Page 63 of Revenge Saints

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