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Ky dove for his daughter, but as he did, Meister grabbed hold of her and wrenched her to his chest. He took out his gun and held it to Grace’s head. Ky stopped dead, as did Styx. Heart pounding, I lined up my shot, placing the bullseye at Meister’s head.
Calm.
Breathe.
Focus.
But before I could pull the trigger, a shot fired from behind him. The bullet came smashing through his skull, brain and bone hitting the air. My head snapped up as Meister’s huge body fell forward, dead, blue eyes forever open, landing on top of Grace. Ky had flipped him off her in seconds, picked up his daughter and run back in the direction of the barn. I turned my head, looking to see who had shot the prick. Phebe stood with a rifle in her hand, hands fucking shaking and cheeks paling. She’d fucking hit him.
Direct hit on Meister.
Sapphira was still on the ground, hiding her head with her hands. Two more men came running at Phebe. I took one out, then the other, not letting a single one get near her. I had just lined up my next shot, some AB driver who had jumped out of the van, when a gunshot went off behind me. In seconds I rolled onto my back, ready to strike whoever was there, and the body of a Klansman slammed to the roof beside me. I looked up to see who had taken the fucker out.
It was Lil’ Ash.
His gun was held out, nostrils flared as he stared down at the now-dead skinhead.
“Ash,” I said. His black eyes were wide with shock, but he managed to look at me.
“I saw him come up the stairs. I had to follow.”
“Ash—” I heard the sound of tires screeching from the road. I rolled back onto my front and saw all three of the vans pulling out onto the dirt road, abandoning the Klansmen who were still fighting my brothers. Flame was hacking some cunt up with his knives; Viking was shooting at any fucker that moved.
And then I saw him. Saw some Klansman get off the ground, bleeding from a gunshot wound in his shoulder. Phebe was looking around in a daze, hands bloodied, face pale, lost, trying to find Sapphira. She’d gone. Where the fuck had she gone?
Then I saw, almost in slow motion, as the Klansman pointed his gun at Phebe. I scrambled for my rifle, determined to end this fucker. And I shot, sending a bullet through his heart. But he’d already fired his gun before he hit the ground.
I watched helplessly. I watched as Sapphira came running from behind the cover of a van and pushed Phebe out of the way. And I watched as the bullet sailed straight through her stomach. Her brown eyes were wide, turning to Phebe as she fell to the ground.
I ran. I fucking ran the minute Phebe lifted her head and saw Sapphira on the ground. I was there in seconds, taking out the final few fuckers that got in my way. I followed the sounds of Phebe’s frantic cries and ran to where she sat, screaming and crying with Sapphira in her arms. Blood mushroomed across Sapphira’s white dress, fucking bright-red blood coming from her stomach.
“No!” Phebe screamed as the shooting came to a stop.
The vans had gone; the Escalade had escaped too. Garcia had got away.
“Rider!” I shouted and dropped down beside Phebe. She was a fucking mess, beaten, bruised and clearly raped, but her blue eyes were wild, fucking cut, when she met my gaze. “Sapphira!” she cried harder, almost unable to breathe.
I thought I’d seen pain before. I thought I’d seen the fucking terror of loss. But in that moment I realized I hadn’t seen shit. Phebe, my fucking Red, was dying along with her daughter. Fucking heart broken and bleeding out.
Rider came sprinting to Phebe. Our van came seconds later, Slash at the wheel. Grace was in the front of the cabin, her little hands on the glass, trying to see Phebe and Sapphira.
“I need her in the back,” Rider said. I picked Sapphira up in my arms.
Phebe reached forward, trying to get her back from me, fucking losing it more, second by second. “Get in the van, Red,” I ordered, trying to be quick. Phebe stumbled to her feet. I laid Sapphira on the floor, and Rider got to work. He split her dress, and I watched as he rubbed his hand down his face, seeing the wound. It was bad. It was fucking bad.
I could tell by his reaction.
“We need to go, now,” he said and got the fuck to work.
I lifted Phebe in beside Sapphira. She fell to her knees at her daughter’s side. She held her hand and rocked back and forth.
Phebe was already emotionally too far gone.
Red was fucking mentally tapping out.
