Chapter 66
Seth
“Get down!” I bark.
Brooke doesn’t hesitate. She shoves Elise and Ryan into the footwell and curls over them like a shield. One arm is braced against the seat, the other is wrapped around Naomi. Naomi tucks in tight, eyes wide, fingers digging into Brooke’s jacket.
Travis floors it. The engine roars and the tires shriek as we rocket out of the lot. For a second, we’re airborne, weightless, and then it all slams back down. My shoulder hits the door. My jaw snaps shut, hard enough that I taste blood.
They’re behind us immediately. The way they move, tight, fast, with no wasted effort, I know this isn’t random. They’re trained. And they’re going to get someone killed.
Brooke’s back is turned toward the window, her whole body curved over the kids. Naomi’s hands are still shaking. Elise is frozen. Ryan’s face is buried in his knees. They didn’t sign up for this. They’re just kids.
My brother and sister.
Fuck.
Beau leans out the passenger window and fires.
The first shot sends glass spraying. The second hammers metal. I watch the recoil jerk his arm and correct. He doesn’t hesitate. He just keeps shooting.
The SUV fishtails into the turn. I brace with my boots, lean out the shattered back window, and line up.
My heart’s pounding, but my hands are steady.
I squeeze the trigger twice. The inside of the SUV erupts with sound.
My ears go fuzzy. The second shot slams into their windshield and leaves a web of cracks that splinter outward.
A round punches into the rear. Another one tears straight through the glass behind me. Shards spray my neck. I feel blood but ignore it. I’ve bled before.
But if one of those bullets hits Brooke, if Elise takes one to the back of the head, if Ryan dies right here in this SUV trying to outrun the kind of world I’ve been neck deep in for years, I’ll never come back from that.
“Faster,” I snap. “They’re lining up a shot.”
Travis weaves through the narrowing street, threading between parked cars. The SUV clips a side mirror, sparks fly. They don’t slow.
Another crack of a shot. This one skims past Beau.
He jerks, growls, blood slicking down his cheek in a bright red streak.
“You hit?” I yell.
“I’m good,” he mutters, wiping it across his jaw with the back of his hand.
I’m watching that SUV. It closes in. I can see the passenger reaching, weapon drawn, angling for Travis. They want to end this quickly. Kill the driver, flip the SUV, pick off whoever survives.
“Hold it,” I shout. “Two seconds.”
Travis gives me a window.
I lean out farther. Wind tears at my face. My shoulder is screaming, but I block it out. I focus. I aim.
I find the driver’s eyes just before I fire.
The bullet hits him right in the forehead. His head jerks back. The van swerves violently. One tire climbs the curb. Then the entire vehicle lifts, flips, scrapes along the asphalt with a howl of metal on pavement.
It slams into a light pole, then rolls again.
On the second roll it clips a parked car, metal grinds, sparks spit, and something underneath ruptures.
Fuel sprays and catches. Then the fire hits.
The explosion rocks the SUV, a bloom of orange and black that lights up the inside like a flashbang.
Heat sears through the broken window. Travis doesn’t slow.
He guns it harder, wheels screeching as we put distance between us and the wreckage.
“Stay down,” I bark. “Nobody moves.”
Still nothing from the back. I can’t tell if they’re frozen or hiding or crying.
We take backroads. Travis zigzags, throws in a few loops. Beau reloads in silence, his cheek still bleeding.
I watch Brooke. She’s still folded over the kids. Naomi is sitting up now, muttering something low, her hands running over Elise’s arms. Elise doesn’t move. Ryan’s eyes are still locked on the floor.
I tell myself they’re alive. That’s enough.
But it doesn’t feel like enough.
Not when I dragged them into this. Not when my blood is on the seat and Beau’s cheek is split open and Brooke’s heartbeat is still trying to crawl out of her skin.
Not when Elise and Ryan, kids I never even got to meet properly, just watched bullets tear past their heads because I showed up in their life a decade too late.
Once I make sure no one follows us and the road stays empty, we get the kids off the floor and into their seats.
They move without a word, too stunned to fight it, too quiet for kids their age.
We still have hours before we make it back to the house, and the silence stretches the whole way.
