Page 15 of Revenge Saints (BloodHawks Duet #2)

I lie in bed, heart pounding so loud it feels like it might crack open my ribs.

I know what needs to be done, even if the guys think I’m wrong. They’re not thinking clearly, not when it comes to me. Their feelings are clouding their judgment, and if they keep this up, it’s Dante who’s going to pay the price.

He was taken because of me.

Because he tried to protect me, tried to be the hero, and it almost got him killed.

Tears threaten, burning behind my eyes, but I blink them back. I won’t cry again. I’ve done enough of that.

Bryn keeps showing up in my dreams, her bloody body, the echo of that gunshot. That sound is stitched into my brain. It doesn’t fade.

I can’t lose him too. I won’t. Not him, not any of them.

I hear them in the living room, talking, planning. Knox is tense. The weight of all this is crushing him, even if he won’t admit it. His shoulders are tighter. His jaw never unclenches. His eyes are so tired.

None of them have slept.

Max and Ryker stayed awake all night, and they didn’t think I noticed, but I did.

They didn’t notice I didn’t sleep either.

There’s a radio in the other room. The one Max and Ryker were messing with last night. If I can get to it, I might be able to reach Roman.

A knock on the door yanks me out of my thoughts.

“Yes?” I call out, keeping my voice grounded.

Knox steps in, eyes flicking around like he’s assessing the room for threats.

“We’re going to hunt,” he says, with gruffness. “We need real food. Max will stay behind.”

I nod. “Okay. Do you need me to do anything?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

He just stares too long. Like he’s searching for something in my face, something to convince him I won’t go behind his back.

He won’t find it.

He shouldn’t trust me.

“Maybe cut some apples,” he finally mutters.

His tone is cold, clipped, like he’s holding back something.

I pretend not to notice.

“Sure,” I say, hopping out of bed and heading for the kitchen.

I brush past him, heading straight for the little kitchen. Max and Knox exchange a look behind me, silent communication I’ve seen a hundred times by now. Then finally, Knox leaves with Ryker.

I wait until the door clicks shut before I move.

Opening drawer after drawer, I search until I find a knife.

The wood is splintered; everything covered in a thin layer of dust. This house hasn’t been touched in years.

The air is stale, heavy with mildew and time, with the windows all boarded up, it’s always dark in here. Dim shadows, stale air. Eerie.

I hate it.

“Need any help, Aspen?” Max asks kindly.

I shake my head quickly. “I’m good.”

He hesitates, then nods. “I’ll get more water from the well.”

The moment he steps outside, and the door swings closed behind him, I start moving.

My eyes scan the kitchen again, not looking for ingredients, but opportunity. I don’t want to hurt Max, but if I try to run, he’ll catch me.

I move fast to the bathroom and shut the door behind me.

The cabinet is old, the mirror spotted and cracked. Inside are random pills and dusty little bottles, labels half-faded or missing. I don’t know what most of them are, and I’m not going to risk accidentally killing him.

I’m about to give up when a name catches my eye.

Zolpidem.

My breath hitches.

My grandmother used to take this to sleep, and she always said if she doubled the dose, it would knock her out cold.

I don’t know if it’ll still work after all these years; these pills are probably expired, the packaging yellowed, but maybe… maybe.

I rush back to the kitchen, heart pounding.

The little burner is still warm from earlier. I pour water from the kettle and drop in some herbs for tea—chamomile, maybe lavender. Anything to mask the bitterness.

With the knife, I crush the pill down into a fine dust. It flakes and crumbles like chalk, the smell slightly off, but I mix it in anyway, fast, before the water cools.

The tea swirls into a soft pink tint.

I stir, whispering a quiet, guilty prayer that it works just enough and not too much.

I sit at the counter, pretending to sip the tea when Max walks back in.

“I got more apples,” he says, holding up a bundle, “and some lettuce or whatever this is.” He chuckles, soft and easy.

My heart clenches.

He’s never going to forgive me. But I have to try.

“Want some?” I offer him the cup, trying to sound light .

He glances past me, toward the hearth. “Still enough wood for the fireplace?”

I nod. “We’ve got plenty.”

This place has a rusted stove where we heat the water. It’s slow, nothing like the electric ones back at the base, but it gets the job done.

I stretch out my arm and offer him the cup again. This time, he takes it with a smile.

He sips as I turn back to the counter, slicing apples like everything’s normal.

“You finish it,” I say, keeping my tone calm.

“Thanks. It’s really good, way better than whatever Ryker threw together yesterday.” He grins, leaning against the cabinet beside me.

“Knox has a plan,” he says after a moment. “We just need to gather some things.”

