Heart So Hollow (Dire Wolves Book 1), page 83
There is no going back, no compromises, no negotiations. Everything is out in the open now; the lyrics, the fox, now the honeybee…but why the bluebells? Where did those come from? It doesn’t matter, the ink on his arm confirms that I’m already dead to him, so I might as well tell him the truth. It’ll all be over soon, anyway.
“Evelyn Ashley.”
I see the subtle flash in his eyes, if only for a split-second before he darts behind the mask to hide again. He looks at the floor, a tiny grin appearing at the edges of his mouth. For a second, he looks like the Bowen I met all those years ago, before I really met Bowen.
But this is why I need to remember that night. I can’t let myself forget the feeling of Bowen’s weight on top of me, smothering me, throwing me around that room. I can’t—I refuse—to forget the look on his face. That sneer; the utter contempt for me while he stood over me, relishing in my terror.
“You hate me so much, but Col’s the one who broke you. When I found you, you were just a scared, damaged piece of ass. A good one,” he says with a smirk, “but damaged nonetheless. And you wouldn’t have turned out to be such a disappointment if you’d just fucking listened to me and cut him loose,” he mutters with disdain. “Your trauma bond…”
“I guess we’re all disappointments, aren’t we?” I taunt him, “How about Valerie? How does she measure up to the rest of us?”
“Don’t do that, Brett, don’t you fucking dare,” Bowen scoffs as though I just lobbed the ultimate insult at him, “you know I’ll never love anyone the way that I love you.”
He literally does not acknowledge her. Even now, he doesn’t call her by name. She’s just another victim of his vanity. She is unimportant, her role in this affair finished. Valerie Marston—or whoever she is—will become twisted in the wreckage, rusted out, and eventually lost to time.
She has, after all, deviated from the plan. A mistake that I don’t intend to make.
“Why did you just leave?” Bowen whines, veering back into loathing, “I never would’ve done something that cruel to you. Do you know how that feels?” he says through clenched teeth.
I tighten my grip on my gun, trying in vain to tamp down the cascade of adrenaline-fueled wrath running through my body. He’s a tornado spinning up outbursts of manic, sociopathic rage, unable to decide whether to stay a mortal man or transform into a hellish beast.
“Bowen,” I murmur on my breath, “you don’t have feelings.”
He tilts his head, studying me as he runs his tongue along the backs of his teeth.
“Is this the part where you freak out, Bowen?” I ask as his breaths get deeper, “Because you screwed up so bad that I told you to fuck the hell off?” I speak slowly and with intention, “You’re like a leech, using everyone up and sucking the life out of them until there’s nothing left. And once you throw them away, you move on to someone else. You don’t love anyone. You don’t know how.” I casually emphasize the last word as my voice slowly reverberates against the ceiling. Bowen bares his teeth in a momentary grimace like the werewolf that stalks the woods of Hellbranch. But I’m not finished, “The only thing to do is take you out into those woods and put a bullet between your eyes, because that’s what you do to rabid animals.”
His arms fall from the door frame and he straightens up, drawing air through his teeth.
When the adrenaline hits, what are you going to do?
It all happens at once, but before he can take a step, there’s a faint click when I pull the trigger and then I cast the Glock to the floor at the same moment I reach for the sliding glass door. Bowen probably doesn’t realize the gun jammed. To him, it probably looks like I just ditched my only protection—that I really don’t have the nerve. But it’s not because I’m afraid, it’s because I’m prepared for anything.
The thunder came without rain, and now sunlight spills through the clouds and floods the yard. In only a few strides, I fly off the deck and tear across the grass toward the forest. My only indication of anyone behind me is Bowen’s heavy footfalls on the deck as he takes off after me.
Every time you look back, you slow down.
The balls of my feet grab at the dirt, tossing dust and grass as I approach the slope. Through the pines, I find the rocks that jut out of the soil and make it to the top. It’s not the toughest hill, and I clear it, adrenaline propelling me through the trees once it levels out. Stay to the right, steer clear of the brambles, keep going…
My heart pounds and each breath feels like fire in my throat, but soon the drop-off comes into view. I grab the pine branch in the same spot I did before and swing down into the leaves. But, this time, I dig my heels in and jump to the side, right into a dried-up culvert running through the hillside.
