Page 35 of Revenge Saints (BloodHawks Duet #2)

T he rage,

It roars in me.

It’s all I can hear, all I can feel. My hands clench as I watch Knox’s head loll to the side, Aspen sobbing over him, trying to keep him here .

No.

No fucking way.

I drop to my knees and grab for his neck; he’s still breathing .

My belt’s off in a second. I wrap it around his waist, pulling tight, just above the wound. My hands are slick with his blood, but I don’t let go. I cinch the strap like I’m holding his soul inside his goddamn body.

“Dante!” Max grabs my arm. “It won’t work; he’s losing too much,”

I shove him. Hard. He stumbles back, eyes wide, but I don’t care.

“I’m not giving up!” I snap with something I haven’t felt since the plague. “We get the base. We get the doctor. All we have to do is keep him alive long enough.”

“Please,” Aspen whimpers, cradling Knox like he’s already gone. She is broken, desperate, but her hands don’t stop moving.

“He’s still breathing,” I growl. “Knox doesn’t go out like this. Not like this . ”

I press harder. My fingers dig into his skin like I can anchor his soul in place.

“He’s fighting , and we’re gonna fight too.”

I push off the ground and grab my gun. This isn’t over.

Ryker steps beside me, his face pale, jaw set.

I turn and hold out my hand to Max. he hesitates just a second, then he grabs it and pulls himself up, planting his feet beside us.

I crouch again, leaning close to Knox’s ear.

“You hear me, Reaper?” I snarl. “You fight, you stubborn fuck. You fight . ”

“Look,” Ryker breathes.

Knox’s chest twitches.

A slow, shallow inhale. Then another.

We all freeze .

“He heard you,” Ryker says. “He’s… he’s trying . ”

Aspen sobs again, but I see hope in her eyes.

“Keep talking to him,” I tell her, kneeling beside her one last time. I grab her chin, lift her tear-streaked face, and press a kiss to her forehead. “He’ll fight for you. You’re the only thing that can keep him here.”

“I’ve got him,” she whispers, arms tightening around him.

“Anyone shows their face here, shoot to kill,” Ryker growls, pressing a spare gun into her hand.

She doesn’t even nod.

She just turns, shifts, and becomes a soldier . She’s a fucking BloodHawk.

One knee bent, gun raised, back against the river. Knox’s blood on her thighs, his head in her lap.

She’s ready.

We sprint toward the base, boots pounding through blood and brush. We don’t speak. We don’t breathe.

Because this isn’t about revenge anymore, it’s not even about the base; it’s about bringing him home, because if Knox dies tonight? So do we.

We reach the base fast.

Few men outside. Scattered. Rushed. Sloppy .

Almost half the number I saw last time.

Let them panic.

“Sean’s usually on the bottom floor,” I whisper. “We need him alive. ”

“And we kill Roman,” Ryker says flatly.

I nod. “But first he suffers.”

The words burn on the way out. My blood is boiling. I don’t know what’s keeping that fucker alive, but it won’t matter. I’ll tear it out of him with my bare hands.

“How do we get in?” Ryker crouches low, rifle raised, eyes sweeping the perimeter. “Roman must’ve changed the codes.”

“The fence.” I drop to the dirt, crawling under low branches. “Back side. The one Knox cut to get me out.”

We reach it fast, staying low. Nothing but overgrown brush and silence back here.

I push leaves aside and find it. Sean covered it, keeping it hidden.

“Here.” I whisper, motioning them in.

The far edge of the base backs up against the compound’s only large tree.

Perfect to hide.

I slide in first, rifle raised, sweeping the corners. Max follows. Then Ryker.

We’re inside.

I raise four fingers. They nod.

There’s at least four inside, maybe more. No time for stealth now.

We move fast.

We shoot.

Four bodies drop before they even register we’re there.

We breach the hallway. Left wing. Max clears ahead, and I take the right .

Ryker watches our six, moving like fucking clockwork behind us.

Screams from outside. Screams from below.

They’re scrambling.

We hit the stairs. I’m about to give the signal to descend,

When I catch movement.

Sean.

He’s coming out of the kitchen. Blood on his shirt. Bag slung over his shoulder.

Ryker’s rifle locks on.

“Don’t,” I mutter. “Wait, Recon . ”

He holds the weapon steady but doesn’t lower it.

Sean sees me.

“Dante…” he breathes.

I move fast. “Where’s Roman?”

Sean jerks his head toward the lower level. “Far end room. Left side.”

My jaw clenches. Knox’s room—the fucking coward took his bed.

Footsteps thunder above. I turn just in time to hear Max yell,

“Gun!”

Everything slows, but I don’t think I move.

I throw myself in front of Sean, gun raised, ready to take the fucking shot for him if I have to, because if he doesn’t make it to Knox? Then none of this fucking matters.

“We’ve got a man down,” I rasp.

Sean turns to me instantly. Max and Ryker split off, flanking the front and rear to cover us. No one gets through without eating lead .

Sean grabs his bag, already moving toward the table. “What do you need?”

“He was shot in the side, lost a lot of blood.” My words come fast. “He was unconscious when we left.”

Sean doesn’t hesitate. “I’ve got everything.” He zips the bag and slings it over his shoulder.

“He’s our brother,” I say, and my voice fucking breaks. “Our leader. He carried us through the goddamn end of the world.”

A tear slips down my cheek. I wipe it fast. No time for that shit.

Sean puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll do everything I can, Dante. I swear.”

I nod, jaw tight. “Ryker. ” He turns to me, already knowing. “Take him to Knox.”

Ryker moves to Sean’s side. “Come on, Doc.” They slip out, back through the cut fence.

Max and I cover them, firing short bursts into the growing noise.

