Chapter 24
Lina
“What the fuck are you all doing?” Sawyer screams, whipping from side to side, brandishing his gun at his men.
Ella has disappeared inside, but there’s no telling if the house is empty.
“Guy, go with Ella,” I say.
The men who restrained us when Asha appeared take a step back. It appears even they have a line, but I’m not exactly going to fucking thank them for it when they could have saved Y, too.
Guy looks at me, at my gunshot wound that hurts like a bitch, but doesn’t appear to be life threatening because I’m still standing. “What about you?”
“Just go,” I hiss. “She needs you.”
He hesitates, just for a second, and Sawyer watches with disbelief as Guy runs into the house, past the man that allowed Asha to live.
My attention moves to Gable and the pool of blood he’s in. He took two bullets saving Ella, but I don’t know where. I know he needs help, though. I go to move, but Sawyer whips around to look at me, raising his gun.
“Silence,” I say, ignoring him. “You’re a nurse, right?”
She’s kneeling by Y’s body, holding his hand, her face wet with tears. She’s almost totally still, but for her thumb rubbing slow circles on the back of his hand. Her expression is … vacant. Lost.
“She’s not going anywhere!” Sawyer shouts, as if he has any control anymore.
I keep my attention on Silence. “Silence, Gable needs help.” She doesn’t move.
“Silence!” She blinks, her slow, empty gaze meeting mine.
I swallow. “I’m sorry about Y. I’m so, so sorry.
But Gable is dying.” With slow movements, she looks over at Gable.
“He has a family who needs him and you can do something. Please.”
I could help. I’ve treated my own wounds, and I could do something. Not as much as she could, but I’m capable.
But I need her with him so I can focus on Sawyer.
His men might not be cool with killing kids, but they won’t exactly risk their lives to protect us. They laughed while we played Russian roulette, so I can’t count on them doing a damn thing if Sawyer decides to shoot Silence or me.
Silence leans down and kisses Y’s cheek, whispering something before placing his hand gently on his chest.
And she stands.
“Sit the fuck down!” Sawyer shouts, lunging forward and seizing her hair. Silence lets out a cry, her hands flying to his. He drags her to her knees at his side, his gun still pointed at me.
“It’s over, Sawyer,” I say, and he focuses on me.
His blue eyes are wide, skin slick with sweat as the tables slowly turn on him.
“You failed.” He’s trembling, his entire composure crumbling before my eyes, and I soak it in.
I bask in it. The man who stood at my sister’s funeral and cried fake tears.
The man who held her down. The man who pushed her to an awful decision.
“You’re supposed to be a Sinclair. You’re supposed to be a God.
And look at you. Even your men have turned against you.
” He’s close to twitching, and my heart races as Gable’s life ticks away.
He might already be dead. So, I go for the jugular.
“What are your family going to say?” I step forward, and his eyes are impossibly wide. I smirk. “What will Silas say?”
That’s what does it.
The mention of his brother. The eldest Sinclair. If Sawyer is a monster, Silas created him, and the stories I’ve heard about the most powerful brother have kept me awake at night. Disappointing him won’t be an option for Sawyer.
He shoves Silence aside, and as she scrambles to get to Gable, Sawyer goes for me.
The space between us is eaten up in a few steps, but he forgets he isn’t dealing with Lina Fox right now.
He’s facing Monty fucking Reid.
I side-step, turning, and as he stumbles by me, I bring my knee up and smash the bottom of my shoe into the back of his knee.
He goes down, hitting the patio, turning in time for me to throw a punch.
My knuckles meet his cheekbone, and he doesn’t go down from the hit, but it does surprise him enough for me to go for the discarded revolver.
A hand wraps around my ankle and I’m yanked off my feet.
I shout in frustration as my fingers graze the revolver. Sawyer flips me onto my back and I kick out, my other foot connecting with his chest. He seizes both ankles and drags me across the patio until he’s kneeling between my thighs.
“Well, isn’t this familiar?” He croons, releasing my feet and catching my wrists as I punch and slap.
