Page 77 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

I get it.I do.But understanding doesn’t make the walls feel any less close, doesn’t make the weight of constant eyes on me any easier to bear. The itch for freedom scratches at the back of my mind, too insistent to ignore.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I slip out the door, the afternoon breeze washing over me like a breath of sanity. The Judge waits in the driveway, a sleek promise of escape. My fingers brush the door handle, and something inside me settles. I need this.

The door closes with a solid clunk, sealing me in with the scent of old leather and oil. The kind of comfort that feels like a forgotten part of myself. The keys jingle as I push them into the ignition, and the Judge roars to life. God, I’ve missed this sound.

Sorry, Tomas. Just this once.

I pull out of the driveway, sparing a glance back at the beautiful Victorian. Tomas stands at a window, his eyes narrowing, probably already guessing at what I’m about to do. Guilt prickles at the edges of my resolve, but I shove it down.

I’ll deal with him later. I am a grown woman and he can’t possibly expect me to spend every second under their watch. Right now, I need this—a few stolen moments of solitude, a reminder of who I am outside of these bonds and expectations.

The tires hum against the asphalt as I ease her into third, the wind whipping through the open window, tangling my hair. A long breath escapes me, the tension in my shoulders unraveling by slow degrees. The road ahead is a ribbon of familiar curves and dips, the landscape of my past unspooling like an old film reel.

Tomas’ name flashes across my phone screen. Without hesitation, I flip it face down on the passenger seat.He can wait.I don’t need a minder or a guard just to drive to my brother’s house.

The sun sinks lower, stretching shadows across the fields. I flick on the radio, twisting the knob until Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Freebird” crackles through the speakers—tinny and worn, but perfect. A grin spreads across my face as I crank the volume.

Being alone feels good. Painfully good. A forgotten luxury—something I didn’t realize I was starving for. I’ll go back—I always will—but for now, this small moment of rebellion feels crucial to my sanity.

The GTO surges forward, the engine’s throaty roar vibrating through me. There’s nothing quite like her power beneath my hands, the way she moves—responsive, alive. It’s like flying. The road stretches ahead, infinite, and for the first time in ages, I feel free.

Beanfields blur by, and I hear Daddy’s voice in my head, telling me to feel the road, trust it. The distance gives me space from the constant hum of emotions—Ben’s worries, Tomas’ pain, Xavier’s guardedness.

I needed a break from Gray, too. Not that I don’t love him—God, I do—but since the full bond settled in, it’s like he’s living inmy back pocket, always there, always pressing. Even when he’s dead, I feel him. Sometimes, it’s like there’s no room left for me.

Being alone now, even just for a while, is like a breath of fresh air after slowly suffocating. I hadn’t realized how oxygen-starved I was until I could finally breathe again.

Colt meets me at the car, wearing my least favorite of his trucker hats—Back Shots Pro— the bass-on-a-line logo embroidered in cheap thread. He’s barefoot, his hair tousled from the breeze, and there’s something about the way he stands that makes me think he’s doing exactly what I am—taking a moment to just be, without anyone else intruding.

“Where’s your boy band?” he asks, lips curving into that classic Colt grin, a perfect mix of mischief and genuine joy. He squints against the afternoon sun, teasing already.

I roll my eyes dramatically, shutting the door with my hip. “Left them at the townhouse to work on their choreography. Needed a break from the babysitting.” Deciding to lean into my bad decision-making, I leave my phone on the seat.

Colt bursts into laughter, the sound echoing off the barn walls. He opens his arms wide. “You know I’m always ready to lead you astray, little sister. It’s practically my job description.” He pulls me into a hug, and for a moment, everything else fades—the complications, the emotional landmines littering my life. This is my brother. My stupid, dependable brother. I moved mountains for us to be here, and I’m going to enjoy this feeling for a second.

When he lets go, I step back, eyeing him up and down. “You look… different,” I say, tilting my head, trying to figure it out. His hair’s longer, a scruffier beard starting to form. There’s a sharpness to him now, a seriousness I’m not used to.

Colt shrugs, scratching at his scruff. “Yeah, well, I’ve been in another dimension, raising hell with a vampire sidekick. Kinda changes your perspective.”

“How was it?” I ask, folding my arms and leaning against the Judge. “All that dimension-hopping, rebellion-starting fun you dreamed of?”

He exhales, shaking his head. “Nah, nothing like I imagined. It was… weird. Good weird, bad weird, all of it. Sometimes it felt like I’d wake up, and none of it would make sense. But then Vivien would say something mean, soundin’ just like you, and for a second, it’d feel normal again.” He scratches his temple, pushing his cap up. “Guess you get used to strange after a while.”

I smile, nodding. “Yup, I know that feeling well.”

Colt’s eyes shift toward the house where Vivien is, probably dead in the attic. His expression darkens just a touch. “So, what about you? How’s this whole… situation treating you?” He gestures vaguely, meaning everything—the mates, the magic, the constant danger.

“Some days, I feel like I’ve got it all figured out. Like I’m finally where I’m supposed to be. Then there are days when it feels like I’m drowning in it. Like it’s too much to carry, even with all of them there to help.”

He leans in slightly, his tone softening. “You’re tough, Sunny. Tougher than anyone I know. But even you’ve gotta take a break sometimes. It’s okay to lean on them.”

I swallow, the lump in my throat making it hard to speak. He’s right. I’ve spent so long being the one who takes care of everyone else, the one who’s strong enough for all of them. But maybe it’s okay to let myself be taken care of, even just for a little while.

I offer him a small smile, then punch his arm with my middle knuckle out for maximum impact. “Yeah, yeah. Look at you,Mr. Emotional Maturity.”

Colt rubs his arm dramatically, looking betrayed. “I go away for a bit, come back all wise and shit, and this is the thanks I get?”

“I know,” I say finally. “I’m trying, Colt. I really am.”

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