Chapter 9 #6
The service entrance looms ahead, door hanging off its hinges, morning light spilling through in pale shafts that illuminate dust and gun smoke still hanging in the air.
Beyond it, in the weak dawn glow, I see him.
Riggs, the Reapers’ president, barking orders as his men fall back toward waiting bikes.
His gray-streaked beard is speckled with blood, his cut torn at the shoulder where someone got a piece of him.
The attack is failing. They’re retreating.
Not this time. Not after what they’ve done.
I step through the shattered doorway, gun raised, ignoring the wet warmth still spreading across my side. “Riggs!”
He turns at the sound of his name, surprise flashing across his weathered face before a cruel smile replaces it. His eyes, cold and calculating, take in my blood-soaked appearance, lingering on the hand pressed to my side.
“Slaughter,” he says, voice like gravel being crushed. “Just the man I came to see.”
“You shouldn’t have come to my home,” I tell him, advancing slowly, each step requiring more concentration than the last. “Shouldn’t have threatened what’s mine.”
He laughs, the sound grating like metal on stone. “And what are you going to do about it? You’re bleeding out, enforcer. I can see it in your eyes.”
Maybe he’s right. The edges of my vision are definitely darker now, details blurring together as blood loss takes its toll.
My limbs feel heavier with each passing second, movements requiring conscious effort where before they were automatic.
But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except making sure he never threatens Xavier or my family again.
“I’ve got enough left to end you,” I promise, raising my gun to center mass.
Movement flickers in my peripheral vision, a blur of leather and steel approaching on my blind side.
One of his lieutenants, coming up to flank me while Riggs keeps me talking.
I pivot, firing instinctively, the motion sending fresh pain lancing through my wounded side.
My bullet catches the lieutenant in the chest, the impact lifting him off his feet before he crumples to the ground.
The distraction costs me precious time. Riggs draws and fires in one smooth motion, the impact slamming into my chest like a sledgehammer.
The force knocks me back a step, breath leaving my lungs in a painful whoosh as the bulletproof vest beneath my cut absorbs most of the damage.
Still, it feels like being hit with a baseball bat, the pain radiating outward from the point of impact.
I stagger backward, fighting to draw air into uncooperative lungs. Riggs advances, weapon trained on my chest, victory gleaming in his eyes as he takes in my weakened state.
“I’m going to kill you,” he says conversationally, as if discussing the weather, “and then I’m going to find that doctor of yours. Make him watch while I burn everything you love to the ground.”
Something snaps inside me at his words, a final reserve of strength I didn’t know I had, fueled by rage and fear and love.
Xavier flashes in my mind: his smile, his steady hands, the trust in his eyes when he looks at me.
The thought of Riggs anywhere near him sends power surging through my failing body.
I lunge forward, ignoring the screaming pain in my side, the crushing pressure in my chest that makes each breath a battle.
My knife flashes upward in a silver arc, catching Riggs under the chin as I drive him backward against the wall of the building.
The blade sinks into soft tissue, meeting minimal resistance as it drives upward toward his brain.
Shock replaces smugness in his eyes as understanding dawns that he’s made a fatal miscalculation.
His gun fires once more, the bullet going wide as his body spasms around the intrusion of steel into his central nervous system.
I push harder, pinning him to the wall with the full weight of my body, watching the light fade from his eyes as the knife severs connections vital for life.
“You don’t touch what’s mine,” I whisper, twisting the knife one final time to ensure the job is done.
When I’m sure he’s dead, I let him slide to the ground, my own legs threatening to buckle beneath me as the last of my combat-fueled adrenaline begins to ebb.
The world tilts and wavers, reality becoming fluid around the edges as blood loss takes its inevitable toll.
I need to find Xavier. Need to make sure he’s safe before I can rest.
I stumble back toward the clubhouse, leaving Riggs’s body cooling in the morning sun.
Each step is harder than the last, my boots feeling as if they’re filled with concrete as I force myself to keep moving.
The gunfire has stopped, replaced by shouted orders and the groans of the wounded, the aftermath of battle, familiar in its grim cacophony.
“Zach!”
Xavier’s voice cuts through the fog descending over my mind, like a lighthouse beam through storm clouds.
I look up to see him running toward me, his face pale with fear but, blessedly, beautifully alive.
No blood on him except for smears on his hands.
Someone else’s then, not his own. Relief washes through me, so powerful it nearly takes what little strength I have left.
“Hey, Doc,” I manage, a weak smile tugging at my lips as my legs finally decide they’ve had enough.
He catches me before I hit the ground, strong arms wrapping around my torso as he lowers me carefully.
His doctor’s hands immediately find the wound in my side, applying pressure that sends fresh pain lancing through me.
I hiss through clenched teeth, vision graying momentarily before I force myself back to consciousness through sheer stubbornness.
“Stay with me,” he orders, his voice taking on that professional tone I’ve come to recognize, the one that brooks no argument from patients. His eyes scan my body, cataloging injuries even as fear tightens the corners of his mouth. “Zach, look at me. Stay awake.”
I try to focus on his face, but it’s getting harder, the darkness creeping farther into my field of vision with each labored heartbeat. His features blur and sharpen in alternating waves, like looking through water. I need him to know that he’s safe now. That they all are.
“Riggs is dead,” I tell him, the words feeling thick and unwieldy on my tongue. “They won’t come back.”
“That’s good,” he says, though I can tell he’s not really listening, too focused on my injuries to process the information. His hands move, tearing fabric to access the bullet wound. “That’s really good. But I need you to stay awake, okay? Help is coming.”
I want to tell him I love him. Want to say all the things I’ve been too afraid to voice, like how he’s changed me, how he’s become essential to my existence in ways I never thought possible.
But the words stick in my throat as consciousness begins to slip away, darkness encroaching from all sides like an incoming tide.
The last thing I see is Xavier’s face above mine, haloed by the morning sun, his eyes fierce with determination as he works to save me. His lips move, saying something I can no longer hear, but I read the shape of the words. “Don’t you dare leave me.”
And I know, with a certainty that transcends the darkness, that I am his as surely as he is mine. That what we’ve found together is worth fighting for—worth living for.
I try to reach up, to touch his face one more time, but my arm won’t cooperate. The darkness rushes in faster now, swallowing everything except his face, and then even that begins to fade.
“Xavier,” I manage to whisper, needing him to understand what he means to me, but I can’t tell if the word actually leaves my lips or just echoes in my fading consciousness.
Then the world goes black.