I duck inside the galvanized pipe and crouch down, motionless, listening and inhaling precious oxygen. Gently, I start moving my hips back and forth, trying to work through a sharp pain in my lower belly. I don’t know what it is, but I can’t let it slow me down now.
About five seconds later, I hear Bowen’s heavy strides on the earth above me and he skids down the hill onto the moss and pine needles.
Please don’t turn around…
He takes off again at full speed through the trees straight ahead. He’s fast, and agile. He’s been running through forests since he was a kid. But this is my forest, and I know where I’m going.
As soon as his daunting figure disappears through the trees, I dart out from the culvert and continue on the path I’ve run countless times since I’ve lived here. I keep running, hopping over the rocks and tiny streams that split the earth. Finally, I see the barn in the distance. I can make it.
But as I approach, sprinting through a grove of birches, I see a flash of black in my periphery. Bowen’s flanking me, his eyes trained on his target. A jolt of panic shoots through my chest and I push harder. It’s half fear, half burst of adrenaline, but I let out a guttural scream as I barrel toward the barn door.
I don’t slow down. I’m going to run straight through the ancient wood, splintering it in my wake. I push harder and brace for impact.
Suddenly, the door swings open, seemingly from my energy alone, and I burst into the barn. Flying across the dirt floor, I slam shoulder first into the planks of the animal stalls. I bounce off the wood and look over my shoulder at the doorway just in time to see the outline of another dark figure. But it’s not Bowen.
He’s a solar eclipse, blocking out every modicum of sunlight. Bowen doesn’t know that there are more than monsters in this forest. Colson’s the reaper, clad all in black, and he’s come to collect.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
Colson
Present
His heavy footfalls pound the earth behind her as Brett tears into the barn. Seconds later, I step into the doorway and swing my arm out, bracing my legs and catching Bowen’s chest as soon as he leaps over the threshold.
Just like when we were kids, he doesn’t see it coming. His feet fly out from under him, his back slams onto the dirt floor, and I go down with him in a cloud of dust. But we’re not kids anymore. Instead, we’re both just grown up, jaded brutes who claw our way back from strife angrier than ever.
And that’s what we’re doing now, locked in a perpetual battle. I don’t even remember when it started—the soccer field in Dire Ridge or the cemetery where I spilled his blood next to Evie’s grave? Regardless, now it’s on the dirt floor of my broken-down barn outside Gunnison, Colorado after he came into my house and chased the mother of my child through my forest.
We’re fists and grunts and breathing and thrashing until there’s a crack somewhere above me and then a yell. The beams above give way from the force of Brett’s body slamming against the decaying wall and the 100-year-old timber breaks free from the joists. I feel their impact all around me and Bowen and I release each other, rolling away as one end of the largest cross-beam crashes down between us.
I jerk my head up, searching for more falling debris, and then whip around in a panic. I don’t see Brett or Bowen. There’s dust and wood hanging precariously, threatening to pull the whole roof down on us. I can’t hear anything except shuffling and muted barking from outside and the creaking and banging of the beams as they hit the walls before crashing to the floor.
Kicking aside splintered wood and stumbling over beams wedged at awkward angles, I make my way to the far wall where Brett ended up after she ran through the door. There’s finally an opening in the wreckage and I duck under it and into the open space. Dust spins in the sun-soaked air and there’s suddenly more light spilling into the room through the gaps in the crumbling wall. I hear footsteps on the dirt and whip around just in time to see Bowen rushing me.
I brace myself, ready to absorb his impact, when a shrill scream cuts through the thick air and something darts in front of me. Bowen slams into me, knocking me back into the wall. I grab him by the shoulders of his t-shirt and prepare to push off the creaking wood. If I can throw him back into the debris for a few seconds, I can reach my weapon, unload the whole clip into him, and end this.
