Chapter 7

I hate it when I say I hate everyone, and then the one person I hate the most laughs and says, ‘not me, right?’ No, bitch. I especially hate you.

-Conversation between Rafe to Janie

Rafe

Eight weeks later

Nobody ever prepares for a grenade.

Nobody.

Sure, you might think about how you’d react if a grenade was thrown in your direction, but until you’ve actually had a live one thrown at you without warning, you have no fuckin’ clue how you’ll react.

There I was, texting Trace about my new “friend” Layton Trammell and his daughter, who wouldn’t leave me the fuck alone no matter how hard I tried to avoid her, while simultaneously watching over Cobie and Dante’s daughter, Mary, when it happened.

The entire room exploded.

My ears rang.

My body was thrown backward, and somewhere in the confusion, I was able to right myself.

The lights were too bright, and the air around me had a funny smell to it.

I couldn’t quite focus, and I was fairly sure that my head was fucked up.

I couldn’t feel it, or any part of my body, really.

I blinked and blinked some more until I could semi-focus, and saw a man dressed in black hurrying into the room.

I swallowed down the bile when the man hooked his arm around Cobie’s limp form, followed shortly by Mary’s.

And I realized rather quickly that what was happening shouldn’t be happening. The man dressed in black, Drake Garwood, shouldn’t be here.

I also should be moving, yet I couldn’t get my limbs to cooperate.

I clenched my hand and felt my fingers close around something—my phone.

Yet, still, I couldn’t get my fingers to execute my mind’s commands.

I couldn’t get anything to work. Not my hands, not my legs, and definitely not my brain.

Which had to be why I watched him walk out the door without so much as a single protest from me.

And I realized then that I’d spread myself too thin.

I thought I could help. I thought I could be there to protect them—like I should’ve protected my sister all those years ago—but I didn’t.

I started to crawl, ordering myself harshly under my breath to go.

Go, go, go.

And somehow, I went.

It was sometime later when my brain started to slowly come back online.

A stun grenade.

He’d thrown a stun grenade—Drake had.

He’d thrown it through the window, and when it went off, I’d reacted exactly like he had expected I would—for the most part.

I was fairly sure he hadn’t expected me to be coherent enough to actually follow.

Which had to be why he didn’t once look in his rearview mirror.

Blood was running freely from the wound on my scalp. It was running in my eyes, down my cheeks, around my nose to disappear into my chin. Only, it came right back out to run down my neck.

I was fairly sure I had a broken collarbone, as well as a concussion.

But I’d managed to drive behind Cobie and Mary’s captor—Drake.

I’d also been able to stay hidden.

I’d called for help, and I’d forced my body to stay where it was.

I wasn’t fooling anyone—not even myself.

The moment I got out of this car, I knew that I’d collapse to my knees.

I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that my legs would give out, and I’d crumple to the ground like a useless heap of trash.

Did that stop me from getting out of the car, though?

Hell no.

It sure the fuck didn’t.

It also didn’t stop me from running—or maybe limping, I wasn’t quite sure—toward the guardrail where Drake had just pushed Cobie’s car over the bridge.

It hit the water below with a huge splash, and vaguely I watched as Cobie came to consciousness as the jolt of the car hitting the water jarred her awake.

I’d just reached the bridge when I heard, rather than saw, a large truck heading toward us.

Just when I made the decision to jump, I saw a truck pass—a car on a chain directly behind it—headed straight for Drake who was now laughing.

He’d seen me. He’d seen the state he’d left me in. And he knew, as well as I did, that I was about to make the last decision I’d ever have to make.

I had enough in me to get them out. I knew it.

I’d make it happen.

I would.

And then I hit the water feet first.

The cool water, a huge contrast from the humid air, surrounded me. Revived me.

I swam toward the car, which was sinking nose first.

I didn’t go to Cobie’s seat. I went to the back seat and started to yank on the door.

“The locks! Unlock it!”

Cobie’s head turned, and she hit the locks.

The moment the door was unlocked, I yanked at the handle, pulling with everything I had to get the door open.

It didn’t so much as budge.

I braced both feet on either side of the door and pulled hard, but it didn’t help.

The door wasn’t going to open, and it was sinking too fast for me to do a damn thing about it.

“Move,” Dante growled.

I did and felt myself weaken even further.

Then, before I could do anything more, I sank into oblivion.