CHAPTER SIX
JAMES
“I won’t fucking leave you.”
“This is the only way.”
The second Sarah screamed when Brandon put that gun to Michael’s head, my heart stopped cold.
Now, with every step she takes away from me, it sinks in deeper. But at the same time, there’s a weird kind of relief, knowing she’s getting farther from those bastards, too.
Running’s her best shot right now. My dad was the one who taught me this hide-and-seek move. He called it “chasing ghosts,” and when I was a kid, he showed me how to get out of a lot of bad situations by doing exactly what she’s doing now.
When she disappears behind a cluster of trees, my chest tightens, but I force myself to let her go.
She’s got this.
Now it’s just Michael and me.
My world zeroes in on him—alone with a gun to his head. I know what I have to do to save him, but the weight of it hits me like a ton of bricks. I’ve been here before. I know what it means to cross that line. And now I’ve gotta do it again.
The choice isn’t really a choice, though. If I don’t become the villain, Michael dies, and Sarah won’t stand a chance. They’ll hunt her until there’s nowhere left to run.
The irony isn’t lost on me. To protect what I love the most, I have to become something I’m afraid of.
I move low through the tall grass, quiet as I can. The gang’s scattered, chasing shadows, too distracted to notice their leader, Brandon, is wide open. Idiots. So busy chasing their prey, they don’t even realize they’ve become mine.
Michael’s in the middle of the clearing, on his knees, scanning for any sign of Sarah. Even with a gun to his head, he’s thinking about her first. Classic Michael, protective big brother to the end, even when he’s the one in deep trouble.
“Can’t wait to teach her a lesson for running,” Brandon spits. “I’m gonna hurt her so bad, by the time I’m done, she won’t be able to walk, speak, or even scream, and no one will recognize what’s left.”
“You sick fuck! Just leave her alone!” Michael yells.
Brandon slams his fist into Michael, knocking him down. Michael’s eyes flare with pain, but he doesn’t make a sound. Not in front of this asshole.
Brandon grabs a fistful of Michael’s shirt and jerks him back to his knees. “Now that we’re going to have the stupid bitch, you’re useless to us.”
Rage crashes through me. That line sealed the bastard’s fate—he just doesn’t know it yet.
I suck in a cold breath and tighten my grip on the machete. Time to move.
I step out from behind the tree, boots crunching against the ground as I storm into the clearing.
“Hey, asshole!” I shout loud enough to make Brandon spin. “Looking for someone?”
Brandon freezes for half a second, caught off guard, then tries to raise his pistol at me. But he’s too slow, far too slow.
Before he can even lift the barrel, I swing the machete down. The blade chops into his arm, blood sprays everywhere, some of it splattering my face and shirt. It’s a mess, but it gets the job done.
Brandon lets out a choked scream, his whole body jerking back. His severed hand hits the dirt, his gun clattering down right after, never fired.
Michael’s head jerks up, eyes wide.
“James?” he breathes, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
I close the distance between us, crouch down, and cut through the tape holding him. His wrists are raw and red, but he’s free.
I step over and grab Brandon’s gun off the ground. The weight’s familiar, almost… comforting. It’s been a while, but muscle memory never really fades. Not with something like this.
Old habits die hard, or in this case, don’t die at all.
Brandon’s on the ground, screaming and clutching what’s left of his arm. He tries to crawl away from me, dragging himself through the dirt like some pathetic, busted-up animal. Feels fucking good to see him scared like that.
I step closer, my voice dropping low and cold. “What did you just call her?”
“You think this is over?” he rasps, blood bubbling between his teeth. “My men will find your girl.”
I smirk, cool as ever. “No, they won’t.” I raise the gun and level it at his head. “Because you’re the bait.”
I pull the trigger.
Two quick shots to his head, just like I learned from the very start.
The shot cracks through the trees, and a flock of birds bursts into the sky. For a moment, I just stand there, staring down at Brandon’s lifeless body like nothing happened. My heart doesn’t race, my breathing stays steady, my hands don’t shake.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Michael staring at me, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
Can’t say I’m surprised, though. He’s seeing a side of me he’s never seen before. The side that doesn’t just kill. The side that likes it.
