Chapter 50
Fifty
THEN | SISK
Ican’t hear anything at first. There’s just a high-pitched ringing in my ears, like the world has been muted and I’m trapped in the silence. Then everything comes back into focus all at once.
Fiona screams with a piercing shriek. “He pushed him! I saw him! He fucking pushed him!”
My body shakes as if someone has poured ice water down my spine. Lou’s hands grip my shoulders, trying to steer me backward. “Stay here,” he keeps repeating. “Stay in the car.”
I’m already pushing the door open and climbing out.
“Fiona, shut up!” Lou snaps. “Sisk is…”
“He grabbed him!” she continues, her voice cracking into hysteria. “I saw him. Dean is down there!”
Dean. The name echoes in my head. Dean was behind me. Wasn’t he? He was yelling something. He was—was he? My brain scrambles to piece it together. My knees buckle and Lou practically hauls me back into the car. “Get in,” he says firmly. “Stay in here.”
“I—Jax—”
“He’s fine. He’s fine.” Lou insists and pushes me into the backseat and slams the door before I can argue.
“He killed him! He killed him!” Fiona goes on.
Whistle is pacing with his hands on his head. “Shut up!”
“I saw it!” Fiona screams. “He threw him! He threw Dean in!”
My chest tightens so hard that I can’t breathe. Lou climbs into the driver’s seat but doesn’t start the car. He turns around to look at me, his expression intense.
“Listen to me,” he says. I stare at my tar-streaked, shaking hands. “Did he push him?” Lou asks. I try to think through the chaos in my mind.
“What? Who?” I try to make sense of it all.
“Ivan. Did he push Ivan?”
The question startles me. “Ivan?” Where’s Ivan? Did he not climb out with us?
Lou’s eyes are locked on mine, like he’s trying to read the truth right off my face. “Did Jax push Ivan in?”
“No!” I snap.
“You sure?”
“Yes!”
That’s the truth. I didn’t see who grabbed who first. All I know is that Jax jumped. For me.
Lou scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay.”
Outside, it’s all just a mix of panic and noise. The sound of puking, of crying, of the aftermath of what just happened. What did just happen?
Fiona: “He is gonna kill us all!”
Lou leans back in his seat, letting out a long, slow breath. “This is bad.”
“He didn’t do it,” I say, the words coming out automatically, defensively.
Lou’s gaze slides back toward the Pit. “But he was holding Ivan,” he says, his voice careful, measured. “Wasn’t he?”
My stomach lurches. I feel dizzy, like I might pass out. I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them, but the car still feels like it’s swaying. I press my hand against the door, my fingers digging into the armrest, trying to make it stop.
“Why is Fiona talking about Dean?” I breathe.
When Lou doesn’t answer, my stomach starts to sink.
“What happened?” I try again pressing my hand to my forehead. “Lou,” I whisper. “What happened?”
He swallows, “…Dean and Bear are gone.”
The words don’t make sense. “What?”
“They’re in the Pit.”
My brain slams the door on that idea. “No.”
“I don’t know what happened,” Lou says, his voice going tight, all the carefulness gone. “All I know is when people started yelling, they were both fine. And now they’re not here.”
“In the Pit?” My voice cracks on the words. “How?”
“I don’t know.”
I lunge for the door handle, my fingers fumbling with it.
“Lou—”
He hits the central lock again, a quick click, just to make sure I get the message.
“Don’t, Sisk.”
“I have to go to him.”
“Sisk.”
“They’re turning on him!”
I can see it happening through the windshield. Whistle, pacing in tight, frantic circles. Fiona and Becca, a mess of hysterical sobs and pointing fingers. Bear’s truck door hanging open, empty. Where the hell is Jax?
“He jumped in after me,” I say, my voice shaking so hard I can barely get the words out. “He saved me. He—”
Lou’s hand shoots out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist before I can scramble over the center console. “You go out there right now,” he says, his voice low and nervous, “you’re going to make it worse.”
“They think he pushed them!”
“They don’t know what they think. They’re scared. They’re looking for someone to blame.”
I slam my fist against the window. “I need to get to him.”
I twist in my seat, searching the darkness beyond the car.
Someone shouts: “Get help!”
Fiona: “He was holding him! I saw him! I saw him!”
“Open the door,” I say.
Lou hesitates. “Sisk—”
“Open the fucking door!”
He does and I shove my way through the group.
“Where is he?” I demand.
Nobody answers.
They’re all looking at the Pit. Or at each other.
Whistle: “He ran.”
Ran?
I start toward the slope.
“You can’t go back in there,” Whistle says, grabbing my arm.
I rip against his grip. “Let go.”
“He killed them,” he says loudly. “We all saw it.”
“He didn’t do it,” I snap. “You don’t know what you saw.”
Whistle tightens his fingers around my arm, leaning closer. His breath stinks like beer and ash.
“Your boy’s a freak, Sisk. He’s always been a freak. Tonight he just finally showed it.”
I slam my knee up between his legs and he makes a horrible sound, his eyes bulging as he instantly lets go of my arm to clutch himself. “You fucking bitch,” he wheezes, his face contorted in pain.
“At least he’s not a coward,” I snarl, stepping into his space. “He jumped in to save someone. What the fuck did you do besides stand there and watch?”
I shove him hard enough that he stumbles back and I run, barefoot and freaked out.
“Jax!” I scream. I force myself not to look at the Pit. “Jax!”
No sign of him.
I stumble closer to the edge and sink to my knees. I scan the slope, my eyes jumping from one piece of debris to the next. He’s not anywhere. “Jax!” I scream until it tears my throat raw. “Jax wouldn’t run,” I whisper. “He wouldn’t.”
