CHAPTER NINE
SARAH
I wake up in the middle of the night to find James stirring beside me. He’s already on autopilot, getting ready for his shift.
Somehow, I’m dressed. I’ve got on a pair of shorts and one of my dad’s old AC/DC T-shirts. My body’s still humming, muscles weak, and my skin smells like James.
The aftershocks keep rolling through me in slow, lazy waves. It’s like my body remembers even while my mind’s still catching up. I must’ve passed out after James made me see stars. And not just the twinkling kind. No, these were the kind that end worlds.
James, probably trying to save me from Michael’s awkward reaction to finding me completely naked, must’ve dressed me. I can just picture him fumbling with my shirt, cursing under his breath for having to cover me up, then kissing my knee before pulling the blanket over me.
The thought alone makes me laugh. James, dressing me like a gentleman after undressing me like a maniac? I’ll definitely tease him about it someday.
My eyes are still closed when I feel James’s hand brush across my cheek. The warmth of his skin lingers there. I stay like that, not moving, letting him think I’m still asleep. A second later, he presses a kiss to my forehead, and part of me kinda wishes he wouldn’t go.
Once James’s footsteps fade, I crack one eye open for a quick peek and spot Michael sitting by our dying fire under a sky lit up with more stars than I could ever count.
There’s that sharp focus in his eyes, and I don’t need to guess why.
If I know him—and I do—he’s scanning the dark woods, ready to jump at the first sign of trouble.
It’s the same look he used to get whenever I got hurt, and I remember seeing it for the first time when I really messed up as a kid.
It was one of the first little accidents I can remember.
I was just five when I crashed my bike and twisted my ankle pretty bad.
Michael was already tall for a seven-year-old, and he carried me all the way home, trying to cheer me up while I cried.
He told me a story about Mom’s butterfly tattoo to calm me down, even though he was just a kid himself and barely remembered her.
You see, our mom passed away the day I was born.
I’m right on the edge of drifting back to sleep when I hear the crunch of boots near the fire pit, and James and Michael’s voices yank me back.
“Good, you’re awake. Guess I don’t have to smack you with a pillow this time.”
“And you let the fire die out again,” James says, already shifting the stones around the fire pit. “My dad always said you gotta use stones to keep it burning longer.”
Michael tilts his head, smirking. “Yeah? Funny, mine told me not to waste time on them.”
James shakes his head. “Well, your dad was dead wrong about that.”
Michael snorts. “Hell, if my dad were still around and heard you say that, he’d probably kick your ass and ban you from seeing my sister for life.”
James goes a little red, rubbing the back of his neck as Michael laughs, and I almost do too. He hit the nail on the head with that one. But I don’t want them to know I’m awake, so I keep quiet.
Most nights, their talk blends with the sound of crickets. Just silly jokes and brotherly back-and-forth. But tonight, something’s off, and Michael’s words prove I’m right.
“James, we need to talk.”
“I already know what you’re gonna ask,” James says, not even looking at Michael. “You want to know about the first time I killed someone.”
Hearing that, I crack both eyes open just enough to spy on them without giving myself away.
They’re sitting side by side now, leaning against an old tree that must’ve fallen ages ago, half-buried in the ground. James stares at his boots, or rather at a piece of dried mud clinging to them, while Michael’s eyes are locked on the dark woods beyond our camp.
“Do you remember the first one?” Michael asks.
“The first,” James says, then stops himself, dragging a hand over his face. “You never forget your first. The others might start to blur after a while, but that first one? That one stays with you.”
Michael doesn’t say anything, and James doesn’t seem in any rush to fill the silence. It stretches for a few long minutes before Michael finally asks, “Who was he?”
James runs a hand over his jaw like he’s debating how much to say. After a moment, he sighs. “Just some guy. A few years older than me. I was fourteen.”
My heart skips a beat.
Fourteen? James was just a kid.
“Do you know his name?”
“Kevin.” James exhales slowly. “His name was Kevin.”
“You knew him?”
“Not really. My dad and I were camped near this small town. He’d head off to trade during the day, and I’d stay back to keep an eye on things.
I must’ve fallen asleep, ’cause when I woke up, it was already dark.
I thought Dad had come back, but when I opened my eyes, I saw two guys crouched right by our packs, stealing everything.
