Page 63 of Beautiful Ruins
The shots came harder. Faster. Closer.
A bullet slammed into the van’s side mirror, shattering it into plastic shrapnel. Another clipped the hood, sparks darting out like fireworks.
Nothing but darkness surrounded us.
I shoved Bear and Scout in front of me. They were my men. I couldn’t let them be the ones to take the fall. Not on my watch. Not when I could be the one to take it instead.
We were almost there. Another round rang out.
Then . . . I grunted, my steps faltering. My knees hit the ground first, pain shattering my kneecaps. The burn. Fuck, the burn.
It tore through my side, heat spreading from the sight ofpain and into my chest. I was supposed to take the hit, not drop from it. My body gave out before I could get them safe.
Useless. Fucking useless.
I tried to blink away the darkness, but it closed in, dragging me deeper into the unknown.
My fingertips dug into the dirt as I dragged myself across the ground. Strong hands grabbed at me, at least I thought they did.
Someone hauled me to my feet, and Bear’s gruff voice cut through the haze. “Got him! Scout, get us the fuck out of here.”
My vision swam as Bear dragged me into the van and yanked the door shut behind us. Gunfire still echoed in the distance.
I hit the floor hard, the metal cold beneath me. Tyres screeched, the engine roaring as Scout gunned it, throwing me against the side panel. I gritted my teeth, my breath coming hard through the searing pain in my side.
“Stay with me, brother,” Bear muttered, his massive hands pressing down on my wound. “Don’t you dare check out on us.”
Scout didn’t let up, the van tearing through town like it was the last safe place on earth.
Everything kept going dark. I was losing too much blood. Cold. So fucking cold.
I grabbed hold of Bear’s shirt, fingers barely able to form a grip, and pulled him closer, willing my mouth to work. “Sadie,” I whispered. My mouth was dry. Throat raw. I said it again. “Sadie.” Her name was a plea.
Bear’s worry was in his hands, pressing harder, trying to stop the blood. Trying to do the impossible.
I blinked hard, fighting to stay awake, to stay alive until I could see Sadie’s face one last time. All I wanted was to lookinto her hazel eyes, to tell her I was sorry for all the shit. Just needed her to know I fucking loved her. Always had. That was it. That was enough.
She was the only thing keeping me there. If she knew—if I could just say it—I could fight a little longer.
Chapter Twenty
SADIE
Isat perched on the edge of my bed, clutching my phone like it was a grenade—seconds from detonation. Or salvation. It wasn’t as if I’d been counting down the minutes until 7 p.m. It was stupid to be waiting, to be so wrapped up in what Rowan was doing, but there I was, caught between the hands of a clock and the idea of him.
After his meddling in my life, I should have been more upset. But once again, I couldn’t get the phantom touch of his lips against mine out of my head. The moment he’d kissed me again, I was willing to surrender my soul to him, even if he didn’t want it. It was a fact that Rowan Knight wrecked me. He kept crashing into me and leaving me to pick up the pieces.
The man was cruel. He was seriously messing with my heart when he kissed me like I meant something to him. Like I meant more than just his brother’s best friend.
It was almost pathetic, how badly I wanted to see him. Just as I had done as a teenager. Even then, I used to wait for him to hit the yard to work out. I’d watch from the window, hiding behind my lace curtains like a coward, embarrassed by howdesperate I was. How many times had I sat there, stealing glances at him when he wasn’t looking?
So, where the hell was he? He’d told me seven, and the time was ticking closer to it. Two minutes, to be precise.
Rowan. Rowan. Rowan. His name played on repeat in my mind, the only prayer I ever seemed to whisper. Every thought always circled back to him. I hated how much he’d become such an obsession. He didn’t have to swing a blade to cut me. He already knew where to aim. I was becoming attached, and I was trying my darndest to not show that on my face.
My attitude was the only sense of amour I had, so I was clinging to it like a damn lifeline. It just wasn’t very good at keeping me afloat. Maybe I was a masochist, sitting there with only one minute to go, waiting for him to show and wreck me all over again.
The time hit 7:02 p.m. The walls pressed closer with every passing second. I shot off the bed and paced once before heading to the window, as though the movement could undo the waiting. I hooked a finger around the curtain and yanked it back. Nothing had changed.