My head snaps toward the Pit. The surface looks deceptively calm.
I crawl closer to the edge. “Jax!” I scream again, my voice cracking on his name.
The tar shifts slightly. A single bubble breaks the surface.
“You don’t get him,” I snarl. The surface stills.
I picture him down there, sinking in the cold dark, all alone.
“You heard me,” I choke out. “I made my wish. Where is he?” I demand. “Tell me!”
Inside my head.
JAXWELL ST. CLAIR, THE GRANDSON IS ALIVE AND WELL.
I sob. Jax is alive.
WE FOLLOW THROUGH WITH OUR DEALS.
I want to scream.
DO YOU, SISK ZAITSEVA?
“Yes,” I whisper.
The surface ripples again. “Where is he then?” I demand.
HE RAN. HE WANTS TO BE ALONE.
My chest tightens. “Why?” I cry. “He wouldn’t leave me.”
MONSTERS TEND TO PREFER THEIR SOLITUDE.
For one second, I almost ask it. Did he do it? Did he throw them? Something tells me it would answer. I can’t make myself say the words. “I trust him,” I whisper instead. “He wouldn’t. He is not a monster, you are!”
The silence that follows is my answer. I stay there, on my knees, my shredded palms stinging, my face wet with tears I don’t remember crying. Time blurs. The screaming from the group fades. I don’t know how long I’m there, but it feels like forever. My knees are numb, my body a block of ice.
“Don’t touch me,” I choke out when I hear shuffling nearby. I don’t know who I’m talking to. I don’t care. “Leave me alone.”
To my surprise, they do. Maybe it’s the wild look in my eyes. Maybe they’re just scared of the Pit, and by extension, me. Whatever the reason, no one comes close. I’m left alone with the bubbling tar and the roaring in my own head.
Until I’m not. “Get off me,” I snap, twisting away without looking. I expect it to be Lou, or some cop trying to drag me to my feet. When I finally glare up, the words die in my throat.
I’ve never seen him before in my life, but I know exactly who he is.
There’s no doubt. The resemblance is obvious.
Same face. Same grayish-blue eyes, the kind of intense eyes that look like they can see right through you.
It’s Jax’s face, but older. If there was ever a wrong moment to meet Jaxwell St. Clair, this would be it.
Jax’s grandfather stands beside me like he stepped out of a different world entirely with his hair combed back, not a strand out of place. He looks the part, the kind of man who owns whatever ground he stands on—even when that ground just swallowed who knows how many lives.
His hand is steady on my shoulder. “You shouldn’t be this close to the edge,” he says, his voice gentle.
It’s amazing how fast they all showed up: cops, detectives, an ambulance—the whole crew.
Jaxwell doesn’t raise his voice once. “Officers,” he says calmly, turning slightly without removing his hand from me, “I’m sure there’s an explanation. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”
One of the detectives—the older one with a tired face—looks irritated. “Four boys are missing.”
“Panicking won’t bring them back,” Jaxwell replies smoothly. “Let’s gather facts before we start ruining young lives.”
I stare at him. “You knew,” I say quietly.
His eyes shift to me. “I know many things,” he replies. “Right now, I know you’re in shock.” He squeezes my shoulder.
Behind us, an officer raises his voice. “We need statements!”
“He was holding him,” Whistle says. “I saw him. Jax had him. Jax climbed out, but Ivan didn’t.”
“Climbed out?” the detective repeats carefully, pen pausing over his notebook. “You’re saying he climbed out of—?”
“Both of them,” Whistle points at me.
“Jax is not here, you need to find him,” I say.
Whistle adds, “He ran.”
The detective studies me like I’m a piece of evidence, not a person. He asks me a million questions, and I try to answer, but my head keeps zooming in and out of focus. Where could Jax have gone? The thought loops in my mind, a repeating beat under the detective’s monotone voice.
I take a couple of steps forward, my eyes scanning the dark trees, and the detective calls me back.
“Miss Zaitseva, you need to stay here. We need to ask you more questions. You were one of the last people to see them. What did you see?”
My throat is tight. “I told you… I fell.”
“Before you fell,” he presses. “Did you see Jax with the victims?”
“He didn’t do it!” I snap, then immediately regret it as the detective’s eyes narrow, his patience wearing thin.
Behind us, another officer mutters something about “three confirmed missing.”
I look past the detective, my eyes finding Jaxwell’s. “What about Jax?” I ask, my voice desperate. “We need to find him. We can’t just leave him out there.”
The grandfather’s expression is unreadable, a smooth, polished mask. “He can take care of himself,” he says, his voice calm and certain. “Something tells me he’s fine.”
Not something. I’m sure of it. The Pit told him. Jax mentioned once how his grandfather talked about it—not like a place, but like a partner. A business associate.
The grandfather shifts his stance. “That’s enough,” he says smoothly, cutting off the detective before he can ask another question. “Miss Zaitseva needs medical attention.”
“I’m fine,” I snap, trying to shrug his hand off.
“She’s in shock,” he corrects, already guiding me away from the group. “I’ll take her to my son.”
One of the officers steps forward. “Sir, she needs to remain available for questioning—”
“She will,” he says pleasantly. “You know where to find us.”
Jaxwell doesn’t look like a man worried about his grandson or about what they’re implying he’s done. He looks like a man calculating the next move on a chessboard.
As he steers me toward the lights, I see him. Detective Rosen, Ivan’s father. He’s standing just beyond the ambulance. Our eyes meet and my stomach lurches violently. I tear free of the grandfather’s hand just in time to double over and vomit onto the ground.