Run With Me

50. Bindi

FIFTY

BINDI

I don’t think I’ve ever really known peace—not the real kind.

If I dig deep I might be able to scrape together flashes of why I was taken from my parents.

But years of repression have done their job.

The best way I know to survive is to stay numb.

Numb to my past. Numb to the ache of wanting something better.

But anytime my life has ever ended up in upheaval, there has been a common denominator.

Calmness.

No peace—no, that’s a different kind of quiet. This one is coiled, wound so damn tight that everyone is aware it will explode at a moment’s notice.

Cassidy’s not telling me everything, I can see it in the way he moves. Pacing over and over, his boots thudding across the warped floor boards. Ten steps to the window, pause, stare out the window, then back again.

I’ve been curled up on the couch, knees pulled to my chest, fingers tearing at the frayed seam of the cushion. Just . . . watching. Tracking him like he’s the fuse on a bomb and any second now it’s going to reach the charge.

I’ve already tried—told him hours ago that we should leave. He wouldn’t hear it. He refuses. I see his mind circulating every scenario in his head, and I know the answer. Which is why I haven’t even said anything.

I should say something, should tell him we need to go, should plead with him to stop waiting for the inevitable. But I’ve already tried. I told him hours ago that we should leave. He wouldn’t hear it.

Now, I see it in his eyes—that flat, obsessive glaze. The kind he gets when he’s run out of plans but won’t say it out loud. I know the answer, even if he won’t say it out loud.

It’s over.

So, what the hell do you even say when you’re waiting for your world to crack apart?

Wind whips hard against the window frame, rattling it in its track. I’ve always hated thunderstorms. Cassidy used to hold me through them, arms wrapped around me tight, like his body alone could keep the storm outside where it belonged.

He stops, mid step, and takes a sharp intake of breath.

“Bindi.”

My eyes snap at him. “What?”

His jaw tightens, chin lifting toward the window without breaking eye contact. “Get your gun.”

I freeze for just a second until his tone registers.

“Now.”

I move, my fingers closing around my pistol on the mantel. Then I sling the strap of the rifle over my shoulder, adjusting it across my chest like armor. I look down at myself—bare legs, hoodie, rifle—and feel ridiculous.

Cassidy’s back at the window, breathing hard, his hands braced on either side of the frame.

And then I hear it, a slow roll of the tires grinding over the gravel drive. I don’t even need to look to know. But I do anyway, stepping closer to Cass, peering over his shoulder. A black SUV comes into view—it looks government issued.

Cassidy’s breath saws out of him. “It’s them.”

My stomach lurches, bile hitting the back of my throat.

The SUV rolls to a stop twenty feet from the porch.

The driver’s door swings open and out steps Agent Ramirez, dressed in a dark suit, windbreaker, and his badge.

He looks up at the sky to see what’s left of the daylight that’s being shrouded by the impending storm.

He straightens his tie as he eyes the house, then he starts walking toward the door.

Cass flexes his fingers and cracks his neck, voice low and rough. “You stay behind me. And don’t talk.”

My mouth goes dry. I swallow hard. “Cass . . .”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Three slow, deliberate hits. My stomach flips, bile rising in my throat.

“Who the hell is it?” Cassidy barks, causing the walls to shake.

“Agent Ramirez, FBI.”

My grip tightens on the rifle.

“Look . . . you can put the guns down,” Ramirez calls through the door. “It’s just me. I just want to talk.”

Cassidy doesn’t move for a second. Then, without breaking eye contact with me, he steps in front of me and yanks the door open a crack. I get my first look at Ramirez with his hands raised, like he’s harmless.

Cassidy jerks his chin toward me. “Lower your gun, Binx. I’m gonna let him in.”

My whole body is screaming, Don’t fucking trust him , but I do what he says, setting the rifle down on the couch with shaking hands.

They step inside, Cassidy shutting the door behind them with a dull thud.

Ramirez moves toward the kitchen table like he owns the place and gestures for us to sit down.

Cassidy gives me a quick, loaded look, his eyes saying play along , and we all settle into the creaky chairs.

My pulse is hammering so hard I can barely hear myself breathe.

Cassidy’s posture tightens. “How can we help you . . . detective . . .”

“Five weeks, ten states, eight bodies—at least, that I counted—plus a few gas station robberies, and, oh yeah, a bank heist.”

My jaw tightens. Cassidy stays stone-faced.

Ramirez chuckles, shaking his head like we’re naughty kids. “You two have been very busy. I think your boss would be quite disappointed to know you’re only half a day’s drive away. It would only take one phone call for them to drag your ass back to Deadman’s.”

