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Or them?
Growling, Xander tucks the gun down his jeans, grabs my hand—entwining our fingers—and drags me out of the bathroom.
As we rush from the shopping centre, I don’t look back. Instead, my mind reels, throwing me into a vortex of flashing images and information.
Is this it?
Is it over?
The mess I caused?
I want it to end.
My insides twist into knots of despair as I shuffle this knowledge in my mind. It was Chuck. And Grayson.ManXY.And there is no way Clay Butcher will allow them to breathe District air now we know—they will be dead soon. At the bottom of Stormy River—or so the District whispers go. But the Youngs aren’t a normal family either. Wealthy. Powerful in their own right. So, they might get desperate.
What will they do?
What will they do?
Out the front, we head towards Xander’s white Jeep, parked across the road on the verge.
Around us, people chat and laugh in coffee shops, cars eat up the concrete, and a train rushes past the overhead bridge. It’s busy.
Xander is burning my shoulder with intensity, dragging me away. “I need to check your body, Baby. In the car.”
“They didn’t—”
“Ineedto check.”
Accepting, I nod, breathless now as his large, fast gait rushes my small feet along the road to the Jeep as though we are being chased, but we aren’t. Chuck’s arm is hanging off his elbow while he’s hauled from the restroom by Clay’s men—
Headlights hit me.
A car skids.
My pulse bursts out of my throat as a large black bonnet appears. Grayson behind the wheel and— I’m shoved to the side, hit the road hard. My mind spins.
What happened…
Where is…
I hear a thud that forces vomit up my neck, females scream, and my hand is empty again, clutching at nothing.
I push to my feet, disorientated; the sun is drilling across my eyes, flashing the scene. My gaze lands on an idling black car, then on Grayson as he is dragged from the vehicle and pushed to the concrete by more men in black suits.
I spin around, searching frantically for the missing part of me— Seeing him. Seeing flat on the road on his stomach, body strange, people around him, a quick puddle of blood already rushing down the roadside drain.
No.
No. No. No.
My legs set fire as I bolt to his side, my heart shattering in my chest, pieces of it like shrapnel, never to be placed back in the same order, forever floating in the emptiness of me.
I tear through people.
Dropping to my knees, I cry out, “Baby!” I touch his shoulder, his neck, his face. His words are in my head:‘Put your hands on me, Woman.’So, I grab him, pulling the weight of his torso into the protective cave of my lap. I cradle his head, smooth his hair, and burst inside out.
A rattling groan hisses from his throat, then, “Clay.”It’s so weak. “She hurts us, Clay.”
