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The hallway is chaos—bodies on the ground, blood pooling at my boots, the sharp scent of gunpowder and copper slicing through the smoke.
I push forward, deeper into the corridor, heart still thrashing like a war drum in my chest. My hand is slick with someone else’s blood. My throat tastes like dry ash.
And then—I see her. At the end of the hall, through the clearing smoke and the hell we just unleashed, I see her.
Maxine.
She’s crumpled in the far corner of a cell, chains still wrapped around her ankles, wrists red and raw. Her head is bowed, hair tangled and damp with sweat. Her body trembles - enough that I know she’s still breathing. And that’s all it takes to bring me to my knees.
I don’t remember moving. One second I’m standing. The next, I’m at the bars, grabbing them like I could rip them from the wall with my bare hands. My voice tears from my throat, raw and frantic.
“Maxine!”
Her head lifts—slow, like it weighs too much—and her eyesfind mine. Before they turn to the corner of the cell, where the Pastor stands with a gun pointed at her.
49
SAXON
Iwatch him carefully as Pastor Vernon Gibbons crosses the floor. He moves slow, deliberate—every step measured. His pistol doesn’t waver as he nods toward me, then jerks his chin at the cell door, inviting me in.
“Saxon North,” he drawls, like he’s greeting an old friend instead of a man who’s come to kill him. “I should’ve known you’d be behind this.”
He’s been expecting me.
“Go on. Door’s open. Come in, come in.” His grin is feral now. “Only you,” he adds, sharp as a knife, when Lucky tries to push past. “Or by God, I will put a bullet in her skull.”
I lift my hand, palm out, silently telling Lucky to stay back. Not because I trust this piece of shit—but because I need him to believe he’s in control. Just long enough for me to gut him.
Inside, Maxine’s wearing chains like some medieval sacrifice. One eye swollen shut. Lip split. Her skin’s painted with bruises in varying shades of violence. She looks like she’s been through hell. And he looks like he enjoyed every second of dragging her there.
The rage starts low—deep in my gut—and spreads likewildfire. It fills every vein, every breath, until all I can see is red and him standing over her.
I step inside the cell. The door clicks shut behind me. The world outside fades—gunfire, shouting, the chaos of the war still raging around us—it all dims. All that exists now is him, me, and the reckoning that’s coming.
Maxine’s eyes flick up. They find mine. There’s pain there. But there’s also hope. She’s still fighting. Even though she’s chained and broken, she won’t welcome defeat.
“Well, well,” the Pastor says again, circling Maxine like a vulture. “The Fed returns. I was wondering when you’d crawl out of whatever hole she dragged you into.”
“There’s only one way this ends,” I say, voice like steel.
He smirks, gun still leveled at Maxine’s temple.
“Endings are subjective,” he says. “Like beginnings.”
“Let her go, and maybe you walk out of here with your limbs still attached.”
“You won’t kill me,” he says, tone smug, like he’s still in control.
“That’s right. You think you’re untouchable.”
His eyes narrow, calculating. “You really think you can get away with killing a man like me? I’m protected. You have no idea the power I answer to.”
“I don’t care about your politics.” My fists clench. “I’m here to reclaim what wasn’t yours to take.”
He tilts his head, studying me like a puzzle piece that suddenly makes sense. Then he smiles—that smile—the one predators wear when they’re about to brag.
“She must mean more to you than I thought,” he muses. “Maybe I should’ve had a taste. To see what all the fuss is about.”