Chapter Thirty-five – We Don’t Run
Chapter Thirty-five
Beckett
WE DON’T RUN
Performed by Bon Jovi
ELEVEN YEARS AGO
HIM: You sleeping?
HER: Can’t. I keep hearing that sound Dad made at the graveside. It was unearthly. Horrible.
HIM: You’re right, it was horrible. Worse than the sounds my dad made when Liza left. But it just reinforces what I already knew—love is pain.
HER: Maybe it is. But I also saw the joy they had when they were together. The smiles and laughter. The way he held her pinky when they walked together. The way she kissed him goodbye before each gig. So maybe having that is worth the pain later.
PRESENT DAY
Fury filled me as I saw the tip of the whip collide with Maisey’s shoulders and heard her pained cry as she fell forward into the dirt. Her shirt was torn. Her skin bled. And white-hot rage pumped through my veins like a wildfire out of control as I strode into the barn.
“The prince has finally shown up on his white steed. Come to save the pitiful freak as usual?” Chelsea’s voice was full of scorn as she raised the whip again.
“You move that hand again, and I promise you, I’ll break every finger on it.” The threat in my voice did nothing but make Chelsea laugh, the sound bitter and cruel, with an edge of malevolence.
She dropped the whip, and as I started to close the distance, she reached behind her and came back with a pistol. It was small caliber but enough to do severe damage at this distance to me or Maisey.
Vader barked frantically, desperately trying to get out, to protect Maisey and me. He’d gnawed through a chunk of the wooden stall door. I moved toward him, and Chelsea put a bullet in the ground at my feet.
I stilled. Vader snarled.
“It’s over, Chelsea,” I said, taking another small step.
She fired again, this time right next to Maisey’s head. Maisey’s face paled, and when she looked at me, the raw fear in her eyes made my stomach churn.
“Keep moving, Romeo Romero, and you’ll be the reason she dies painfully with a bullet hole in her instead of painlessly with drugs and smoke inhalation.”
“You’ve got about a minute before this place is swarming with officers.”
Chelsea’s face warped into a grotesque grin that hid inside a mask of beauty.
“Let’s see. Do you mean Sheriff Wylee? Because Carter tied him up in the trunk of his own car and drove it into the forest. Someone might find it before he dies, but who knows?
And Cleaver? The sappy freak who had the hots for Cornlette his whole life?
He’s knocked out and handcuffed to his own steering wheel.
See, he came running when Wylee sent him a text. ”
Outside, the fireworks show was coming to an end. The booms were right on top of each other. The music from the lake vibrated through the valley, the words impossible to hear, but the beat thudded rhythmically as this strange, hypnotic movie scene came to a head.
“Just like my stupid sister came running when you texted her. People really shouldn’t believe everything they read, even on their own phones,” she laughed.
Chelsea dug in her pocket and came out with a cigarette lighter. The smell of gasoline hit me, and my eyes fell to a spilled jug, the liquid running over the dirt and straw all the way to Maisey. My stomach sank. Maisey’s clothes were wet.
My attention returned to the lighter in Chelsea’s hand, wondering if I could catch it before it fell.
“I drop this, and she’ll go up in flames.
You’ll try to rescue her and end up with a bullet in your head for the effort.
I’d offer you a bribe to walk away, but we all know the heroic Beckett would never take one.
You can’t save her this time,” she said, raising the gun at the same time she flicked the lighter and lowered it.
“Drop the weapon!” a voice from the back of the barn had Chelsea whirling toward the sound just as she dropped the lighter. The gasoline went up, and I lunged for Maisey. I landed on her, trying to hold back my full weight but shifting so my turnout gear was facing the flames.
Chelsea’s pistol went off as Cooper Wylee stepped fully into the light and returned fire.
Chelsea screamed, blood blooming along her shoulder as the gun fell to the ground amongst the flames.
I watched in horror as she stumbled backward, the fire licked her legs, and she shrieked in agony, twisting to try to escape.
I rolled with Maisey, whipping her away from the fire as Chelsea continued to writhe in pain.
Smoke alarms sounded, and dozens of fire sprinklers kicked in, drenching the barn with water.
Cooper ripped a Class A-B-C fire extinguisher off the wall and sprayed it over Chelsea’s body and the flames. Black smoke spiraled upward, causing Coop and Chelsea to cough furiously.
The horses stomped and snorted in fear, kicking their doors. Vader howled.
I had to clear everyone out. I had to get rid of the fumes.
