Page 38 of Tater
Tater drew his knife but didn’t charge. He’d seen what happened when you ran straight at a storm—you ended up part of the wreckage. He’d wait for his opening.
Lightning hit a tree fifty feet away, blowing bark into the air. The flash lit the road for a split second—enough for him to see two shapes locked in the rain, fire curling up between them.
Ren.
And him.
His heart stopped.
She didn’t move like she used to, no fear, no hesitation. Her stance was low, deliberate, shoulders squared in that way that said she wasn’t fighting to survive anymore. She was fighting to end it.
The flames around her were strange—blue at the edges, gold in the center, like something holy and hell bound all at once. He could feel the heat from here, biting through the storm, eating at the cold.
And the man facing her—Shadow—looked almost small against it.
Almost.
Tater’s fist tightened on the knife handle. He wanted to charge, to tear that bastard apart with his bare hands. But then she turned slightly, enough for the light to catch her face.
Her eyes glowed faint, but steady.
Focused.
Not lost.
Not gone.
She didn’t need saving.
Not yet.
Tater took a step forward, just far enough to be close if she fell. The mud slid under his boots, but he didn’t stop.
“Come on, baby girl,” he muttered under his breath. “You finish it your fuckin’ way.”
The thunder rolled again, closer now, almost in rhythm with his heartbeat.
He stayed low, watching, waiting.
And when the next flash of lightning lit the ridge, he saw Shadow stagger—blood running bright through the rain.
Tater’s jaw locked.
It was starting.
CHAPTER 19
The Breath After
The rain couldn’t put it out.
It hissed against the heat, tried to swallow the light, but the flames only burned steadier—low and deliberate, like breath. Like control.
Shadow’s bleeding, but he’s still laughing. Always laughing.
Even then, with smoke curling off his jacket and fire gleaming in his visor.
“You think you’ve changed?” he spits. “You think he makes you clean?”