Cassidy folds his arms, muscles flexing. “Are you here on their payroll, or the FBI’s?”

“Does it really matter?” Ramirez shrugs. His eyes flick around the room, lingering on the peeling walls and the rifle on the couch. “You know . . . I gotta say, I love what you’ve done with the place.”

Cassidy grunts.

Ramirez’s voice drops lower, silkier, as he leans back. “It was easy finding you—I knew about this cabin. Didn’t think you’d be dumb enough to hide out here, though.”

I glance between them, my stomach twisting. “What the fuck is he talking about?”

Ramirez’s smile widens. “Oh . . . did Cassidy not tell you? This little hideout? It belonged to my late partner.”

My blood runs cold. The cabin? Does he mean this cabin? Cassidy never said a word.

My eyes snap to Cassidy. “Late?”

His nostrils flare, eyes flashing—and before I can blink, he lunges.

The table explodes into chaos. Cassidy’s fist smashes into Ramirez’s jaw, sending him reeling—but Ramirez is fast. He twists, bringing an elbow down hard on Cassidy’s back.

Cassidy stumbles but doesn’t fall. The two of them crash into the wall, the light overhead swinging wildly, throwing jagged shadows across the room.

Glass shatters somewhere—I can’t tell if it’s a lamp, a window, or my own sanity cracking in two.

Now, Bindi. Do something. MOVE.

I spin around and yank my pistol from its holster, hands shaking but eyes dead on. Ramirez grabs a chair and swings it. Cassidy ducks, slamming a punch into Ramirez’s side that makes him grunt, blood shining at the corner of his mouth.

They’re locked together now, bodies crashing into the table, knocking mugs and plates flying. Ramirez twists Cassidy’s arm up behind his back, forcing a raw shout from his throat.

“Cass!” I scream.

Ramirez’s gun flashes in his hand.

No.

I squeeze the trigger.

The shot cracks through the room and Ramirez jerks back, clutching his shoulder, blood blooming dark across his jacket. He drops his gun with a hard thud, eyes wide with shock. His gun clatters across the floorboards, sliding under the table.

Cassidy spins to me, eyes wild with panic. “GO! Now!” he barks.

I don’t hesitate. My heart is a war drum as I sprint for the door, Cassidy right behind me. The door slams open, rain lashing down in cold, stinging sheets. We run—hard and fast, boots slamming into mud, lungs burning with cold air.

Cassidy grabs my hand, yanking me toward the tree line. Branches whip at my face, sharp and slick with rain. The woods swallow us whole, dark and endless, the only sounds between us, our ragged breaths and the wet slap of our boots .

“Keep moving!” Cassidy growls, breath ragged. “Don’t stop.”

We tear through the woods like animals, leaves tangling in my hair, mist pouring down onto us. My boots slip on the mud, but Cass yanks me up, his grip bruising my wrist, dragging me forward.

“Faster!” he barks, his hand clamping around mine. The storm is roaring overhead now, lightning slashing the sky to pieces, falling so hard it feels like needles against my skin.

My chest is on fire, lungs screaming for air, but my legs keep pumping. My whole world narrows to Cassidy’s hand in mine and the slam of my heart in my ears.

We’re almost completely out of sight of the cabin when it happens.

CRACK

A sound splits the night and Cassidy jolts, his entire body seizing.

“Cass!” I scream as he stumbles, his grip ripping for mine.

He goes down hard, dragging me with him.

Both of us collapse into the mud. “No—no, no, no!” My hands scramble over him, shaking, slipping, searching.

His face is pale and twisted in agony as he claws at his legs with his teeth clenched tight.

“ Fuck !” he gasps, throwing his head back. “My leg—shit, it’s my leg?—”

I find it—his leg, just below the knee. His jeans are already soaked through, the blood hot under my palm. My vision goes blurry as panic flares so bright I can barely think.

“That son of a bitch . . . he got the rifle . . . that you left. Fuck, he’s using it.”

I sob wrenches out of me, my hands pressing harder. Rain pounds harder, mixing with the blood, washing it over my fingers in sick rivers.

“Your jacket. Tie it off. ”

I rip my flannel and use it to tie off his leg. He winces at the pressure.

“We have to move,” he gasps, his hand gripping my wrist tight. His eyes blaze wildly, not letting me look away. “Don’t stop, Binx. Don’t let him take us.”

“But you . . . Cass, you can’t—” My voice shatters, shaking so bad I can’t even breathe right.