But first. Maisey. God. Maisey. Clutching her to my chest, I found my feet and ran for the door.
When I set her down, I briefly met her terrified gaze, and my heart nearly collapsed.
The grief and sadness there were too much.
Too much for one person. All I wanted to do was hold her, catalog every injury, and wipe away every bead of blood, but instead, I headed back into the barn.
I snagged a second extinguisher from near the exit and joined Cooper.
His sports coat and cowboy boots wouldn’t keep him safe if the fire kicked back up, but thankfully, it disappeared in a hiss.
I tossed the empty canister aside and grabbed Chelsea’s arm to haul her out just as a dozen bodies burst into the barn.
My fire crew. Parker’s security team. A handful of sheriff deputies.
“Get the animals out of here,” I told them as I hauled a screaming and struggling Chelsea toward the door.
She was ranting about her skin, and her career, and her “stupid sister.” And that rage that had been momentarily pushed aside by fear for our lives returned in full force.
I wanted to accomplish what the bullet and flames hadn’t—I wanted to end her life.
I wanted to forget the oaths I’d made to save lives and property and do to Chelsea what she’d intended to do to my Maisey-girl.
As we stepped outside, I nearly ran into an out-of-breath Kasey, hauling a line toward the barn. I all but tossed Maisey’s sister at her, saying, “Take her. Take her before I do something I’ll regret.”
Chelsea slammed her foot into my kneecap, loosening my grip before Kasey could get hold and allowing Chelsea to run.
But she only got a foot away as Cooper grabbed her, his brown hair sticking up at angles and blue eyes deadly cold.
Even though he’d grabbed her uninjured arm, she still shrieked in pain and frustration.
Cooper pulled a pair of handcuffs from his back.
“Chelsea Campbell, you’re under arrest for the assault and kidnapping of a police officer, the attempted murder of Lewis Campbell, assault and attempted murder of Maisey Campbell…” he continued the list and moved on to her Miranda rights.
It wasn’t enough. Her arrest wasn’t nearly enough for what she’d done to my girl. The years of gaslighting. The years of trauma she’d wrought. For the pain she’d caused Maisey this week.
Maisey.
Maisey was all that mattered.
I spun around to see her leaning up against a golf cart. As I started toward her, my dog bounded out of the barn and straight for her, colliding with her legs. As she put her hand on top of his head, she whispered something to him I couldn’t hear.
I jogged over, scanning every inch of her.
My heart thudded, fear racing over the rage as I grabbed her hand and realized it was bleeding.
Goddamn it. She was covered in blood from her chin down.
It was all over her. Not enough for her to be in danger of bleeding out, but the whip had left its mark in multiple places.
That bitch. That fucking bitch.
I started to turn, started to head back to Chelsea and Cooper, but Maisey twined her fingers with mine and jerked me to a halt.
“Beckett.”
That’s all it took to draw me back to her, and the sadness and pain I saw etched over her face had me swearing all over again.
I put one hand on the back of her head—uncertain if it was to steady her or steady me—as I leaned in and took her mouth with mine.
I kissed her with an abundance of stored-up terror and worry and anger.
I kissed her violently for going off on her own after she’d promised she wouldn’t.
I kissed her furiously for almost dying.
I kissed her because we were both alive to do just that.
When I pulled back ever so slightly, she touched my cheek tenderly before catching sight of someone over my shoulder. I turned to see Cleaver holding an ice pack to his head and rocking on his heels.
“The sheriff!” Maisey said. “Chelsea said they locked him in his trunk and left the car somewhere.”
“Cooper handled it,” Cleaver said, nodding in the direction of the man reading Chelsea her rights.
“He showed up at the station with the surveillance videos, and when no one could find the sheriff, Cooper had the office track the GPS on his rig. Did your sister actually think no one would find him?”
“I don’t think she cared,” Maisey said, looking over to where Kasey had started working on her sister with a med kit from the rig. Cooper stood watch, with his arms crossed over his chest and a dark scowl on his face.
Chelsea was still writhing in pain from the burns up her legs and the gunshot wound, but I didn’t feel an ounce of empathy. She’d earned that pain and much more.
Parker sprinted out of the darkness, sliding to a stop next to us.
He was out of breath, and his clothes were in disarray, even his shirt was on backward.
He and Fallon had been noticeably absent from the firework show, and it was clear the ranch’s fire alarms had drawn him from the alternate activities in which they’d been engaged.