Page 60 of Wait in the Truck
Within seconds, I’m sliding down the bank, ready to dive headfirst, but instinct stops me before I lunge into the dark.Deadweight sinks.
My jacket hits the tall grass before my shirt follows. Next to go are my boots. Then the second my belt unhooks, I drop my jeans and am already moving. Feet pounding. Breath heaving. The only thought in my head is getting Sage out of there before the river takes her.
My chest feels tight with something more volatile than adrenaline, more dangerous than fear.
I dive in. Ice-cold jaws snap around my ribs, sinking deep, dragging me into a black void where breath is amemory. The current rakes its claws down my spine. Pressure wraps my ears, my vision narrowing as the river pulls me under. Then I see it—the wreckage of Sage’s truck sinking, headlights flickering like dying fireflies.
I’m coming, Sage.
She’s still strapped in, suspended in the dark, her hair moving in slow, eerie waves. Her body too still.Too goddamn still.
A slow, creeping fear slithers through my chest. The kind that turns men into animals. I’m not losing her. This river already stole my sister, then less than a few months later my parents. It’s not getting Sage, too.
I kick forward, fingers numbing as I grasp the safety tool in my hand.
Moments later, I reach Sage’s truck. My first swing glances off the window, the impact rattling up my arm. My vision darkens at the edges, but I grit my teeth and try again.
The glass fractures. Then bursts.
Water rushes in, a violent surge, trying to rip us both away. I lunge, grabbing for her, but the seat belt—fucking hell, it’s jammed. Flipping the tool in my grip, I slice through the strap in one clean motion. I pull her weightless frame into my arms.
The river wants her. Wants both of us. But I don’t let go.
Lungs burning, arms screaming, I kick upward,hauling her with me. The current fights, a relentless bastard, clawing at my ankles.
I break the surface, then—air. Taking her with me, I barely feel the rain that hammers down like bullets.
Realization rips through me. She’s not breathing.
I force myself forward, every stroke a brutal fight against the current. The mud sucks at my legs as I carry her onto solid ground, my knees slamming into the earth.
Ear to lips. Nothing. I pump my hands against her chest, begging her to wake up. “Come on, Wildflower.” And then—a violent, shuddering cough.
Water spills from her mouth. Her whole body convulses, each inhale a battle she’s too stubborn to lose. Relief hits so hard I almost laugh.Almost.
My hand finds the back of her neck, fingers pressing against damp skin, grounding myself in the fact that she’s still here. Still breathing.
Thunder snarls overhead. My eyes flick to the river to where Samuel’s truck is almost fully submerged.
Sage follows my gaze, her breath hitching. She doesn’t speak.
Reaching for the ball of denim next to us, I rummage in the pocket, my fingers closing around my medallion.Should I save him?I already know no matter what the chip decides, there is only one acceptable answer. “Heads, he lives. Tails, he dies. You choose, Sage.”
I hand over the chip, and she pauses for a second beforetossing it into the air. It spins, catching the brief flicker of storm light before landing in her palm. Her fingers curl weakly around it before she reveals it to me.
I peek down at the outcome, and a menacing grin tips my lips, but before Sage can see it, I cover her open palm with mine, concealing Samuel’s fate.
“Wanna see what your gamble got you, baby?”
Her breath hitches, eyes darting to mine before latching onto the chip.
“Call the sheriff,” I murmur. “Tell him there was an accident.”
Her grip tightens. Nails biting into my skin. “Kade.” She doesn’t finish. Doesn’t have to. Her eyes say everything. She knows. Knows exactly what’s about to happen. I just hope she can live with her choice.
Then, I stand and wade back into the river. The water reaches for me, pulling, clutching, trying to wrench me down to where Samuel is. It’s thick, churning with secrets, eager to swallow another sinner whole. But I don’t fight it.
I go willingly.