Our food. Our ammo.” He pauses, jaw tight.
“I told them to back off. But the older one, Kevin, said it was their turf, that I had to play by their rules. Then he pulled a gun on me.”
James lets out a bitter breath. “The other kid, maybe fifteen, grabbed my arms, yanked them behind my back, and taped my wrists. I was so scared I couldn’t even fight back.”
James slowly pulls up his sleeve to show the scarred skin.
“These?” he says quietly, motioning to the burns.
“Kevin did that. They dragged me over to the fire pit and forced me on my knees. Kevin said he was gonna ‘teach me a lesson for breaking their rules.’ Then he lit a cigarette and pressed it into my skin. Over and over. The other kid just watched. Laughed at me when I screamed.”
He looks down at the scars. “Each burn was for a different rule I was ‘gonna learn to respect.’ I was fourteen, and all I could think was, this is how I die.”
Oh my God.
Is that what those scars mean?
He was just a kid. And they did that to him.
How is he still capable of making me feel safe… when the world never gave him any of that?
James looks away for a second, swallowing hard.
“Michael, you might’ve been too young back then, but I still remember the way the world used to be.
And fuck it, I wanted it back. I didn’t want to follow any fucked-up rule.
So… that night, I became an Outsider. I had a pocketknife hidden under my pillow.
I managed to crawl over, cut the tape, grab my gun, and…
” His voice trails off before he forces the rest out.
“I just shot him. Kevin dropped. And the other kid ran away.”
James’s eyes flick to the fire, the glow catching something unreadable in them.
“I went over to Kevin. He was still breathing, even with a bullet in his head. He blurted out his name, and said he wanted to go back to his brothers. He didn’t say their names, and I didn’t ask. Then I shot him in the head again.”
James shakes his head, like it’ll make the memory go away.
“Dad said I did what I had to do, but I’m not sure he really meant it or if he just saw something change in me after I pulled that trigger. We left that night, not long after I told him the other kid had gotten away.”
A cold wind moves through the trees, shaking the leaves and tossing James’s hair across his face. He doesn’t bother brushing it back. He’s too busy locking eyes with Michael.
“You’re thinking about those guys from Brandon’s gang you killed, aren’t you?”
Michael shifts uncomfortably, like the question’s a stone in his boot. His gaze drops to the ground, then flicks away from James.
And that’s how I find out the truth.
I don’t need an answer. It’s written all over my brother’s face. He did it. He killed those men. The boy who used to chase me around the barn with spiders wouldn’t have flinched like that.
I guess, deep down, I already knew.
Eyes don’t lie.
He never told me he was with James when it happened, but I’ve seen the change in him these past few days—a new, haunted look in his eyes.
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” he mutters. “Why did they have to come into our lives?”
James lets out a breath and runs his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes for a second before it falls right back.
“I wish I could tell you it gets easier. But in this world? Shit, they might’ve just been the first of many.
Killing someone messes with your head. You don’t walk away clean.
But remember why we had to do it. Those men, their intentions, the things Brandon said he’d do to Sarah. That’s what we’re fighting against.”
They haven’t told me exactly what those men threatened after I ran away, but the way Michael clenches his jaw and the way James won’t meet his eyes… it tells me it was bad. Really bad.
James pulls his dad’s pocket watch from his jacket, his fingers drifting over the family name carved into the scratched-up metal like he’s reading it in braille. Every time he digs into his past, that watch shows up.
“I haven’t killed anyone since I came to your dad’s ranch,” James says.
“And I hate what it does to me, how it drags out this rage I didn’t even know was there.
” He closes his fist around the watch. “But sometimes… Sometimes I get caught up in it, and it scares me, Michael. It scares the hell out of me how much I enjoy it. You saw it, didn’t you?
You saw the real me when I took down Brandon. ”
I know James has a darker side; I just never realized he might actually enjoy it.
“Sometimes I wonder… is it the good guys who survive? Or the bad ones? Honestly…” James’s words trail off, then he shakes his head and tries again. “Honestly? I don’t have an answer for that.”
He glances my way, and Michael follows his lead. I quickly shut my eyes, pretending to be asleep. I don’t want them to know I’m catching every word.