Page 5 of Revenge Saints (BloodHawks Duet #2)

B ryn…

Blood is everywhere. Her body limp in my arms.

No! Bryn!

I scream, but no sound comes out.

I run. I keep running.

There’s a shadow ahead; I stop. My body burns like fire, but my hands are ice cold.

“Doll. ”

His voice.

I choke on a sob and break into a sprint.

Dante.

I run faster, desperate to reach him, but he keeps slipping further away.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t touch him.

“Dante!” I cry, begging him to stop, to wait, to see me.

A laugh echoes through the trees.

Then—

Gunshot. A scream.

“No! Bryn! Dante!”

I fall to my knees, lungs aching, heart breaking.

And then I see him, Roman.

Not his face. Just the sound, the shadow.

“Come to me, princess,” he groans.

Bile rises. My stomach twists. I gag.

I’m going to throw up—

“Aspen!”

He cuts through the nightmare.

“Aspen, wake up!”

My eyes snap open, and the vomit comes out fast, splattering the floor.

Knox is there, holding my head steady.

Max is in front of me with a bucket in his hands.

“You’re okay, pet,” Knox whispers, pulling me close. His tattooed arms wrap around me. I want to melt into him, to disappear, but another wave hits .

More vomit, more pain.

“You’re safe here,” he murmurs. I hear the panic laced beneath his calm.

I want to tell him I’m fine, but I can’t. The words won’t come.

“We got you, sweetheart.”

Max’s hand rubs slow circles on my back.

I’m heaving now, body trembling, throat raw.

There’s nothing left to give, but it won’t stop.

My vision is still blurred, but I see someone kneeling in front of me.

“Aspen, I need you to breathe in and count to five,” Max is calm, but there’s an edge to it.

I shake my head, unable to focus.

“Come on, pet,” Knox is firmer, more commanding now.

I can feel it slipping, the panic, the chaos of everything. I’m losing it.

Suddenly, a hand wraps around my neck, and I gasp, the pressure growing. I claw at the skin, my nails sinking deep.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Max murmurs.

The hand tightens, and I can’t breathe, what the hell is he doing?

Rage sparks through me. I open my eyes, trying to shove him away. But it’s not Knox. It’s Ryker, kneeling in front of me, his dark eyes locked on mine as his hand grips my neck.

“Good girl,” Knox murmurs in my ear, low and soothing. I realize the nausea has stopped. My breathing has slowed, and my body feels heavy, like it’s been run over by a truck .

Ryker’s smile is slow and controlled as he gently releases his grip, his fingers trailing lightly over the spot on my neck where his hand was just pressing.

“Welcome back, love,” he says, his tone a low rumble as he caresses my skin.

Max raises his hand, gently placing it on my face.

“She’s not hot anymore,” he says.

“Thank fuck,” Knox mutters, his tone heavy with relief and frustration.

“How long was I out?” I ask Max, noticing the guys are wearing fresh clothes, no blood in sight, and sunlight flickers through the gaps between the wooden planks covering the windows.

“Eighteen hours,” he says with a small smile, standing. “I’m going to heat the water.” He strides out of the room, and Ryker follows without a word.

I turn slowly to Knox, who’s lying on the bed beside me, his arm wrapped around my waist.

“You stayed here all night?”

He looks exhausted, like he hasn’t slept at all.

“We all did,” he says, nodding toward the two mismatched couches shoved against the walls.

They stayed… all of them stayed with me.

“I’m sorry.” I don’t even know why I say it. Maybe it’s the guilt, knowing I made them worry. I’m not supposed to be this person, the helpless one.

“Don’t do that.” Knox’s cuts through my thoughts.

“Do what?” I ask, brushing it off as I turn toward him .

He smirks, his tone lighter but knowing. “Overthink shit.”

“I wasn’t,” I lie, crossing my arms as I try to move my leg, but the pain hits like a blade to the bone.

“Don’t lie to me, pet. I see right through you.”

His eyes locked on mine, and my heartbeat stumbles, quickens. My thoughts betray me, drifting to him, to Dante… to the way they both took care of me. How they both made me feel like I mattered.

“You can take a bath now.” Max walks in, holding a roll of plastic wrap. He kneels beside me and gently lifts my injured leg, starting to wrap it around my thigh gently.

“This will keep it dry. I’ll make a fresh one after you’re cleaned up.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, staring at my leg. It feels like something’s still embedded deep beneath the skin, throbbing with every movement.

I shift to the edge of the bed and try to stand. The moment my foot hits the ground, I stumble; Max’s arms catch me before I fall.

