Chapter Thirty Five
One Down, One to Go
Jameson Bishop
David’s scream is still echoing in my skull when the forest swallows him whole.
For a heartbeat, there’s nothing; no wind, no movement, no breath in my lungs. Just Rachel’s trembling hands and the brutal truth that she saved me.
But then the scream from below cuts through the silence.
Beth.
My pulse spikes hard. I pull Rachel behind me, instinct taking over, shield first, breathe second. Her fingers clutch the back of my shirt, and that tiny grip is the only thing keeping me from charging straight down the ridge after Beth.
I force myself to listen.
The forest is shifting. Branches snapping. Footsteps; fast, light, deliberate. She’s not running away.
She’s coming up.
I scan the ridge, every muscle tight, every nerve lit. The shale under my boots threatens to slide, but I plant myself between Rachel and the edge. My ribs ache from David’s hits, my throat burns from his grip, but none of it matters.
What matters is Rachel’s breath against my back. What matters is keeping her alive.
“Stay close,” I murmur, low enough only she hears.
She nods, and I feel her trust. She’s shaking, but she’s ready. She always is.
A shadow moves below. Then another. Beth’s voice rises, sharp and furious.
“You think this is over?”
Rachel flinches.
I step forward, jaw tight, eyes locked on the slope. “She’s not getting near you.”
Rachel’s hand slides into mine. Not pulling me back. Not stopping me.
Steadying me.
Beth climbs into view; wild hair, wild eyes, blood on her cheek that isn’t hers. She looks at me like I’m prey. She looks at Rachel like she’s a prize.
And I feel something inside me snap clean in half.
David is gone. But Beth? Beth is the one who started this. Beth is the one who wanted Rachel broken. Beth is the one who smiled while we bled.
I squeeze Rachel’s hand once and step forward.
“Beth,” I say, voice low and lethal. “This ends now.”
Her smile widens.
“Good,” she whispers. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Beth doesn’t rush us. She doesn’t scream. She climbs the ridge with the slow, deliberate calm of someone who’s already decided how this ends.
Her eyes lock on mine, bright, fevered, and triumphant. I feel Rachel tense behind me.
Beth wipes a streak of dirt from her cheek, then smiles. Not the wild, unhinged grin from before. Something colder. Sharper. Purposeful.
“You still don’t get it,” she says.
I shift, keeping Rachel fully behind me. “Then explain it.”
Beth laughs softly, like I’ve asked the one question she’s been dying to answer.
“It was never about the chase,” she says. “Not for me.”
Her gaze flicks to Rachel. Assessing and cruel.
“It was about the connection.”
My stomach tightens. “What connection?”
“Any connection,” she says, stepping closer. “Love. Loyalty. Devotion. The things that make people stupid. The things that make them brave. The things that make them bleed.”
Rachel’s breath catches behind me.
Beth’s smile widens.
“People with bonds are predictable. They run toward each other. They sacrifice for each other. They break for each other. And watching that?” She exhales, almost shivering. “Watching that is beautiful.”
I feel Rachel’s fingers curl into my shirt.
Beth sees it. Her eyes light up.
“You two were perfect,” she says. “You weren’t just surviving. You were surviving for each other. And that,” she taps her chest, right over her heart, “that’s what I wanted to destroy.”
My jaw clenches. “So you targeted us.”
“No,” she says. “I targeted her. Because she mattered to you.”
Rachel stiffens. I step forward, blocking Beth’s view entirely.
Beth tilts her head. “David didn’t care about any of that. He just wanted the thrill. The women. The screaming. He was easy to use.”
Her voice drops, almost tender.
“But me? I wanted to watch the moment the connection snapped. The moment the person you’d die for became the person you couldn’t save.”
She smiles again, slow and monstrous.
“I wanted her to suffer. Because that’s how you suffer.”
My pulse spikes. My vision narrows. Rage burns through every nerve.
Rachel whispers behind me, voice shaking, “Bishop…”
Beth spreads her arms, inviting the violence she knows is coming.
“So go on,” she says. “Show me how far you’ll go for her. Show me how much you’ll break.”
I step forward, every muscle coiled, every breath sharp.
Because she’s right about one thing.
This ends here.