“Another Fox girl between my legs. I wonder if you’ll squeal like she did?
” Nausea and anger roil through me, and I scream in his face.
“I wonder if you’ll fight as hard as she did when I tossed her off that fucking hotel roof.
” My screams disappear. A cold, violent shiver grips me as I stare up at him, tears almost blurring my vision.
He leans close, spittle in the corner of his mouth as he grins.
“She called for you, y’know. Screamed for you. Your name was her last word.”
Ava. My big sister. My best friend.
Torn from this world by this piece of shit.
She’d never forgive me if he killed us both.
I spit at him, a glob landing in his eye, and he grimaces.
Yanking my knees to my chest, I use both feet to kick him in the dick.
The sound that bursts from his mouth would have me laughing if there wasn’t so much on the line. I turn, leaving a gasping and spluttering Sawyer behind as I grab the revolver.
The metal is cool in my grip.
I pull back the hammer, flip onto my back, point it at Sawyer.
And fire.
Click.
Lucky son of a bitch.
I pull back the hammer again, but he’s already lunging forward. He grips my waist, standing as he lifts me with total ease—and throws me.
Silence screams as my body connects with the glass table. It shatters, shards biting into my skin as my back meets the patio. Slashes sting and split as I groan, needing to turn, but not wanting to cut myself further.
Air is smashed out of me when Sawyer boots me in the stomach. A rib cracks. Glass buries into my back. Everything hurts—my body, my heart, my mind. But I won’t give up.
Heaving out a breath, I flip onto my front, dragging myself through literal glass.
Sawyer kicks me again.
And again.
Then he comes into view. Expensive designer shoes, polished and perfect. Tiredness, agony, bone-rattling exhaustion. It sweeps across me all at once, and I rest my cheek on the ground, pulling in painful breaths.
“She gave up too,” Sawyer says, crouching before me. “After her third dick, she just stopped struggling. Probably enjoyed it.” I stare out across the lake, past glittering fairy lights and memories from days ago, where Guy held me, and kissed me. Justice felt possible. Hope was so damn close.
At this point, filled with bullets and glass, I should give up.
I’m bleeding heavily. My bones are broken. I’m dizzy, and cold, and ready to sleep.
Death is curling around me, so I should feel helpless.
But as fairy lights sway gently in the summer breeze, I smile.
I smile because giving up is never an option.
Alistair didn’t raise a quitter.
My hand darts out, and I swipe the glass across Sawyer’s Achilles heel. It’s tough, and spongy, and the piece of glass closed in my hand will probably leave scars, but I’m still smiling. Especially when I cut his other heel, too.
Sawyer is silent at first, and then a gut-wrenching, beautiful, haunting scream tears from his throat.
He falls back, and I grin, pushing myself up on trembling arms. I watch on as Sawyer’s hands hover at his feet, panting out screams of terror and pain.
He doesn’t even stop me from shoving him back and straddling him. He just keeps screaming, and screaming—
“Let’s see if I can make you squeal,” I whisper, flexing my hand around the shard of glass.
Lina Fox falls away. The little girl who dreamed of marrying a Sinclair, who loved her parents and Christmas Eve. I step into Monty Reid. A survivor. A killer. A woman who was handed a fate and tossed it aside because she didn’t want to accept that path. Instead, she carved out her own.
And it led her here.
My shoulders relax. My tongue drops from the roof of my mouth. The air I pull in feels sweeter, fresher, and fills my lungs until I’m satisfied.
And I plunge the glass into Sawyer’s cheek.
He screams and wriggles and I stab him again.
And again.
And again.
Again, again, again.
Skin tears. Muscle rips. Blood seeps.
My movements are quick and brutal, a frantic shredding of Sawyer’s face, as his screeches become wails. And his wails become … silence.
I stop. I don’t need to exert anymore energy.
I don’t drop the shard of glass, I place it down and admire my work.
Sawyer’s face is ribbons. Mush.
A wet, rasping choke comes from the place where his lips used to be. He’s clinging to life, and I laugh, picking up the glass once more before slitting his throat.