Knox exhales hard. “Stop being so fucking stubborn and let us help.”

“I just wanted to try walking on my own!” I snap, twisting toward him.

He’s still sprawled out on the bed, legs parted, arms behind his head, that damn devilish smirk tugging at his lips like he’s enjoying the show.

“Just get to the bathtub, pet.”

I glare at Knox, arms crossing tight over my chest like I’m holding myself together with bone and spite. Who the hell does he think he is? This isn’t his base. He doesn’t get to bark orders at me. Not anymore.

Something inside me twists. Too tight. Too hot. It’s been building—grief, rage, confusion—and I don’t know where to put it.

“I’ll go when I want to, Knox,” I snarl, tone sharp enough to draw blood. My eyes lock onto his, daring him to try again. Daring someone to give me a reason.

He sits up slowly, every muscle in his chest and arms coiling, tension winding beneath his skin, but the smirk stays, lazy and maddening.

“Let’s not poke the fucking bear, sweetheart,” Max cuts in with amusement. Before I can react, he scoops me up like I weigh nothing, and I yelp, startled.

He carries me out of the room, down the hall, and into the bathroom, setting me gently on the cool wooden floor.

“I warmed up some water earlier; it’s probably gone lukewarm by now, but-”

“It’s fine, Max. Thank you.” I say, offering him a small smile.

He turns to leave, hand on the doorframe, but pauses. “We’re going to get him back,” he says quietly. He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t wait for a reply. The door shuts behind him before I can speak.

My heart clenches like it’s being squeezed in someone’s fist.

Dante…

I close my eyes, drawing in a breath. No. I can’t break. Not now. For him, for them, for Bryn. I have to stay strong.

As I strip down, I take in the space around me.

The bathroom is small, the kind you’d find in an old farmhouse.

Wooden panels line the walls, aged and slightly warped, like they’ve soaked in decades of quiet.

The tiles are cracked in places, and the corners are dusted with cobwebs that were clearly just cleaned off. It smells faintly of old cedar.

The bathtub sits beneath a narrow, foggy window—claw-footed, stained with age. It’s not deep enough for any of the guys to fit in comfortably, but it’s warm. Quiet.

I sink back, watching the water shift colors as blood clouds around me, curling like smoke.

Mine… and Bryn’s.

God, my chest aches more than my leg ever could.

Everything feels too loud today—the creak of the floorboards, the hum of the fridge, the weight of air pressing against my ribs. My skin’s too tight. My thoughts won’t line up. I want to scream. Cry. Break something. And I don’t even know why.

The world won’t stop moving, and I need it to. Just for a second. Just so I can breathe.

I still can’t make sense of it. Why kill her but not me?

We ran together. We were side by side. Why shoot only her?

And I came back. I came back for her. They had the shot. They could’ve killed me too.

Something isn’t right.

And Roman killing Ethan… why? Wasn’t it because of Ethan that Roman knew about the base? Wasn’t Ethan the one who gave hi m weapons, the bullets, and the information?

Maybe Knox is right. Maybe I’m just overthinking it. Maybe they killed her because she shot two of his men.

I want answers… But deep down, I know I might never get them.

Reaching for a bottle, I pour the contents into my hand and work it through my hair.

The scent is faint, something herbal and old, but it’s clean.

I scrub the dried blood and sweat from my skin, each movement making me wince.

Then I sink beneath the warm water, letting it hold me, letting the silence wrap around me like a blanket.

A knock at the door breaks the stillness.

“You okay in there?” Max asks gently.

“Yes, almost done, sorry,” I call back, slowly rising. Water cascades down my body, and as I catch my reflection in the mirror across the room, I see it: bruises, cuts, raw reminders of that awful day.

I try to lift my leg to step out, but pain shoots through it, and I wince hard. Getting in was definitely easier than getting out.

“Max?” My tone is quiet, hesitant.

“Yeah?” he answers immediately, like he was waiting right outside.

“Can you… help me, please?”

I hear the knob turn, and Max steps inside. Instinct kicks in; I try to cover myself, arms rushing up, and he notices. His eyes flicker with something like sadness.

God, it’s not because of him. It’s just… everything’s weird now. My body, my mind—I don’t even know how to react.

He turns slightly, keeping his gaze off me as he grabs a towel and holds it out. “Here.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, taking it and wrapping it around myself.

“No problem, sweetheart.” Then, without waiting for more awkwardness, he lifts me into his arms and carries me to the bedroom.