I keep my eyes on the road or anywhere but them.
I don’t say anything. I don’t trust myself to.
We arrive at the house, I throw the SUV door open and climb out first, gun still in hand, my eyes scanning the dark treeline out of habit. There is nothing but trees, gravel, and the weight of what we just outran. My chest is tight. My hands won’t unclench.
Brooke slides out next, protective until the end, one hand still gripping Naomi’s arm, the other hovering near Elise like she is afraid the girl might bolt.
I catch her wrist. “You hurt?”
She looks up fast, startled. Her eyes are wide but focused. “I’m okay.”
I step closer and kiss her. I feel her hands grip my jacket, and I breathe her in like it might settle the guilt inside me.
“I need to check you,” I mutter.
“I’m fine. You’re the one who got glass in your neck, asshole.” She brushes the small shards of glass off my shoulder.
“I’ve had worse,” I smirk as I look her over again anyway.
The back door creaks open.
Brooke turns immediately, her attention shifting.
“Elise, Ryan, come on. You can come out now.”
They don’t move.
Ryan’s face is pale. He just sits there in the seat, legs curled under him, arms wrapped around his chest like a makeshift shield. Elise is frozen stiff beside him, her posture rigid, her jaw clenched. She looks ready to fight or run. Probably both.
Brooke moves toward them with slow steps, her voice softening. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You can come out.”
Elise eyes her warily, like she's waiting for a lie.
“Where did you take us?” she asks, her tone sharp. “Are we being kidnapped?”
Brooke doesn’t flinch. “No. We’re here to protect you.”
“And who are you?” Elise snaps. “I don’t even know who the hell you are.”
Brooke nods once. “Fair. But I know who you are. And I know what your mom wanted.”
That gets a reaction. Elise’s eyes flicker, like something cracks beneath the surface. But she still doesn’t move.
Naomi steps forward. “This is a safe house. It’s hidden, monitored, locked down. No one can get to you here.”
Elise looks between all of us like she is trying to find the trick. She slowly gets out of the SUV. Ryan finally shifts. He unbuckles, climbs out of the SUV, and stands beside Elise, saying nothing, just staring.
Beau walks past. “If we’re done traumatizing them in the damn driveway, we should probably take this inside.”
“I’ve got them,” Brooke says. She moves slowly, gently placing her hand on Elise’s shoulder. “Please.”
Elise stares at the ground, then lets herself be guided.
Inside, the house lights click on one by one. They take in the house. One long hallway leads to bedrooms, an armory, med supplies, and a main room with a couch and a stocked fridge.
It’s not their home. But it’s better than the morgue.
I hang back. I can’t look at them. Not yet. Because I don’t know what to say. I’m the reason they were in that car. I’m the reason they almost died in it.
Brooke meets my eyes across the room.
I nod once. She’s got this.
I’ll protect them with everything I have. But she’s the one who knows how to make them feel safe.
I stay silent.
My hands still smell like gunpowder.
Ryan sits closest to the end, his shoulders hunched, his eyes flicking between faces. Elise stays tight next to him, her posture defensive, ready to fight or flee if we so much as twitch wrong.
I should’ve said something. Introduced myself. Told them I was their brother.
But what the fuck am I supposed to say? Hi, I’m the dead kid your mom cried over for twenty years, and now half the country wants me dead. Welcome to the safehouse.
Brooke sits on the edge of the coffee table.
“You’re safe here, I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you are.”
Elise’s arms stay locked across her chest. “You literally just kidnapped us.”
“Not exactly.”
“You shot people.”
“They were coming to kill you,” Brooke says.
“Right.” Elise rolls her eyes, but her voice cracks at the edges. She is scared. She is trying not to show it.
“I’m not asking you to trust us yet,” Brooke leans forward slightly. “But I need you to listen.”
Elise glares at her. “Why?”
Brooke looks at me. Then back to them.
“Because Seth is your brother.”
Elise recoils. “What?”
Ryan’s eyes shift to me.
“Half-brother. Samantha was his mom too.”
“No.” Her voice is sharp and defensive. “My mom said her first son died in a fire.”
