Page 125 of Fracture

Goosebumps break out over my arms. Flea doesn’t care about anything or anyone, except his mother. To hear this cynical, nonchalant man warn me makes my stomach drop.

“Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Anytime.”

The line goes dead as Flea hangs up.The chilled feeling doesn’t go away. I watch Levi holding Stella through the glass window, watch those small slivers of hope fill Stella’s eyes as she talks to him about moving away and leaving all this behind us.

My resolve almost falters. Maybe Stella’s right. Maybe we can leave all this behind us and just run away. But then my hand tightens around my phone.No. They’ll never leave us alone. The fact that Oswald hired this war criminal tells me in no uncertain terms that it won’t be over til we make sure it’s over.

We can’t stop, not now. Not until every last one of them is dead.

Days ago, I was praying that Stella was alive, that she’d live through the carnage I heard over the phone. Now, I send up another prayer. Or perhaps it’s a bargain? A threat?

You owe me. After everything you’ve done, everything you’ve taken from us, you owe me. You owe me this. So turn the fuck away and let me make this right. And if I come out alive, I might just forgive you. But you fucking owe me.

CHAPTER 30

LEVI

I’ve never beenafraid of dying.

Inevitable things don’t scare me.

My father died when I was almost too young to remember him. I have flashes of recollection - the glint of sunlight off his visor as he pulled into the drive, his laugh as I ran towards him, the feel of his leather jacket when he scooped me up in his arms - but other than that, there’s nothing.

I’m still sad he died, but death is a part of life. I’d have lost him sooner or later.

So yeah, I’ve never been afraid of dying.

Until now.

It’s not even that I’m afraid, not really. Not for myself, anyway. But as I stare at Dylan’s back, watching him brush away droplets of water from his back, his muscles flexing as he stretches his arms over his head to pull on a black shirt, I’m suddenly fucking terrified of death.

I don’t want him to die. I can’t bear the thought. A life without Dylan is a life I can’t even fathom, something I don’t even want to imagine for a second.

So I stare, and stare, watching him move and breathe, knowing he’s alive and that we’re walking into a situation thatI’m desperate to finish but am fucking scared to my soul will end him.

Dylan turns around to catch my gaze, and stops short.

“Something on your mind?”

I swallow hard and nod, realizing I’ve bunched my t-shirt hard in my sweaty hands. I drop my eyes and clear my throat, yanking the shirt on over my head.

“Just thinking. Strategy, you know?”

“Sure.” Dylan pulls on his pants, his eyes still on me as he does up his belt. “Strategy.”

“Mhmm.” My hands are fucking shaking, and Dylan crosses the room to stand in front of me. I can’t look at him. If I look into those dark eyes, I’m going to fucking tell him all my fears. But he doesn’t give me that choice, notching a hand under my chin and forcing me to look up at him.

“Hey.” His eyes search my face for a moment, and the corner of his mouth lifts into a crooked grin. “It’s going to be alright.”

“I know.”

“You know, I never told you…” I trail off, and Dylan lifts an eyebrow.

“Tell me what?”

“There was a night, in prison, when you’d had a bad time, and I’d… I’d helped you.”

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