But as soon as I grab his shoulders, he tenses and then shudders. Then I realize his chest isn’t touching mine and I can feel Brett’s hair against my neck. Everything stops, and there’s just silence.
Bowen and I stare at each other, mere inches apart, face to face for the first time since that night at the old railroad bridge, sweat beaded on our foreheads and dripping down our temples. Nine years have passed with nothing but agony and limbo followed by pure vengeance. This was supposed to be controlled, instantaneous, clean…
But, even after all that planning to kill one another, we all still ended up in a chaotic melee of dirt and splintered wood, throwing elbows and trying to outrun each other like we’re still on the field. Except now there are no red cards or time outs or penalties. The only score is who gets to leave this barn alive.
He digs his fingers into my arm and chest, blinking hard, his mouth gaping with shock. He looks down, his face only inches away from Brett’s. She’s looking up at him with her eyes wide and mouth set with fierce determination. She’s crushed between the two of us, her chest pressed against his and her back against mine.
Bowen stays that way for a few moments and I’m not sure why he isn’t moving. But then he leans into Brett and he clenches his teeth in a painful grimace. Streaks of blood appear across his teeth, seeping onto the edges of his lips as he licks them away. Bowen slowly pushes away from me to take a step back, and that’s when I see it.
Brett’s fist rests just beneath Bowen’s chest, soaked in blood and gripping the handle of a Buck knife stuck between his ribs. Before he can move another inch, I clench my fists and jerk him back to me as hard as I can. Brett gasps and Bowen lets out a gnarled growl as the knife sinks deeper into him. He stares down at her, seething, for a few moments before I pull him tighter against me, her, and the knife.
Our eyes lock and I embrace the demon, his black eyes rimmed with fire and his mouth dripping with blood stolen from the ones who didn’t get away.
Digging my fingers into his muscles, I bare my teeth, “This is over,” I snarl with such fury that our heads touch.
I keep him there until I see the nerves fire for the last time and the light behind his eyes finally go out. And, this time when he falls away, I know he won’t get back up.
Looking down at Bowen laying on the dirt floor, bleeding out from the knife wound made larger by the struggle, it feels like I’m outside my body. I’ve had dreams about this and it seemed so real—I nearly killed Brett while having one—but now it seems surreal.
It doesn’t last, though. I look up in time to see Brett stumble forward and collapse onto Bowen’s legs. She catches herself on his body and stares at him for a moment. I reach for her, but pull back as her arm comes flying out and she sinks the knife into his chest, over and over and over…
Motionless, I watch Brett tear at his flesh with screams of both rage and horror, blood spattering across her face and chest. Finally, she slows, out of breath, and drops the knife onto the dirt floor, lifting her hands to look at them. Her own blood runs down her wrists from cuts made by the knife as it slipped from her hand. She tries to push herself up, but her movements are slow and disoriented. She mumbles to herself, shaking her hands furiously when she realizes she’s touching Bowen’s bloody body.
I step over his legs and crouch down next to Brett, examining her face. She runs her eyes over his body, lingering on his vacant eyes. She makes little sounds like she’s trying to talk, but it only comes out as shallow breaths. Her muscles tremble and she searches around on the ground like she’s lost something. And when her fingertips brush Bowen’s pants, she flinches like she forgot he was there.
I’ve seen her look this way before, trapped in a nightmare...
I wrap my arms around her waist and lift her up to get her away from the carnage, but she feels like dead weight. When I try to stand her up, her legs won’t hold her, and when her head falls back onto my shoulder, I see her face is ashen and her lips don’t have any color.
I reach up and grab her chin, “Baby, what’s wrong?”
It’s a stupid question. There’s a lot wrong right now, but she looks like she’s the one whose blood is draining out of her instead of him. Brett doesn’t answer me, only fights to focus on my eyes while hers drift away. She’s in shock.