I turned and saw my brothers getting back on their bikes. Then I saw Ash, standing on his own, staring at his fucking hands. I sprinted over to him. “Ash,” I said, and he looked up. The kid hadn’t even seen the commotion, too fucking busy freaking out about his kill. “You good?” He numbly nodded his head.
“I need you to ride my bike back to Austin.” Ash nodded again. “Ash?” I pushed, and Flame appeared behind him. Ash looked at his older brother and swallowed.
Flame’s hand clenched at his side, then clenched again. “I got him,” he said, then awkwardly as fuck, put his hand on Ash’s shoulder and squeezed. I saw the fucking tears build in Ash’s eyes at the fact Flame was touching him. At the fact he’d killed.
Flame was fucking touching him.
I gave my keys to Flame, then turned and ran back to the van. I slammed the doors shut and sat beside Phebe. I pulled my bitch into my arms as Rider worked on Sapphira. As we moved out, Phebe looked up at me, her lifeless daughter on the floor before her, and I didn’t like what I fucking saw in her eyes. She was dead. Her eyes were fucking dead. The tears had stopped, she was numb, but her hand held tight to her daughter’s.
So I held on to her.
I just fucking held on.
*****
Phebe
“No,” a voice screamed from beside me. I blinked and then heard two shots. I turned, and Sapphira jerked before me. I was confused. I did not know what had happened . . . until she fell . . . she fell to the ground. I dropped beside her, then I saw it. Saw the blood pouring from her stomach. Saw her brown eyes watching me, silently begging me to save her.
“Sapphira.” Her eyes began to close. Panic gripped me as I the blood kept coming. I pulled her into my arms, trying to wake her up. “Sapphira!” I screamed, realizing she would not wake. I brought my hands to her face. She was getting cold . . . she was getting cold . . .
AK was carrying me out of the van, but I would not let go of Sapphira’s hand. I could not. She needed me. “I am her mother,” I said as we entered the clubhouse. But my hand fell from hers when AK pulled it away. “I am her mother,” I repeated numbly.
“She needs to go, Red. Rider needs to get the fucking bullet from her stomach.”
Cain and some of the men took her into a room. I let AK lead me to the room to wait at the doorway. But as I watched her hand fall to the side of the bed, her life draining from her veins, as I watched her face grow paler, and as I watched Cain try . . . try but fail to save my girl, I knew it was too late.
She was gone. I felt it within me. She had gone. My daughter . . . she had died. I
did not save her. When the time came, I had failed . . . I tried, but like everything else, I could not save her . . . when it mattered most . . .
. . . I failed.
I was going to lose her when I had just gotten her back. When she had just called me “Mother”. When we had our chance at a better life.
My feet backed away. And away again.
“AK, I need your help,” Cain said from beside Sapphira.
AK brushed past me. But I kept backing away. I saw AK taking a bag and pushing a needle into her arm. The potion. They were giving her potion. She was never coming back. They needed the potion to take the pain away, because her pain would never go.
She was never coming back to me. To be in my arms. To be in my heart.
I came to a door, and needing to be alone, needing to be away from the blood and the pain and the evidence of my failure pushed it open. I staggered into the room, using the countertop as a guide. I did not know where to go. I did not know what to do. I needed this pain in my heart to go away. I needed the image of Sapphira, bleeding in my arms, to go away.
My hand knocked something over. I looked down. I had spilled a bottle of pills. Pills. I knew pills took the pain away. I cleared the fog from my eyes and looked around. A bottle of alcohol was on the opposite countertop.
That took away the pain too.
Taking the bottle, trying to see through the tears, I pulled off the cap and grabbed a handful of the pills. I swallowed one, then took a drink. I did it again. I did it again and again until the pain began to fade. I did it again and again until my eyes closed and I woke up in a familiar forest.
I wiped my eyes as I drank in the beauty of the bright green trees. The grass was soft under my bare feet. My arms were clean of bruises and . . . there was no pain.
“Mama?” I closed my eyes at the idyllic sound of a softly spoken voice. Mama. “Mama, you are here.” There was no pain in her voice, no fear. There was just . . . happiness.
Opening my eyes, I looked toward the river. Sapphira was sitting on the grass. She was dressed in white, her long blond hair falling to her back in soft waves. And she was smiling. “Sapphira,” I said and ran to where she sat. I dropped down beside her and took her in my arms. She fit so perfectly, like it always should have been.