“Come on, Michael.” I grab his arm and help him up. He stumbles, pressing a hand to his ribs, wincing just enough to show he’s hurting, even if he won’t say it out loud.
I guide him toward the trees. “The others’ll be here any second. You need to hide. I’m not done yet.”
We’re halfway to cover when he stops dead in his tracks. “James, wait!” His eyes flick to Brandon’s body, jaw clenched hard. I see the anger boiling up as he remembers the sick thing that bastard said he’d do to Sarah. “Let me help you finish it.”
My gut knots up.
I don’t want to let him do this.
But this isn’t my choice. Not after what they did to him.
I hand him the handgun, and he grips it tightly. We move deeper into the woods, then we each duck behind a different tree. Less than a minute later, the clearing erupts in chaos as the rest of the gang comes pouring in from every direction, drawn by the shots.
Just as I planned.
“Bastards! Let’s kill them!” one of them yells, staring down at their dead leader.
They charge down the trail we left behind. Michael glances at the handgun, checks the chamber, counts the bullets. His fingers hover over the drum for a second before he snaps it shut with a sharp click. Then he looks at me, and no words are needed. His eyes say it all.
For Sarah.
I move first. Stepping out from behind the tree, I catch the closest guy completely off guard. My machete slices through the air—one, two, three strikes to his chest. He doesn’t even get the chance to scream before I bring him down.
Blood pours out of him in thick, steady streams, soaking my arms like water from a busted hose.
I’m still on top of him, my chest heaving, when I hear more footsteps pounding toward us. A shorter guy from the gang creeps closer, eyes darting around like he knows we’re here but can’t quite see us.
Michael looks at me as if he’s asking for the green light, or maybe just a little reassurance.
I give him a firm nod.
That’s all he needs.
He steps out from behind cover and fires.
The shot is clean, hitting the guy square in the chest. He drops instantly, dead.
For a moment, Michael doesn’t move. His arm’s still raised, the gun shaking in his hand. His eyes stay locked on the body, his expression caught between shock and disbelief.
I know what he’s feeling. He just crossed a line he didn’t even know was there.
But there’s no time to think about this now.
Another guy in a yellow jacket lifts his gun, aiming straight at Michael.
I push myself up, balance on one knee, and whip my pocketknife at him. It buries deep in his leg, and he drops with a guttural scream. He’s not dead, just wounded, howling, still trying to lift his gun.
Michael doesn’t wait for my go-ahead this time. He fires, and the bullet finds its mark, silencing the guy in the yellow jacket for good.
I stand up and calmly wipe the blood off my machete onto my jeans. It’s been a long time since I had to kill someone, but somehow, it feels like no time has passed. One thing’s for sure: I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve done this. And at this point, it doesn’t matter anymore.
Michael looks ghost-white as he steps near the dead bodies. His grip on the handgun is so tight, his knuckles strain against his skin. I walk up to him, gently take the gun from his shaking hand, and head to the bodies.
One by one, I shoot each of them twice in the head. They’re already dead, but I don’t take chances.
When I come back, I rest a hand on Michael’s shoulder, trying to reassure him. But it’s tough to offer comfort when your own hands are covered in blood.
“You okay?”
Yeah, I know, it’s probably the dumbest question I’ve ever asked. But hey, someone had to ask it.
Michael’s standing right in front of me, but his mind’s not here. When his eyes finally meet mine, there’s something different. Something has changed.
“I’ll be okay,” he says. But we both know “okay” doesn’t mean what it used to.
“They’d have done the same to us. We just got there first.”
His gaze shifts to the ground. “I know.”
It’s an ugly truth, but in this world, you kill or get killed. He understands that now. And whether that’s a good thing or not… it changes nothing. There’s no turning back.
Michael shakes his head like he’s trying to snap out of it, then his eyes lock on mine, filled with that familiar fire to protect her.
“Is Sarah safe? Did you find her?”
Safe? Hell, I’d burn this whole damn world to the ground before I let anyone lay a hand on her.
“She’s fine. She’s hidden,” I tell him. “Soon as I realized she wasn’t with me, I searched the clearing until I found her.”
