Chapter 80
Brooke
The machine finally goes quiet.
For six hours the needle has carved through my skin, through scar tissue and memory, tracing lines across my back that burn with a deep, pulsing heat. Now the only sound left in the room is the faint bass of the playlist and the steady rhythm of Seth cleaning his tools.
He sets the tattoo machine down with careful precision and peels off his gloves. His eyes stay on my back.
“You good?”
My throat feels dry. “Yeah.”
My muscles tremble when I shift. The pain is not as sharp anymore.
Seth steps closer, his hand hovering near my waist before finally resting there.
“Don’t twist too fast.”
“I know.”
He helps me stand. My knees feel weak from sitting so long while he worked.
He guides me toward the mirror on the far wall of the bedroom. The heat from the lamps has fogged the glass.
Seth wipes it clean with his forearm.
I look up.
The skull stares back at me from my reflection.
It is solid black, its hollow eyes deep and dark. Roses surround it, heavy petals layered around bone. Vines and thorns curl through the design, threading through my scars instead of hiding them. The tattoo stretches from my shoulder blades to the base of my spine.
My past is still there. It is just no longer the only thing people will see.
“I love it,” I say quietly.
Seth’s mouth lifts slightly. “It looks good on you.”
I raise my hand but stop before touching it. Heat radiates off my skin and makes my breath hitch. The pain grounds me. It reminds me that I am here, standing in this room, not trapped in that manor with people hunting me for sport.
I catch Seth’s reflection behind me in the mirror. His eyes are darker than usual. Pride and something more possessive lingers there, softened by a look he rarely lets anyone see.
He steps forward and kisses me.
His mouth is warm, and my body leans into him before my mind can catch up. For a moment I let myself exist inside that kiss and nowhere else.
Then the memory surfaces.
Miles.
If I don’t make it, tell him I loved him. Tell him so he’s not sitting there thinking I left him or waiting for me to come home.
His voice had been calm even though he believed he was about to die.
Our address is 24781 Riverbend Lane. Eugene, Oregon.
The numbers slam back into my mind.
24781 Riverbend Lane.
I pull away from Seth.
“What?” he asks immediately.
I step back from the mirror. My back protests, but the pain barely registers now.
“Miles.”
Seth’s jaw tightens, but he stays silent.
“He gave me his address before the hunt,” I continue. “He told me that if one of us didn’t make it, I should tell his husband.”
The words feel heavier now that I say them out loud.
“I forgot,” I admit.
Shame scrapes through my chest.
I should have gone sooner. But we had been hunted. We had been running and bleeding and surviving hour by hour. When it finally ended, when the noise stopped and the danger pulled back, my mind did something worse than panic.
Entire memories lock themselves away where I can’t reach them.
Seth steps closer and studies my face.
“Do you want to go now?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“I’ll drive.”
The house looks beautiful. Wind chimes by the door click softly in the breeze like the world never broke.
I stand there for a second with my hand half raised, because knocking means making it real. Then I knock.
Footsteps come quickly. The door opens.
A man with tired eyes and dark hair looks at me with polite confusion. He isn’t rude. He just has no idea who I am.
“Hi,” he says. “Can I help you?”
My mouth goes dry. “Are you Alonzo?”
He nods once. “Yeah. That’s me.”
“My name is Brooke.”
“Oh my God,” he murmurs under his breath.
My throat tightens. “I’m sorry to show up like this. I didn’t know how else to do it.”
His eyes sharpen.
“I wanted to tell you,” I say quickly, the word tumbling out before I can stop it. “about your husband Miles.”
The rest comes rushing out with it.
“We were taken to this manor with other people. They were hunting us. It was…” My voice catches, but I force myself to keep going. “It was horrible.”
Alonzo stares at me, trying to piece together what I’m saying.
“We were held there,” I continue. “Miles saved me more than once. He kept me alive when I shouldn’t have been.”
He lifts a hand slightly, like he wants to interrupt, but the words are already spilling out.
“I saw him get shot.”
His face tightens, but I keep going because stopping now feels impossible.
“He died trying to help me escape,” my voice cracks. “Everything was chaos. People were dying and I—”
“Wait—,” he interjects.
My hands shake, so I lace them together.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I just needed you to know he wasn’t alone. He fought. He mattered. He—”
“Brooke?”
The voice comes from behind him.
My entire body freezes.
Alonzo turns his head slowly, and his expression changes in a way that finally makes sense.
Miles is there in a wheelchair.
Alive.
He’s behind Alonzo in the hallway, hands resting on the wheels like he pushed himself closer the second he heard my name. The same man that survived with me in that manor, the same man that told me to keep breathing when I wanted to give up.
My knees go weak.
Miles looks at me like he can’t decide if I’m real. “Oh my god, Brooke. You’re alive!”
I can’t get air into my lungs. My mouth opens and nothing comes out at first.
“Miles,” I finally manage, and it sounds like a question because my brain can’t accept it as fact.
Alonzo steps aside automatically. His hand reaches back and rests on Miles’s shoulder.
My eyes burn. “I thought you were dead.”
Miles’s throat works as he swallows. “I know.”
I take one step forward, then another. When I reach him, I drop to my knees right there in the entryway.
My hands find his arms. My forehead presses against his chest.
“I’m sorry,” I choke. “I’m so sorry. I saw you get shot and I thought I left you there.”
Miles’s hand comes down on my shoulder. “You didn’t leave me.” His voice shakes, “You survived.”
I pull back, wiping my face with my sleeve, embarrassed and wrecked at the same time. “You were shot.”
“I was, I couldn’t move my legs at first. I thought that was it.” He glances at Alonzo, then back at me. “I played dead. I waited. When it got quiet, I crawled. I found one of their cars and drove until I passed out.”
A broken laugh slips out of me and turns into a sob. “Oh my God.”
Miles’s mouth twitches. “Yeah.”
Alonzo crouches beside the chair, eyes bright. He looks between us like he’s trying to understand the whole story.
I nod. “Your husband is amazing. He saved my life.”
Alonzo’s hand tightens on Miles’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
Miles looks up at me.
“Are you okay?”
The question almost breaks me again.
“I’m alive,” I reply.
“Good.” Miles nods slowly. “I’m glad you made it out.”
I swallow hard.
“There’s something else you should know,” my voice hardens. “I made them all pay for what they did. Every one of them.”
Miles holds my gaze for a long moment. Then he nods.
“Good,” he murmurs. “They deserved it.”
I look at him, still half convinced I might wake up and find this is a dream.
“You were right.”
“About what?”
“That we would survive.”
Miles nods once. “We did.” Then he glances down at the wheelchair and back at me with a tired smile.
“And the bastards who did this didn’t.”