Page 168 of Revenge Saints

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.