Page 36 of Revenge Saints (BloodHawks Duet #2)

“I know I made your life difficult,” I whisper as I wipe blood from his cheek with trembling fingers. It’s already dried along his jaw, smeared across his lips like war paint. My hand shakes harder the closer I get to his mouth. “I,”

The words dissolve into a sob.

Tears pour down my face, dripping onto his chest, mixing with the dirt and blood. I can’t seem to stop them.

“I was alone for so many years, Knox,” I choke out. “When I found Bryn, I was tired. So tired. I just wanted it all to end. To feel like there was something left worth holding on to.”

I lean down and press my lips to his.

“Then your fucking trap,” I laugh through the tears, shaking my head, forehead pressing to his. “I thought I was done for. Caught like an idiot.”

Another kiss, just a brush of our mouths.

“But you…” I breathe. “You changed everything, my Reaper. You all did.”

I brush hair from his forehead, cleaning what I can. He’s so still.

I kiss his temple, then his jaw. I graze my lips over his ear. “I know you think that because I have Dante, and Max, and Ryker… that I’ll be fine. That you’re the one who could fall, and I’d still have something left.”

Another sob claws its way out of me. “But you were my first, Knox. My real first.”

I cradle his face, fingers framing his cheekbones, feeling the stubble scratch my palms.

“You were the one I let inside. The first I trusted, even when I pretended not to. The one my heart trips over every time you walk into a room, every time you speak my name.”

He doesn’t open his eyes. But his fingers twitch twice.

And I break again.

“Please,” I whisper, “fight for me. For them. For us.”

Footsteps .

I shoot up, grabbing the gun beside me. My hands don’t shake now. I move on instinct. Aim. Breathe. Wait.

A whistle cuts the air, and I answer it.

My first time whistling back.

Ryker bursts from the trees, blood on his hands and urgency in his eyes. Behind him, an older man with a weathered face and a heavy bag slung across his chest.

The doctor.

Thank God.

They rush toward us, and I fall back to my knees, one hand on Knox’s chest, the other brushing his hair back again and again like I can keep him tethered here.

“Hold on, my Reaper,” I whisper.

The older man doesn’t hesitate.

He drops to his knees beside Knox like he’s done this a thousand times in a thousand worse places, already reaching for his bag. The second he sees the wound, his jaw tightens.

“Shit,” he mutters, tearing open a sterile pack. “Through the left side of his stomach, possibly hit a vein, maybe worse. He’s cold. Pale.”

He cuts away the shredded, blood-soaked fabric clinging to Knox’s chest, revealing skin that’s gone too still.

I don’t even realize I’m on my knees until my palms press into the dirt.

Sean says to himself. “Okay. Okay.”

He grabs gauze, scissors, a clamp, something metal and sharp. I don’t know what it is. I only know it’s bloody fast .

And then, Knox’s body twitches.

His fingers jerk once.

Then nothing.

Sean pauses. “Wait,”

The rise and fall of his chest halts. My lungs seize.

Knox’s eyes stay shut. His mouth slackens.

“Fuck, he’s crashing,” Sean snaps. “His heart, shit.”

I can’t move. I can’t think.

Sean throws himself over Knox’s body, and the world narrows to nothing but his hands and that unresponsive chest. He starts CPR, slamming his palms into him with harsh, brutal force. His rhythm controlled.

“One, two, three—four, don’t you fucking go quiet on me, soldier!”

His arms lock and unlock. Over and over. Thirty compressions. Then he leans down, seals his mouth over Knox’s, and breathes life into him.

Twice.

He pulls back, and starts compressions again. I hear the bones shifting beneath his palms, the wet drag of blood soaking the dirt beneath them.

I can’t breathe.

I press my hand over my mouth, feel the tremble in my ribs. My stomach twists so violently it hurts.

His name slips from me, cracked and trembling. “Knox…”

Behind me, I hear a sound that splits the air.

A ragged, choked, shattered sound .

“Knox!” Ryker cracks, and when I turn, I see it.

His whole body is shaking. He drops to his knees beside me, his hands trembling so badly he can’t keep them still.

“No, no, no, no, come on, man. Come on, brother ! ” He breaks completely, tears running down his face as he leans over Knox’s other side.

“You don’t get to fucking leave. Not you, too. ”

“Let him work, let him,” I try to touch Ryker’s shoulder, but he’s already pressing his hands into the dirt, eyes wide and glassy.

“Do something!” he yells at Sean. “Please, please, just keep working, fuck, he’s not breathing, Sean!”

“I’m trying!” Sean barks. “Just let me work!”

Sean stops and listens.

His fingers go to Knox’s neck, his eyes narrowing.

Nothing. No reaction. No relief.

Ryker shakes his head, tears streaming now. “Don’t do this, Reaper. Don’t leave us.”

