Chapter 35
Quinn
Mara and I stared at each other.
“You’re right,” I croaked, every word burning through me. “I probably would’ve defended him, and I’m sorry.”
Mara tilted her head. Her gaze went back to the gun in her lap. She was almost transfixed on it. “You understand then,” Mara mused without looking at me.
I wasn’t sure I did. I felt like I was drowning in my own grief, my own sadness, the weight of my life bearing down on me.
What if I’d made different choices? What if I hadn’t been so obsessed with being successful?
Yes, I wanted to defend people because my brother never got the counsel he deserved, but it became more than that.
I had felt so powerless in my life that becoming partner in one of the best firms in the state had become an obsession.
Mara gripped the gun for the first time, her gloved finger poised next to the trigger, but she didn’t lift it.
My heart constricted so tight I couldn’t breathe.
“It will be quick,” Mara said, still not looking at me. “I’m sure you won’t feel anything.”
The calmness in Mara’s tone, the disassociation, pulled me out of my spiraling thoughts faster than if she’d yelled.
I tried to think through the fresh surge of panic.
Mara was going to kill me. She was going to shoot me right here.
Despite everything I had just thought—despite confessing to myself that Mara could be right about me—I shook my head.
“Please,” I whispered, “don’t.”
Graham surfaced in my mind. My sweet, calm, steady Graham. He would know what to do if he were here. He would know exactly what to say.
Tears welled in my eyes. I might never see him again, and that thought hit deeper and harder than any other.
Mara shushed me in a way that sent chills running across my flesh.
“It’ll be okay,” Mara said softly. “This is all for him, in the end. It’s what’s best for Graham.” Mara nodded, as if her conclusion was absolute.
I glared at the woman across from me, my helplessness and desperation morphing into something else entirely. “What? You think that you’re what’s best for him?”
Mara’s hand tightened on the gun, but I continued anyway. “You think too much of yourself.”
Mara moved then—she was on her feet in the next breath, and I tensed, preparing myself for the end.
But Mara just glared down at me, eyes vivid with rage.
“Don’t fucking talk about things you don’t understand,” she spat. “No one is good enough for Graham. I’m just here…to protect him. I’ll follow after you.” The confession lingered heavily in the air.
Some of the anger left me, replaced by a bone-deep heartache.
“I’m tired,” Mara continued. “After this, he won’t look at me the same, even though it’s what’s best for him. I’m ready to go.”
I shook my head. “No. Mara, look, this isn’t the solution. Graham would miss you.”
Mara’s expression twisted, as if the words broke her. A few tears slipped down her cheeks.
“Stop!” Mara snapped, squeezing her eyes shut. “Just…be quiet.”
She finally raised the gun, pointing it down at me.
There was nowhere to run. I was stuck. The barrel trembled as Mara started to cry. I didn’t know what to do.
The gun glinted in a ray of sunlight leaking through the roof.
Mara jumped as a loud noise rang through the barn. I let out a strained, startled yell.
But then, his voice drifted through the space.
“Mara…what are you doing?”
My entire body convulsed with panic. His voice was as calm and measured as I imagined it being in a moment like this.
Mara’s mouth gaped before she spun around.
I looked past her—and standing about ten feet away, near an open gap in the old sliding door, was Graham.
His eyes were on Mara, but I could feel the tension radiating from him, despite the controlled tone of his voice.
“Graham?” Mara stepped toward him. “How did you find me?”
Graham’s face fell, his mouth tightening. “I was worried about you, Mara,” he said softly. “I’ll always find you.”
Mara halted before she reached him. The gun hung limp at her side.
“Really?” she said, breathless.
Graham nodded.
Mara took another step toward him—and I snapped out of my stunned shock.
What was Graham doing here?
He had to know this was dangerous. Mara could hurt him.
I instinctually leaned toward him, pulling against the bindings around my wrists. Fresh blood oozed down my hands, dripping from my fingers. I let out a small whimper of pain—barely audible. But it was enough.
Graham glanced at me, and the concern in them was unmistakable. So was the harsh, violent anger.
It lasted only a moment—less than a breath—before his eyes jerked back to Mara. And that was all it took.