The sheets are fresh, thank God. The others must’ve been soaked in blood. On the corner nightstand, there’s a bowl of fruit, and laid out neatly on the bed are a dark shirt, cargo pants… and, to my surprise , panties. Pink, slightly faded, but clean.

Max sets me down gently, and I nod toward the underwear with a raised brow. “How did you manage that?”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m guessing whoever lived here didn’t make it. They left everything behind, including the drawers full of clothes.”

The plague tore through the world like fire.

Millions gone in less than twelve months.

Cremations became protocol. Entire neighborhoods were left behind, frozen in time and untouched.

Authorities banned survivors from returning to their homes or retrieving anything from abandoned houses… said it was dangerous and contaminated.

The last official update we got before the world went dark said only twenty percent of the global population had survived.

After that… silence.

No news. No radio. Just a few paper flyers scattered through ruined streets .

“I’ll let you get dressed,” Max says, and my mind returns back to the room.

I nod, watching him leave before picking up the clothes. Slipping them on, piece by piece, feels like sliding back into something close to normal. My head’s still foggy, my body stiff, and there are too many questions clawing in my mind… But I’m not ready to ask them.

I grab a slice of pear and a couple pieces of apple from the bowl and eat slowly, giving myself a moment.

Outside the bedroom, I hear voices. The sound of them makes my chest tighten. I take a deep breath, then push open the door that leads to the hallway. It’s dark, every window covered with nailed-down planks. Our shield from the outside world.

“You look better,” Ryker says as I limp into the living room, each step a dull, dragging throb that claws up my thigh.

I try to straighten, pretend I’m not wincing, but the ache pulses like it’s got teeth.

“You guys too.” My gaze drifts over the three of them.

They’ve changed into fresh clothes, cleaned up…

But it’s not the same. There’s a weight in the room, a silence where Dante should be.

Ever since Bryn and I were caught by them, he hasn’t left the base. He was the constant. The calm.

Now it feels like the center’s just… gone.

“Did you eat?” Knox cuts in, dominant.

My eyes snap to him, narrowed and hot.

“Yes. I did.”

It spits out sharper than I mean, but I don’t pull it back.

I can’t. The pressure inside me bursts like glass, and he’s just unlucky enough to be standing too close when it happens.

I spin on my heel, needing distance. Needing to outrun the pressure building in my chest like a scream I can’t release.

“Don’t,” he says, voice low, firm—like he knows. Like he sees the storm curling in my throat. I stop, spine straightening. “Excuse me?” I snap, turning around to face him.

He rises from the couch, slow, every movement calculated, like a predator closing in on his prey.

“Tell me.” He growls, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that almost burns.

“Tell you what?” My patience snaps, and my fist clenches by my side, nails digging into my palm.

“You’re pissed.” His smirk is arrogant, and that’s all it takes. I feel my blood boil.

“I am!” I spit the words out, but I don’t get far before he’s in front of me, hand wrapping around my arm. Instinct kicks in, and I swing at him.

He ducks it, and the bastard chuckles. “Try again, pet.”

I want to scream. Why the hell is he being like this?

I swing again, fury and frustration fueling every movement. He catches my hand mid-punch and lets it go, mocking me with that damn smirk.

“Is that it?” The corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s fighting a smile.

I lurch at him, fists flying left and right, and then I throw my leg out. The pain shoots up my thigh, but I don’t care. It’s like I need to break something. Him. The world. Me .

He catches my leg easily, his strength cutting through my wild rage. Tsking under his breath, he turns me around, twisting my arm behind me. My back slams into his chest, the heat of him wrapping around me like a fucking furnace.

He doesn’t let go. Doesn’t ease the pressure.

“Let me go!” I scream, the anger and hurt spilling out.

“I’m sorry,” the words hitting like a cold wave against the burning heat inside me. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep Bryn alive. I’m sorry they took Dante. It should’ve been me, pet.”

The confession hits me harder than the punches. The grip loosens, but I don’t turn around. I can’t.

He releases me and strides toward the back door, his movements stiff, controlled, but I see the cracks, the pain bleeding through in every step.

“Oh no,” I murmur, panic bubbling in my chest. Did he think I blamed him? Did he really think my anger was for him?

“Knox!” I scream after him, my legs giving out beneath me. Ryker’s there in an instant, steadying me.

“He’s fine, love,” Ryker says softly, but I see the worry in his eyes. “Just give him time.”

I shake my head; tears I hadn’t realized were there falling freely.

“It’s not his fault!” I say desperate. I can’t stop them. The tears, the pain, the guilt—it all rises up and spills over.

“It was never his fault!”