Page 94 of Fallen Heir

“Jaxson,” I tried to yell, tried to force the sound out. But it didn’t carry. A rasp at best. Useless.

“Savannah!” Closer this time.

“Here,” I croaked, barely audible even to myself. I willed my tongue to move, to make saliva form—anything to soothe the raw ache in my throat. But there was nothing.

Just air and dust and blood.

Then, through the haze, I saw him.

Jaxson.

Bent low beside the shattered frame of the SUV, his face pale, eyes frantic as they locked on mine.

“I’m going to get you out, baby. Stay right there,” he said, one hand reaching through the opening where the window used to be, the other scanning for a way to pry the door open.

Relief flooded me. Not just because he was here, but because he had found me. Because it hadn’t been too late. Because the nightmare was almost over.

And then a shadow moved behind him.

A voice.

Low. Cold. Alive.

“You sure about that?”

The words slithered through the chaos like smoke—thick, low, unmistakably Bruce. It was laced with venom, with triumph. It didn’t belong to a man clinging to survival. It belonged to a monster who still thought he could win.

“Bruce,” Jaxson said. His voice was level. Calm. Too calm.

From where I lay, still half-crushed against the wreckage, I could just barely make out their shapes. Jaxson had stepped out ofview, his body rigid, squaring off. Bruce’s silhouette shifted with him. And from the way their stances aligned, I knew—he still had a gun. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it in the air.

Heavy. Final.

“Let’s take a little walk,” Bruce said. “So we’re not in the open. It seems you’ve brought a little army of your own.”

He wasn’t planning to talk. He was planning to end it.

I didn’t care about the blood dripping into my eyes or the way my arms shook as I clawed toward the twisted doorframe. Pain screamed through every nerve ending, but I shoved it down, locked it away. One hand at a time, I dragged myself toward the shattered window, biting down on the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming.

I had to move. I had tomove.

Glass sliced into my palms. My ribs throbbed, my shoulder screamed, but I got one leg out, then the other. Excruciating pain ripped through my leg as I bared my weight down. The world spun, sideways and dim, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

I rolled onto the dirt, chest heaving, lungs fighting to catch up. Smoke burned my throat. Somewhere behind me, another gunshot cracked, but it was distant now—another battle being fought by someone else.

This one was mine.

I pushed up on trembling elbows, then forced myself onto my knees. The clearing came into focus. Bruce stood several yards away, arm extended. The gun in his hand didn’t waver. It was aimed directly at Jaxson’s forehead.

No hesitation. No mercy.

Right between his eyes. Just like he said.

He was going to kill the man that broke my walls down. The man that made me believe again when I had nothing left to believe in. The man that I loved. And I loved him.

My stomach turned to stone.

There wasn’t time to think. I didn’t have a plan, didn’t have strength or a weapon or even the balance to fully stand.