Michael rubs the back of his neck. “I saw one of them getting close to where she was hiding. I couldn’t let him reach her… so I dropped my machete.”
He doesn’t say anything else after that, but I understand anyway.
“Is that why they caught you instead of her?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
He sighs heavily. “Yeah.”
Of course it is. He gave himself up so she wouldn’t be found.
Michael just proved he’ll do anything to protect Sarah. It’s exactly what his dad always hoped for, and what he promised me in the old library.
As we get closer to the town’s little bridge over the creek, the early light is just enough to spot her.
My warrior girl.
She’s crouched under the bridge, clutching her pocketknife, on high alert. I’m pretty sure she’s cursing herself right now for leaving us behind, even though that decision was mine.
“Sarah,” I call softly.
She snaps her head up, and the second she sees us, her voice breaks. “Boys!”
She’s running toward us in a heartbeat, crashing into our arms and burying her face in my chest. She’s smiling through tears, and I swear, after everything we’ve been through tonight, it’s the sweetest damn sight I’ve ever seen.
Michael goes full bodyguard mode and starts checking Sarah over. His eyes land on her hand, still wrapped in the scrap of cloth I used to cover the cut she got back in the clearing. The bandage is soaked through now, blood leaking past the edges and trailing a thin red line down her wrist.
His jaw tightens, and for a second, I think he’s about to lose it. But then his shoulders drop, like he’s finally letting himself breathe again.
He knows, same as I do, that if the gang had gotten to her, it wouldn’t have been just a cut. It would’ve been so much worse.
As the first light of dawn breaks, we finally see how bad Michael’s hurt.
His shirt’s soaked with blood and torn up at the side.
His left eye’s red and swollen from the punches, the skin around it bruised deep and dark.
A thin cut slices across his cheek, still bleeding a little, and dried blood crusts the corner of his lip.
Sarah scans his beat-up face, worry written all over her. She’s not even trying to hide it.
“Big brother… are you okay?”
Michael bends down and kisses the top of her head. “I’m fine, little sister.”
The guy could be half-dead, and he’d still be trying to comfort her.
She doesn’t look convinced, but before she can press him further, her gaze shifts to me. Her eyes widen as she takes in the blood on my shirt, my arms, even a streak across my cheek. I probably look like I just crawled out of a war zone.
“James,” she whispers, voice trembling, “did they… hurt you too?”
Man, how do I even begin to answer that?
The truth’s simple, but it sure as hell ain’t easy. Telling her the blood’s not mine—that it belongs to someone I killed—feels heavier than it should. Not because I regret it. I don’t. Not anymore. That part of me that used to feel guilty is long gone.
I tried to leave it behind for her. For us. Tried to be someone better. But the truth is, I’ve always been good at one thing, and it’s not something you can just turn off.
Killing.
“It’s not my blood, Sarah,” I finally say.
Her eyes lock on mine, searching for something, maybe a crack in the armor, maybe an answer I can’t give. She’s really seeing me now, the parts I never let anyone see. And I know what’s staring back at her ain’t pretty.
But then she surprises me.
She steps closer and presses her lips to mine, no words, just the kiss. It’s soft, deliberate, and says more than anything she could’ve said out loud.
That kiss tells me I’m still hers, no matter what I’ve done.
And for the first time tonight, I feel something close to peace.
I step back and head to the creek’s edge, scooping up a handful of cold water. I splash it on my face, washing the blood away. It runs in streaks, turning the water red before the current carries it downstream.
When I glance down at the water, my reflection stares back at me—eyes that’ve seen more than any kid ever should. I still look young, but I feel old.
Laughter breaks through my thoughts. I turn to see Sarah darting around Michael, waving a pack of cookies he keeps trying, and failing, to grab.
A smile tugs at my lips.
I walk back over, swoop in, snatch the cookies from her hand, and toss them to Michael.
Her jaw drops. “Traitor!”
The three of us crack up.
In that moment, nothing else matters. Just having her here, in one piece, is all I need.
Watching them now, I realize how this keeps happening. We bleed, we run, we fight, but somehow, we’re still here. Still together.
And right in the middle of that thought, another night comes rushing back. One night, way back at the beginning of all this.
One night, we almost lost Sarah.