Chapter 2 #4
I dropped into a crouch and fired again, rounds punching into vests, knocking agents off their feet and into walls, into desks, into each other.
My focus narrowed to who was aiming where and how fast we needed to get through before the corridor filled with more agents.
The second one of them floundered to get up, I let another shot go, keeping them down, reloading.
Neither of us killed any of them. They’d be injured.
Probably be winded and bruised. But they wouldn’t need to be added to Kane and I’s guilty consciences.
It was completely unspoken, like we both were carrying the exact same wounds from the week we were arrested.
We were killers of evil. That was our purpose, and we lost sight of that for one blinding, grief-torn moment after Thorne.
We couldn’t take back what we did, but we had to try.
Kane waded forward like the bullets didn’t exist, and I covered him instinctively, firing at anything that tried to line up a shot on his back, my rounds slamming into armor, knocking people sideways, buying him seconds that turned into momentum.
We moved together without speaking before we broke through the last defensive line and hit the interior corridor at a run, alarms screaming overhead.
Guards poured in from side halls with heavier gear now, riot shields and batons, a last attempt at containment.
I adjusted my aim, firing into the shields, the impact driving them backward, bodies colliding as Kane crashed into the gaps I created.
He tore a baton free and snapped it in half against a man’s forearm before slamming the guard into the wall hard.
Another reached for his radio and Kane backhanded him into silence, stepping over his unconscious body without looking down.
We reached the end of the corridor where the lights dimmed and the air turned stale.
Steel doors lined the walls, each one with a small clipboard attached, inmate information printed for the guards.
I slowed, my chest tightening as I scanned them, dread and hope tangling together until I could barely tell them apart.
Then I saw his name, my hand shaking as I yanked the key ring to his cell from its hook on the far wall and raced to the lock.
The deadbolt slid open, and I yanked the door back.
Rafe sat on the narrow cot inside, chains at his wrists, his head bowed, his dark hair longer, his muscles carved and defined by time and isolation.
He couldn’t hear the sirens, and without a window, he wouldn’t have seen the lights.
It had been any other day for him. He didn’t know we were coming for him, and when he looked up slowly and his gaze found mine, deep disbelief fractured across his face.
So much relief poured through me. Then…so much sorrow.
I wanted to fall into his arms, and at the same time, I needed to keep my distance.
His eyes were so dark. Infinitely dark. I could barely make out the gold flecks.
He looked every bit the Rafe Creed I knew before we ever kissed for the first time, except now he was older, somehow even bulkier like Kane, and couldn’t quite look at me directly.
The love of my life was a stranger again, and I didn’t have to think twice about refilling my clip and shooting our way to freedom.
Kane didn’t stop either, and when Rafe reluctantly joined us in our tirade toward freedom, I know that we were all thinking it.
There were so many agents and officers. So many bullets.
Yet somehow we made it back to those woods, into that cargo van, and escaped.
Alive. More than alive—our hearts slamming in our chests and our breaths heavy in the tight space.
It was difficult to fathom how we survived that when Thorne had been taken from us so…
easily. Hell, the Ravens never even made it inside the prison to help.
It felt like a cosmic joke as the van jolted once again across pot holes.
I just remember pulling out my lighter and watching the flame dance, seeing Thorne’s smile in the flicker and wondering how I would ever find peace again.
I think I knew I wouldn’t, not unless I clawed my way toward it and forced it to present itself to me.
Hope, too. It wasn’t forged or a byproduct; hope was belief, and I couldn’t recall the last time I’d willingly believed in anything.
Everyone had taken off their balaclava’s, tired faces all around me.
Florence and Grace were sandwiched between Heath and Monty.
Mickey sat next to Creed, Matthias peering over his shoulder from the driver’s seat and eyeing us suspiciously.
They were all familiar and yet I didn’t know them.
Not anymore. Eight years was a long fucking time for our rage to just grow.