Two of Roman’s men come charging from the south wall. Gunfire rips through the air. One shot nearly hits Ryker.

My vision blurs red.

No.

I drop my rifle.

Rush the bastard. He’s out of ammo. I grab him by the throat, lift, and twist.

His neck snaps, bones crunching like dry branches, and I smile. I will fucking kill all of them with my hands.

“Let’s fuck this shit, Grave,” I growl.

Max grins, and we move .

Bullets fly, but we don’t stop. Even if I run out of rounds, even if my fists bleed down to the bone, I will reach Roman.

And I’ll finish what Knox started.

Outside’s cleared.

The bodies twitch in the dirt behind us, steam rising from their wounds, blood soaking into the earth. Max reloads beside me. One bullet left. I’ve got none.

We don’t speak. We don’t need to.

“We go room by room,” I grunt. I’m held together by nothing but the memory of Knox’s blood on my hands. “No hesitation.”

Max nods once, jaw locked. His face is smeared with someone else’s blood, his knuckles raw and torn, and I know he’d tear this whole base down with his teeth if I asked him to.

We breach the door; our old home turned into a graveyard. It smells like mold and death and something fouler. Roman’s stench infecting every corner.

We sweep the first floor fast. Quick, efficient, just like Knox trained us.

Three of Roman’s men storm out of the west hall. No warning. No words. Just raised guns and cocky eyes.

They die before they finish a breath.

Max drops one with his last bullet, a clean shot to the throat. The other two rush me. One’s got a knife. The other swings a bat like he’s in some post-apocalyptic baseball league.

I move straight into the first one’s space, grab his wrist, twist until it breaks with a wet snap, and drive the knife into his own throat. He gurgles, eyes wide, falling .

The one with the bat doesn’t get a second swing. Max takes him down hard, slamming his head against the wall until the drywall cracks and blood splatters like paint.

I catch my breath.

Main floor, clear.

Bottom floor.

We head for the stairs. As we descend, the air thickens, the tension crawls down my spine like a second skin.

Gunfire erupts from the shadow, controlled bursts; they’ve been waiting.

“Down!” I shove Max into cover, bullets shattering glass and biting chunks out of the walls.

We’re pinned for seconds that feel like hours.

Max moves low. Fast. He gets behind a support beam. I sprint in the opposite direction, slide behind a flipped table, my shoulder grazing metal.

No ammo. No backup. Nothing but rage.

“We flank,” I mutter, loud enough for Max to hear. He nods.

We split. Move in silence.

One man reloads just a breath too slow, and I’m on him. I grab the muzzle of his gun, shove it down, and ram my knee into his face until he folds. Then I wrap my arm around his neck and squeeze until his body goes still.

The other fires blindly; he doesn’t see Max come up behind him. Doesn’t even know what hit him when Max drives his elbow into the back of his skull .

Silence again.

Just our breathing.

Max grunts, his hand going to his arm. Blood runs down the sleeve of his shirt.

“I’m fine,” he says before I can ask. “Just a graze.”

I look him over; he’s pale but standing.

We don’t stop.

We reach the final hallway, Knox’s room.

The air changes. Heavier. Denser. Like something is waiting.

I kick the door in hard, and there he is.

Roman.

The bastard still stands. He’s like a cat with nine fucking lives.

One hand holds a pistol.

The other?

A fucking grenade.

“If I go,” his mouth is curled into a bloody smile, “we all go.”

My fingers twitch, and Max raises his fists, ready to lunge, but I hold him back.

Roman’s eyes glitter, pupils dilated like a cornered animal. He’s sick. Weak. But he’s still dangerous.

“You think you’ll take us with you?” I ask, stepping forward.

Roman shrugs, jaw twitching. “What’s the point? You came all this way to see me die. I’m saving you the trouble.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I mutter.

He licks his cracked lips. “You don’t have it in you, Dante. You’re a follower. You only kill when someone tells you to. ”

“You sure about that?” I growl.

His finger edges toward the grenade pin.

I move.

I hit him hard, shoulder to chest, and we both go down. The grenade tumbles out of his hand and rolls into the corner. Max dives for it, slaps his hand over it, keeps the pin intact.

Roman and I crash to the floor, fists flying. Mine land solid, fueled by days of rage, fear, and helpless fucking silence.

He punches my shoulder, the injured one, and pain spikes through me like lightning. I roar through it, slamming his head into the floor again and again.

Blood in my mouth. His blood is on my hands.

He coughs, groans, still fighting. Bastard won’t stop.

“Are you going to kill me now?” He spits, blood trailing from his lips. “Go ahead. Fucking do it.”

I kneel over him, breathing hard, pressing my weight into his chest until he wheezes.

“You want me to end you?” I snarl. “After everything? That’s too easy.”

“Fuck you,” he hisses. “Knox is dead. You’re too late.”

I smile.

“Knox is alive.”

His eyes widen.

“Your doctor, the one that’s keeping you alive, is saving Knox right now.”

Roman blinks; he’s trying to cover the fear, but it’s there.

“Good,” he whispers. “Then kill me and be done with it. ”

I lean in close. Closer than he wants.

“You don’t get that mercy.”

His breath hitches.

I grip his jaw. Hard. “You’re not my kill.”

Max steps closer.

I keep going. “You hurt him. You took our home. You made him bleed in front of the woman he loves.”

Roman swallows.

“When he wakes up, when he can stand, when he’s healed enough to look you in the eye, I’ll hand you over myself.”

He shakes his head, a weak laugh slipping out. “You’re insane.”

“No,” I whisper. “I’m loyal.”

I push off of him, stand tall, chest heaving.

“You’re his kill, Roman. Not mine.”

Roman stays on the floor, hands trembling, face covered in blood.

For the first time since I’ve known him, he looks afraid.

And it’s about fucking time.