I nod, but inside I’m screaming.

They don’t have a plan. I heard them.

They’ve got ideas but nothing real. Nothing that’s going to save Dante.

Then Max stumbles.

My eyes snap to him.

He blinks hard and rubs his hand across his face. “Fuck, I’m suddenly feeling… sleepy.”

He leans on the counter, and I drop the knife, moving toward him without thinking.

His eyes find mine.

“Oh… Aspen,” he whispers, and there’s betrayal in his eyes. “What did you do? ”

He tries to reach for me, but I step back, and he drops to his knees.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, catching him before he hits the floor. “You’ll be okay. I promise. I only gave you a small dose.”

I hold his head in my hands as he tries, weakly, to lift his arms. “Aspen… please, don’t.”

His breathing stutters, shallow and erratic, and then he goes still. I lower him gently, holding his hand until it slips from mine.

Grab a pillow from the couch, place it under his head, and run for the rope. The pills are old, maybe too old to last long, and Max is a tank. I don’t have time to hesitate.

I wrap one of his arms around the table leg, tying it as tight as I can, then bind his ankles to the chair. It won’t hold him forever; he’ll break out the second he’s fully awake, but it will give me time.

I run to the other room and grab the radio; the one Max and Ryker were using last night. The other two, I leave on the table.

I’m not suicidal; I will radio call the others once I’ve got Roman where I want him. I just hope they come after me, or the radio won’t reach them.

Grabbing a coat from the closet and a knife from the kitchen, I bolt. Fast.

I know the guys went out the back, toward the woods, to hunt. So I take the front. I don’t exactly know the way back to the river or the base. I was too out of it when they brought me here. But my body’s running on instinct now.

It took us nearly a whole day to get here. I need to move .

At the end of the dirt road, I pause. I could follow it… But I remember being surrounded by trees for most of the time. And the road is too exposed; I turn toward the woods instead.

The sun’s slipping past the treetops. Once it’s dark, I’ll find the river. Follow the moon.

My legs burn. My lungs scream. My pulse is thunder in my ears, but I don’t stop. I feel the stitches pulling, but I don’t care if I bleed; I bleed for them.

The forest gets darker and denser. Branches whip past my coat, tearing at my skin. I don’t hear anything behind me. No shouts, no footsteps.

If they’re coming after me, I’ve put enough distance between us.

I slow just enough to grab the radio from my bag and click the side.

Just static.

I breathe out through clenched teeth. “Roman?” I ask.

Nothing.

Shit.

The cold bites at my cheeks and my fingers, cutting through the layers like knives. Animal sounds echo around me—growls, rustling, distant howls—but I’m not scared of them.

It’s the hunters that terrify me.

Roman.

The moon is high and centered. Late. I’ve been running for hours. My body’s swaying, dizzy with exhaustion.

I reach into my bag and pull out an apple and a half-empty bottle of water. I chew slowly and drink fast. No time to rest .

I grab the radio again, my hand trembling so hard I nearly drop it. Press the button.

Static crackles back at me.

I press harder, heart hammering against my ribs. “Roman?”

Nothing but static.

And then, a click.

Small, sharp. Like a heartbeat on the line.

“Roman?” I whisper again, breathless.

Another burst of static, and then

“Aspen!”

I freeze, my heart lurches.

That’s not Roman.

It’s not Knox either.

“Who is this?” I demand, spinning in a slow circle, scanning the darkness.

“Ryker.”

Relief crashes through me.

“Ryker?” I breathe out, tired from all the running. “Please, please, I need to do this. I have to—”

“We have a plan!” he shouts over the static. “Knox talked to Dante!”

I stumble, nearly dropping the radio.

“You.” Tears blur my vision. “You talked with Dante?”

“Yes!” Ryker says, the connection fading in and out. “But for it to work, you need to come back, Aspen. You have to come back!”

The static grows louder, drowning him out. I can barely hear him now, but I don’t need more words. I need to trust them. I spin on my heel and start running, lungs burning, heart pounding.

If Ryker has the radio, it means Knox and Max went to get Dante.

Maybe,

I force my legs to move faster, even as every step sends pain shooting through my injured leg. I’m so far from the river. So far from the base, I was never going to make it in one night. I needed another day at least.

Branches slap my face. Stones tear at my boots.

The woods close around me like a dark fist.

“Bitch!” The snarl comes from nowhere.

A heavy weight slams into my back, knocking the breath from my lungs.

I hit the dirt hard, a scream tearing out of me.

“Get off me!” I thrash wildly, but the man pins me down, grinding my face into the cold, damp earth.