“I don’t care!” he roars, trying to push himself up, his whole body bucking in agony. “Get me the fuck up, Bindi! Please, I’m not fucking dying because of this prick!”

I choke on a sob, forehead pressed to his for half a second—just long enough to suck in one shaky breath. His skin is ice cold and slick, his pulse fluttering wildly under my fingers.

I loop my arms under him, heaving with everything I’ve got. He cries out, his nails digging into my shoulder, but he gets up—barely. His weight slams into me, almost knocking us both down again, but I grit my teeth and keep going.

“I’ve got you, Cass.”

We stumble forward, deeper into the woods, every step a battle. The storm rages, wind tearing through the branches like claws. I don’t know where we’re going, I just know we have to keep moving.

Another shot rings out, splintering bark somewhere behind us. I scream, ducking down, dragging Cassidy with me into the cover of a fallen tree.

“We can’t— fuck —we can’t stop here,” he rasps against my neck. “He’s gonna keep coming. We’ve gotta keep moving.”

I nod, even though I can’t see a fucking thing through the tears and rain blurring my vision. My whole body’s shaking now, muscles burning, heart slamming so hard it hurts.

“Come on,” I whisper, half to him, half to myself. “Come on, Cass. We’re not done.”

Cassidy’s breath is ragged in my ear. His arm is draped over my shoulders, and his jeans are soaked, crimson running in messy streaks down to his boot, and every time his leg brushes mine, I feel the tremor ripple through him.

He’s barely holding it together, but he’s still moving, still dragging one foot in front of the other like his sheer force of will can save us.

“We’ve gotta keep moving,” I pant, shoving a branch out of our way. “We’re almost there, Cass. We’re okay.”

He lets out a broken laugh, coughing hard. “You keep . . . saying that, Binx . . . but . . . you know we’re not.”

“Don’t,” I snap, squeezing his waist tighter as he stumbles, his boots sliding in the muck. My muscles scream, my lungs burn, but I haul him up again, gritting my teeth. “Just keep moving. Stay with me.”

“I’m trying . . .” His fingers dig into my jacket, and his body jerks like he’s about to fall again. “Jesus, I’m fucking trying.”

“Cass— fuck —stay with me,” I plead, my voice cracking as I shove him forward. My eyes sting with tears, blurring the trees into dark, jagged shapes.

He makes a low, wrecked noise, and his knees buckle without warning, his whole body folding in on itself.

“Cassidy!” I lunge to catch him, but we go down hard, both of us crashing to the ground.

He’s trying to push himself up, but his arms shake, useless, and he collapses back into the mud, a strangled groan ripping from his throat. “I—I can’t . . .” His head lolls, rain streaking down his face, mixing with blood and dirt.

“Yes, you can.” I grab him under the arms, my voice shaking, my body shaking, everything shaking. “We don’t stop, Cassidy. Not now. Not fucking now.”

“Binx,” he chokes out, voice barely a rasp, “you need to run. You hear me? Leave me. Go now.”

“No.”

He shakes his head, frantic, his grip tightening even though I know he’s fading fast. “Please. Please, Firefly. Don’t do this. They’ll catch us both. You have to go. I can hold them off?—”

“Shut the fuck up!” I scream, my voice breaking, the words torn straight from my soul.

My hands fist in his shirt, rain pouring down between us, washing the blood into dark streaks across his chest. “Do you remember? Do you remember what you said to me that night? When the cops were coming and you pushed me out that goddamn window?”

“Bindi—”

“You told me to run, and I did, and it destroyed me. I hated myself for it. I hated that I listened—that I obeyed.”

His chest heaves, and for a second I see it—the fear, the love, the resignation. He thinks this is it, that he’s going to die here, alone in the mud, and leave me broken in the wreckage.

But not this time.

I lean down, my forehead pressed hard against his, my tears hot even through the freezing rain. “I’m not leaving you, Cassidy Reyes. You hear me? I’m not running without you. Not now. Not ever.”

He lets out this ragged, shattered breath, tears spilling down his temples. “Binx . . . please . . .”

I kiss him—hard, fast, desperate—like that first kiss all those years ago when everything fell apart, but this time—this time—it’s me making the promise. My lips tremble against his, my voice breaking as I whisper, “Run with me. You run with me, or we don’t run at all.”

He’s sobbing now, head shaking weakly as he grabs for me. “I love you,” he gasps, “God, I love you.”

“I know.” I press my face into his neck, my hands tight around his shoulders. “So fucking fight, Cassidy. Fight. Stay with me.”