I’m crying too, barely breathing, my fingers digging into Knox’s arm, whispering, “Please.” Please come back to me. Please.”

And then,

Sean exhales, eyes wide. “Got him.”

We freeze.

Knox’s chest rises.

He’s back.

My sob hits like a punch to the gut. I crumble forward, pressing my forehead to his chest. I don’t care if it’s soaked with blood. I just need to feel him. I just need to know it’s not over.

Ryker breaks completely beside me. His head drops down, his hands still shaking as he reaches for Knox’s stomach, pressing his palm there like if he lets go, Knox will slip away again. He whispers his name over and over like a mantra, like a prayer.

“Knox… Knox…” He sobs.

And for once, the man who always teases, always smiles, and always keeps it together for the rest of us is the one falling apart.

Because losing Knox isn’t an option.

Because none of us survive without each other.

Sean wipes sweat from his brow, already opening his bag again. “I need to give him blood. My type is O negative. It’ll hold him.”

He pulls out a needle, ties a strip of leather around his upper arm, and taps for a vein. “You,” he points to me without looking. “Here, press down. Don’t stop.”

I nod, crawl forward on my knees, pressing both hands into the gauze packed against the entry wound. I feel the blood warm under my fingers, thick and slow.

He inserts the line. Blood starts to drip. He connects it to another line; one he pushes into Knox’s arm. It’s crude. Quick. But Sean doesn’t waver.

Color starts to return.

His lips aren’t so blue. His breath steadies. Faint, but there.

“God, you stubborn bastard,” I whisper, leaning in to brush my lips against his temple. “You always come back to me.”

Sean exhales, watching. “Come on, big guy. You’re not off the hook yet.”

I look at him. Really look .

“Why are you doing this?” I mumble. “He’s not your responsibility.”

Sean doesn’t look away from Knox. “He and Dante remind me of someone I lost. A long time ago.”

He sounds like broken glass, he places another gaze and I remove my hands from the wound.

Silence stretches until he says, “Tell me what happened to Bryn.”

My chest tightens. I glance toward the river’s edge, where the light cuts through the trees just enough to make her body visible. Her limbs twisted. The gun still near her hand.

“There,” I say quietly. “By the river.”

Sean follows my gaze.

He blinks once.

Then, almost like a sigh of relief, he chuckles. “Thank fuck.”

“She tried to shoot Knox,” I murmur.

“Well.” He pulls the bloodline tighter. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Behind me, Ryker cuts in.

He walks forward, blood on his hands, dirt on his knees. “She killed her.”

I blink up at him. My arms shake. My hands are still stained with Knox’s blood.

“She didn’t flinch,” he says, quieter now. “Our little Bloodhawk.”

I don’t know what breaks in me, but it shatters with a soft, gutted sound. I crawl toward Ryker, and he meets me halfway, pulling me into him. I bury my face into his chest and sob, every ounce of rage, fear, and love pouring out of me in waves I can’t control.

“I can’t lose any of you,” I cry. “I can’t. I won’t make it. ”

His hand cradles the back of my head, fingers sliding into my hair as his lips press against the top of it.

“You won’t,” he whispers. “You won’t lose a single one of us. We’re right here. We’re still breathing.”

Behind us, Knox exhales again, stronger this time.

“He’s breathing.” I mutter. Saying it too loud feels like tempting fate.

Sean sits back, wiping sweat from his brow. His hands are covered in Knox’s blood, but his face carries something close to relief. “Between him and Dante, I’m done for the rest of the year.”

Leaves crunch behind us.

Ryker’s already up, rifle raised, striding toward the tree line without hesitation. His shoulders are tight, ready to break bones if needed.

A sharp whistle cuts through the silence.

He doesn’t lower his gun.

Not until Dante and Max appear from the trees. They are bloody, bruised, but breathing. Their chests heaving, guns still in their hands.

A sob claws out of me, and I don’t think; I run.

I throw myself into both of them, my arms wrapping around them so tightly it hurts. “His heart stopped.” The words shatter in my mouth. “But Sean got him back. He’s breathing. He’s breathing!”

Dante freezes for a second. So does Max.

Then they pull me in, their arms around me like anchors in a storm. Dante’s grip is bruising. Max’s is shaking .

Ryker steps behind me, his body pressing to my back, and Dante reaches out, dragging him in until all of us are wrapped in this desperate, trembling knot of relief.

For one breathless moment, we are all still here .

I close my eyes. I feel their heartbeats. Hear their breaths. Smell the blood, sweat, and dirt on their skin, but when I look back, my chest tightens.

Knox still lies in the dirt, his body surrounded by a dark puddle of his own blood, pale and barely moving but alive.

Bryn’s body lies just beyond him, near the riverbank, twisted and still. Her blood already soaking into the earth.

“Roman?” Ryker faces them. “Is he finally dead?”