“No,” I say, like I can stop it, “stay with me…”
In one motion, I sweep my elbow behind her knees and hoist her into my arms. She still doesn’t talk, but manages to squeeze my shoulders enough to stabilize herself as I run out of the barn and take off through the woods. I whistle over my shoulder as I follow the path that no one else can see but us and soon I see Pony racing through the brush. He passes me in no time, heading in the direction of the house.
“Talk to me!” I shout between breaths, climbing the needle-laden slope and sliding down the other side.
Brett still doesn’t respond. Her eyes are open, but she’s staring at nothing and blinking like she can’t focus. All the color is gone from her face and her head starts rolling like she can’t hold it up. I’ve seen death before, she hasn’t. And, I swear to God, if witnessing Bowen Garrison’s last breath takes her out as his final act of destruction...
“Brett, stay awake!” I jostle her against my shoulder.
I keep a good pace for a while, but begin to slow down about halfway back. My phone is in my pocket, but I can’t stop. If I stop, I slow down. And if I slow down, it’ll just take that much longer to get back. But then I’ll still have to get her out of here…
With a furious growl, I come to a halt at the ridge. It’s all downhill from here, and it won’t be long until the tree line comes into view and the trail spills out into our yard. But there’s no time to wait once we get there.
I crouch down, balancing Brett on my knee while the rest of her hangs over my shoulder. As soon as I do, she grabs under her belly and lets out a jarring scream into my neck, the first sound she’s made since we left the barn. Letting out one curse after another, I roll her off and onto the ground, giving her a once-over before jerking up her bloody shirt.
Her belly is stained with the blood that soaked through, but it’s otherwise devoid of injuries. Still, she’s grabbing at it and pressing her fingers against her bump like she’s in immense pain. I grab the sides of her face and tilt her head up to look at me.
“Look at me, baby,” I hold her eyes, struggling to focus on me, “you’re in shock. I’m going to get you out of here, but you have to stay awake.”
Brett cringes and holds her breath for a few moments, “Something’s…wrong…” she gasps and grabs my arm, digging her fingertips into my wrist. My eyes dart between her belly and her pallid face while she tries to speak. “It’s cold…” her voice cracks through clenched teeth.
“No!” I roar, “Fuck no!”
And then, instantly, I’m back in those woods, somewhere between Palomino and Wyandot, and her skin is getting colder and colder.
Please, don’t do this to me. Just fucking don’t…
I let go of Brett and feel my back pocket for my phone. Thankfully, it’s there and it didn’t fall out back at the barn. It only takes a couple seconds for me to make the call and another second for Dallas to answer.
“She’s hurt! Get everyone up here, now!”
●●●
Brett doesn’t cry. It takes a lot to make her that upset. Technically, she’s cried in front of me twice. Once after she broke out of Bowen’s house, and the other was when I put a gun to her head. That time, I didn’t see her face—I just saw Bowen’s—but it was no less traumatizing.
In any event, she’s more of a scream and get angry kind of person. But she’s crying now, before the ultrasound tech even squirts the KY onto the wand.
With Dallas’s help, a convoy of medics and law enforcement descended on the property only minutes after I brought Brett out of the woods…alive. By the time we got to the ER and they hooked her up to all their equipment, Brett’s cheeks and lips were starting to gain some of their color back. I can’t say the same for everyone else. When the paramedics wheeled her in, both of us covered in blood, the nurses and doctors started shouting back and forth about not being prepared for this level of trauma.
But once they realized only some of the blood was Brett’s, their shouting stopped and then it was my voice shouting at them to get an obstetrician down here immediately. In true irony, now we’re shut behind another sliding glass door, waiting for an ultrasound. Brett’s pain has dulled, but she’s still at the brink of panic. One minute she’s Zen, ready to face whatever’s coming, and the next she’s bawling into her hands.
Now, she covers her face with one hand and shudders silently so maybe no one will notice. But of course, they do. Everyone does, because she just got wheeled in from the site of a homicide—justified, but a homicide nonetheless. That, and there are six sheriff deputies posted up outside the door and a couple of guys in suits just arrived and started speaking with them.