“She thought he did,” Brooke speaks gently. “His father made her think that. He took him and hid him.”
Elise blinks hard. “Do you know who killed my mom?”
“Yes,” Brooke answers.
Elise’s voice shakes. “Why would someone kill her?”
“To hurt Seth.”
I want to say I'm sorry. That I would've taken the bullet meant for her if I could. But I just stand there.
“This doesn’t make sense,” Elise says, tears welling up.
“I know.” Brooke holds her gaze. “But it’s the truth.”
Travis steps in. “They were coming after you two next. And we stopped them.”
Elise turns toward him, narrowing her eyes. “Why do you care about us?”
“Because you’re his family,” Brooke isn’t looking at me now. She is focused on Elise, talking like this is a bomb she doesn’t want to set off.
Elise looks at me with disbelief.
“He hasn’t even said anything to us.”
She isn’t wrong.
Brooke speaks up. “This is hard for him too.”
Elise snaps, “He didn’t even know her.”
I flinch.
“He did,” Brooke says firmly. “That was his mother too.”
Brooke glances at me. I step forward.
“I knew about you two,” I finally admit. “But I didn’t feel like it was my place to be in your lives.”
Elise stares at me like she wants to believe it, but doesn’t know how.
“I don’t trust you.”
I nod. “That’s fine.”
“This whole thing is fucking crazy.”
“I know.”
She turns back to Ryan, who still hasn’t spoken. Still hasn’t blinked much either.
But they don’t get up.
I'm not the one who can win them over, not tonight. But I’ll keep them safe. Even if they never forgive me for it.
Brooke doesn’t say anything as she stands. She just reaches for my hand and gives it a small tug.
I follow her down the hall.
Her grip stays tight until we are out of view. She stops in the kitchen, by the sink.
I lean back against the counter. My head feels like a fucking war zone. My hands are still trembling and my jaw won’t unclench.
She turns to face me.
“She doesn’t hate you.”
“She should.”
“No,” She shakes her head once. “She’s terrified. And everything she believed just got flipped on its head.”
I laugh under my breath. It sounds wrong. “Yeah. Join the club.”
Brooke reaches up and touches the cut on my jaw. Her thumb skims the edge of a bruise I hadn’t even registered yet. “You okay?”
“You asking physically or…?”
“Don’t dodge it.”
I look at her. The lights are low, but I can still see the smudge of dried blood on her sleeve. Her eyes aren’t as panicked anymore. She has that calm again. That cold, steady survival instinct she leans into when everything else goes to hell.
“I don’t want them to see me like this.”
She frowns. “Like what?”
“Gun in my hand. Blood on my face. A killer.”
“You saved their lives.”
“I shouldn’t be the one who had to.”
Brooke steps closer. Her fingers slide down to my wrist. Her touch is grounding, but it doesn’t stop the spiral. Nothing can right now.
“I wanted to look at them and say something,” I admit. “Anything. But I couldn’t. It’s like, every time I opened my mouth, all I could think about was her. And how I was too fucking late.”
Brooke leans in until her forehead touches mine. “You’re not too late for them.”
I close my eyes.
Her hand slips behind my neck, her fingers threading through the hair there. “You showed up. You pulled them out. You protected them.”
“They don’t want to be around me.”
“They don’t know you yet.”
I open my eyes again.
“Then what if they do get to know me, and they still don’t want to be around me?”
Brooke doesn’t flinch. “Then we try again. And again. Until they understand who you really are.”
I don’t ask her who that is. I’m not sure she knows. I damn sure don’t.
Her lips brush mine. But there is nothing soft about the way I kiss her back. It isn’t about sex. It isn’t even about comfort. It is the only way I know how to come back to reality.
When we break apart, I rest my forehead against hers again.
“You scared?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Of me?”
“No.” She traces the line of my jaw with her knuckle. “Of losing you.”
She steps back before I can say anything else and glances toward the hallway. “We should make them something to eat. Or at least bring them water. Naomi’s probably trying, but…”
I nod.
Brooke touches my face one more time, then turns away.
I watch her go. Still tasting gunsmoke. Still carrying the guilt of my mother’s death.
But with her, I can pretend I am something better than what I thought I’d be.