Page 117 of Beautiful Ruins
All that remained was the silence, vast and hopeless, sucking the air from my lungs. I twisted hard, but Bear held tight, his arm a goddamn vice.
“Enough, Rowan,” he spat. “You keep swinging, you’re just like him. You want that? You want to be Snake? Because I don’t.”
Behind us, Snake writhed in the dirt, his laughter gone,replaced by wet, rattling gasps. His face was a ruin—nose flattened, eyes swelling shut, lips split and dangling like overripe fruit. Blood slicked his teeth. Even his breath sounded like it hated him.
He was losing blood fast, but not fast enough for my liking. I wanted to hurt him more. I wanted to torture him. I wanted to peel back his skin and see what kind of rot was inside.
But Bear’s words echoed, nauseating and true. I didn’t want to be Snake. I wanted to be the brother Logan had believed in. I wanted to be the man standing between Sadie and the monsters, not the monster himself.
But if Snake was breathing, Sadie would never be safe.
My tears ran hot, streaking down my face to mix with the sweat and dirt already pooling at my collar. I was burning alive, all my nerve endings exposed, every breath an act of will.
“You’re right,” I spat, wrenching free from Bear’s hold. “He deserves worse.”
I didn’t care. I’d give the bastard exactly what he deserved.
My fingers found the gun at my side, pulling it free of its holster. My focus locked on Sadie, barely holding onto the storm of emotions gripping her. Even with her fury and fear, she was there. Alive. As long as that was true, I wouldn’t stop.
I’d make sure no-one hurt her ever again.
My hand remained steady as I aimed the weapon at Snake’s head. “Never again,” I muttered, picturing Logan’s smile and Sadie’s tears—my reasons, my anchors.
I pulled the trigger.
EPILOGUE
SADIE
SIX MONTHS LATER
The ‘For Sale’ sign out the front of my old house tilted sideways, one corner half-buried in the dry, cracked dirt like it was desperately trying to break free from the poison leaching through the soil.
I’d done that six years beforehand—made my own escape. Yet there I was, back in Barrenridge, my heart filled with love for the family I’d fought to reclaim. But guilt settled in too, heavy and unshakable. Because Logan wasn’t part of it. Not really. Not anymore.
The sign had become the most honest thing about the old house. A white flag. A fuck-you to everything that had unfolded within those walls. The good. The bad. And the ugly.
Rowan sighed beside me, arms crossed over his chest. He wore the only black T-shirt in his closet that hadn’t surrendered to holes, the fabric clinging to his shoulders and biceps like it planned to stay. He clenched his jaw so tight I could almost hear his teeth grinding through the silence.
“You sure you want to do this, Firefly?” he said, nodding at the sign. “Makes it kind of official, don’t you think?” I caught the hint of humour lacing his tone, and I didn’t have to look at him to know he wore that trademark smirk of his.
But the tightness around his eyes betrayed something else—he was waiting for me to break.
“That’s the whole point, Ro.” I jabbed him hard in the ribs with my elbow. His shoulder jerked at the impact, and he let out a soft grunt. “There’s nothing left for me in there.”
Rowan didn’t argue. He just stared at the house like it was already a gravestone.
A low rumble split the quiet. A car crept up the road, gravel popping beneath its tyres. The white cruiser with blue stripes—the same one my father once drove, now sporting brand new plates—pulled up behind us.
Shane Elliot sat staring out at the house, one arm draped out the window. Barrenridge’s new chief of police, and, according to every gossiping arsehole in town, an actual upgrade from the previous one.
But no-one had known my father like I had. We shared a love hate relationship, right to the end. They didn’t know what he’d done for me, how he’d tried to keep me safe in his own distorted way. And I was okay with that. I owed no-one an explanation, especially not a defence of my father’s legacy—whatever that may have been.
Rowan shifted beside me, all six-foot-two of him turning to stone. “You need something, Elliot?”
Shane ignored him, or at least pretended to, his gaze remaining on me. “Just wanted to wish you luck, Sadie. Not everyone gets a chance to move on in this place.”
His words hovered between us, a firm reminder that no matter how calm we thought the waters were, there was alwaysa storm brewing just beyond the horizon. It was only a matter of time before the dust turned bloody.