Mara froze. Her hand clenched around the gun.
She threw a look over her shoulder at me before her gaze snapped to him. “No,” she whispered, sounding heartbroken. “You’re not here for me.”
Mara stepped away from Graham, and panic spiked in his expression.
He shook his head. “Mara, stop.” His voice was authoritative now. Commanding.
But Mara wasn’t listening.
“This is for you, Graham,” she said, her voice on the edge of hysteria.
She pointed the gun at me—and Graham moved. He yelled something, but my ears had gone muffled.
He rushed toward Mara, frantic, but it was too late.
He wasn’t fast enough.
She got off two shots.
At first, I thought I was hallucinating when someone else rushed toward me out of the shadows. I twisted as much as I could as the shots rang out around us.
A heavy weight knocked into me as a shock of pain erupted near my right shoulder.
I screamed.
Everything went black, and for a moment, I wondered whether I was dead.
But then I opened my eyes and—someone was draped over me. A man, his arms wrapped around me, was shielding me with his whole body. Blood poured from a wound I couldn’t see, dripping onto my jeans, warm against the freezing air.
My brain couldn’t catch up. Couldn’t make sense of anything.
I looked up automatically, searching for Graham, but I couldn’t find him.
My breath stalled to nothing but short, broken puffs of air.
Then my gaze caught on movement near the floor a few feet away.
I gasped. Graham was on top of Mara, the two of them struggling, a frantic tangle of limbs and desperation. My heart lodged itself in my throat. I couldn’t see the gun.
A fresh tremor racked my body.
“Quinn—are you okay?”
The voice was close, breathless, strained with pain.
I dragged my gaze up to the man still shielding me. His face was twisted, lips pale and tight, but I recognized him. The nervous guy from the survivors group. What was he doing here?
“Quinn?” he asked again, falling a little as he fought to stay upright.
I didn’t know how to answer, so I looked back at Graham.
He was still fighting Mara.
“Graham,” I tried to shout, but my voice came out more of a weak, broken plea. “Graham!”
Another gunshot exploded through the barn.
I screamed his name again, louder this time, pouring every desperate, terrified piece of me into the sound.
The world tilted, swimming around me in a blur. My head felt like it was full of fog and so heavy. Too heavy.
Graham had to be okay.
“Quinn.”
His voice. It was close. Relief crashed through me so violently it hurt.
I forced my eyes open. I hadn’t realized I’d closed them.
Graham was kneeling in front of me. His hands cupped my face, fingers trembling. Pure terror was carved into every line of his expression.
“Quinn,” he said again, voice ragged. He kept saying my name like he needed to anchor himself to it. “Are you okay?”
I opened my mouth. I wanted to tell him yes, but I didn’t know whether it was true.
The man who’d shielded me groaned beside me, sagging onto the dirt. Graham snapped something at him, and he gritted his teeth.
“I already did,” he grumbled between clenched teeth.
Graham finally seemed to register something, and his face went even paler. He looked at me again, those bright-blue eyes so pretty, even in this dreary place.
“Hold on,” he said desperately. “Help is on the way. I’m going to get you out of here.”
I almost sobbed when his face disappeared from my sight as he moved behind me.
Something tugged at the bindings behind my back. I screamed again, not because of my wrists, but because the jostling awakened the real pain. It was a burning, searing fire near my upper arm.
“I know, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I know it hurts. I’m almost done.”
Every movement sent pain ripping through me. My vision blurred.
Graham worked quickly, though; my wrists came undone and then he cut the rope from around my chest. My body sagged forward, but his arms wrapped around me.
Graham pulled me against him, gathering me into his chest as gently as he could. His warmth swallowed me, his heartbeat pounding frantically under my cheek.
I trembled uncontrollably and his arms tightened.
His voice dropped to my ear, low and fervent. “I’ve got you,” he whispered. “You’re going to be okay.”
His hand slid up the back of my head, holding me to him like I was the only thing that mattered in the world. “I’ve got you, Quinn. I’ve got you.”
And then, I succumbed to the blackness narrowing my vision and slipped into unconsciousness.