever wanted what was best for you. For you to stab my nephew…kill my nephew…and never once consider speaking to me about your troubles—”
“You were going to take me as a bed slave. You were my only trouble.”
His face displays a faux hurt. “I was prepared to take you as an honored bride in our community.”
“Your brides are prisoners,” she snaps. “Here? I’m a fucking Queen.” She clings more to me.
I want to drag her behind me, shield her, tell her not to waste her breath, but this is hers. This is hers to speak.
Alden breathes in slowly, like a man speaking to a child with a tantrum.
“I can come to no other conclusion than that these men have brainwashed you. You’re delusional, Gabriella.
After the incident with Reddick, I began preparations.
And I will admit…” He observes me and the mine environment.
“I did not expect such an impressive defense. But it will only result in your friends getting hurt.”
“They’re not my friends,” she hisses. “They’re mine. And I am theirs. My chains. My kings. My gods.”
I feel it. Like lightning ripping through my spine.
“Briella, I beg of you.” Alden steps forward slightly.
My spine locks up, hackles rising. It takes all my resolve not to attack him.
“Please see reason. You are unwell. Murder is a serious crime. But I advocated for you. I convinced the authorities the best place for your mental and physical care…is Easthaven.”
My fists curl. My chest tightens. We are responsible for her mental and physical care.
I brush my knuckles along her cheek, and she leans into it, just barely.
“I am a doctor,” I direct quietly. “With years of medical training. She doesn’t need you. She never did.”
Alden’s eyes gleam. “Ahh, yes. Jude…” His lips curl.
“Jude Voss, isn’t it? Or do you prefer Former Captain Battalion Surgeon Dr. Voss?
I know your record and did my homework given the security feeds from the home improvement warehouse.
You all have quite the histories. Wanted for many nefarious crimes.
” He tilts his head, mock-concerned. “Another reason I have the utmost concern for my Bri.”
Briella snorts. “Puhlease. I’m safer with a pack of rabid wolves than I ever was under your roof.”
I go rigid, preparing. If I can close the distance, if I can knock the gun aside…
But Alden lifts the weapon.
“With such crimes on your records, my contacts agreed these men cannot go unpunished. That’s why, even as we speak, a unit of National Guard waits beyond the ridge. Regrouping. Police. Reinforcements. All for you. Especially your leader…” He smirks. “Raphael Thorne, isn’t it?”
I shift my weight, ready to take him down.
The gun cracks.
I stagger, the impact slamming into my shoulder. The Kevlar holds, mostly. It grazes. Burns. But I stumble, and Briella screams.
She lurches toward me, dragging her injured leg, falling on top of me. The cane rolls away as she grabs me—my face, my chest, frantic. I groan.
“I’m okay,” I rasp. “It’s nothing.”
But Alden trains the gun on me again, this time aiming for my fucking head—
And Briella moves.
She scrambles to the edge of the pit, desperate, wild.
“If you hurt him,” she growls, “if you so much as fucking touch him, I’ll jump.”
Fuck. She would, wouldn’t she? The statement, her sacrifice, explodes through my body like cannon fire, shaking my bones.
“No, Briella.” I groan, gripping my shoulder. It’s not the first time I’ve had a through and through.
A heartbeat passes.
Alden exhales, exasperated. “You clearly have Stockholm Syndrome, Bri. Please allow me to help you. Don’t throw your life away for these monsters.”
“I won’t.” Her voice is flint and steel. “But only if you let them go. Let them live. And I’ll…I’ll come willingly.”
“No!” I snarl, getting to my feet. “Babydoll, no.”
She doesn’t look away from Alden. Her balance teeters on the ledge, just enough to make my heart try to rip from my goddamn chest.
“Hmm…” Alden considers, but I already know what he will choose. “While the authorities won’t stop their pursuit, I will agree to give them a head start to escape.”
“Not good enough,” she hisses. “You call off your dogs. You tell them they were never here. You tell them they left me all alone. You lead them in a completely different direction.” She stabs a finger at the radio pulsing static, the one on his belt. “Now.”
“Briella, for fuck’s sake.” I take one staggering step. “Don’t do this. You know Raphael will—”
“Raphael isn’t here.”
Buy time, I want to tell her. Raphael is smart. He will know there’s no chance but to run. He will come here. They all will. Just a little time.
So, I turn back to Alden, this false prophet, on the verge of charging. Gun be damned. If he shoots again, all I can hope for is the Kevlar will take it again.
“Pull back,” Alden orders into the radio, attention still trained on me. “I have the girl. The felons went north. Turned tail and ran like the cowards they are.” My jaw clenches.
“Copy,” a baritone responds.
“Leave the surrounding area of the compound. I don’t want any more lives lost,” Alden adds convincingly.
I plant my boots hard in the ground, ready to charge at him. I’d rather take multiple bullets than let him take her. And my brothers would do the same.
“And you’re going to give them the keys to whatever car you used to drive up here.
” Briella presses him, then eyes me as if she recognizes my stance, the plans in my head.
“Jude.” The emotion fractures her. She’s holding back the tears.
“Don’t. Just let me do this. If you do what I know is going on in your brain, I’ll jump. I need you alive. All of you.”
She holds me here, and I can practically hear her thoughts screaming: I need you all alive so you can find me, come for me. Raise hell. Rain down hell on them.
“You’ll try to come for me,” she confirms.
The Prophet snorts, raising his radio, keeping it close to his mouth. “I assure you, my Bri, Easthaven will be so fortified with police and my personal militia, it will be locked down tighter than Fort Knox.”
She swallows hard, more tears coming, but she starts to tiptoe away from the pit’s edge, picking up the cane. As she does, Alden taps his radio in warning. If I try anything, I have no doubt he could call men down here. And I can’t afford for Briella to get caught in any crossfire.
So, I let her go.
It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
It feels like tearing my soul in half with my bare hands. Everything in me screams to fight, to run, to do anything but stand here and watch her disappear with that monster. My throat is tight, like I’ve swallowed broken glass. Pain, helplessness, and hatred claw their way through my chest.
She walks with her spine unyielding, that cane tapping defiantly against the stone, Raphael’s cap still perched on her head like the crown it is. As she walks past me, close enough to touch, I reach out and seize her wrist. Alden stiffens, humming.
“Just give me a damn moment,” I bark. “Briella…Babydoll.” I sweep my knuckles along her right cheek, thumb away two tears, then lower my hand to her heart, feeling its beat. Because it’s all that matters—as long as her heart beats.
“I love—”
“I know.” For once, she doesn’t give me that swooning expression. It runs deeper with the truth we both know. Rory may have said it first, but I loved her from the moment I held her in the cave. No. I loved her from the moment she bit me and took off running.
When I open my mouth to finish, she shakes her head. “Save it,” she whispers.
Give her hope.
I drop her wrist. She limps forward.
Then, he touches her. That bastard Prophet. He dares to sweep her into his arms as if she belongs to him. My vision reds out. I’ve seen death, I’ve delivered it, but I’ve never felt more sickened than I do now. It’s a desecration.
And still, she looks back.
Eyes glinting. Jaw set. Live. Run. Come find me.
And we will.
No matter how locked down Easthaven is, Fort Knox or not—it doesn’t fucking matter.
We will come for her.
Because once Raphael knows…
He’ll raise an army from the bowels of hell itself. He’ll burn through every inch of that compound with holy fire and unholy wrath. And we, her damned demons, will be at his side.
This isn’t goodbye.
It’s a declaration of war.