There weren’t words for the tension in that van.
It was suffocating, so many things unspoken.
I glanced at Rafe and Kane, both of them silent.
Rafe wasn’t even there. My heart broke when I realized he was dissociating so easily, completely gone from the van.
I was terrified of the corpse left in his place.
Kane…Kane kept staring at Florence like he wanted to murder her, and the poor woman was keeping her head down.
God, she shared so many resemblances to Alex that it was uncanny.
Her blond hair had grown out since Halden buzzed it, and she was far healthier than the last time I saw her.
Grace had Florence’s hand tucked in hers, the two of them leaning into each other in a way that I used to be able to do with Creed.
My eyes drifted over Heath and Monty. Both women held so much more darkness in their eyes since I last saw them.
Only Mickey seemed relatively unchanged, his knee bumping into mine to get my attention.
I slowly dragged my focus to him, finding him grinning.
I couldn’t help the quirk of my lips at the sight.
If I was fire, then Mickey was a goddamn comet.
I’d place every wish I had on that man with his effortless charisma and stubborn as hell joy.
How he managed to keep that smile through all our shit, I’ll never know.
“What?” I asked as he continued to grin at me. The sound of my voice felt like an assault in that damn van, gazes burning into me. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I pushed. “Stop it.”
Mickey’s grin only widened.
I frowned and glanced toward Heath. “What’s up with him?”
There was once that Heath would have offered me a smile, a hug, anything besides a cold shoulder, but in that moment, she merely shrugged. She wouldn’t meet my gaze as she clasped her hands, her elbows braced on her knees. “He missed you,” she muttered.
“Not that it seems you care,” Monty added as she lit a cigarette despite the closed space and stared daggers at me. Alright, so that hadn’t changed either, and it dawned on me that the last I ever really talked to them was when they found out I was harboring Alex’s secret.
Alex, whose I have a few months ended in only a few days, whose legacy I inherited.
Which was ridiculous, by the way. I was always going to put Creed before the Ravens.
Giving me his empire was a failed cause from the start.
My gaze landed on Florence. I knew that if his sister had been around, if he’d known her in the slightest, then it all would’ve been hers, and because of that, I suddenly knew exactly what needed to be said. I took a breath, steadying myself.
“I do care. I fucking care a lot. I'm sorry that I led you to believe any differently. Everything Alex gave me,” I said, their anger still driving into me, “is yours. The money. The position to lead the Ravens. You hate me? Fine. But I never asked for this. Any of this. Thank you for getting us out.” I cleared my throat. “Thank you. But we still have loose ends, and there’s no reason that any Raven should get dragged into our mess. When we get to New York, Creed will be leaving.”
Mickey’s face fell, and I hated that I was hurting him, but I refused to just…
lie to myself again. I didn’t want to heal.
I wanted an ending. I would always help in the way I could for the Ravens, but I had no desire any longer to carry Alex’s mantel.
It deserved to go to a fellow Raven, someone who could truly take his efforts to the next level without the fear of being busted by the FBI with every move.
Creed was a hazard now. We couldn’t be near those foster homes or the townhouse without risking the Ravens’ entire operation.
“Finally, a slice of intelligence,” Monty said at last. Her voice had less of an edge as she said it, smoke curling from between her lips with an exhale.
She nodded a little to herself before she put out her cig against the van wall and tucked its remains behind her ear, her short, dark bob pinned up from the mission. “It’s good to see you, pyro. Truly.”
I cocked a brow, surprised that of all people she was offering an olive branch, but I think Monty was merely a territorial person.
She was like a bulldog, protecting those she loved fiercely, and I had jeopardized that by not telling her about Alex’s cancer.
I couldn’t fault her for not wanting me around, for so quickly agreeing with me, but it didn’t soften the blow of it.
I cared for them. All of them. They were a blip in my story, but they’d been a really fucking beautiful blip that, no matter my bad days, I was grateful for them.