Page 62

C oncrete blocks dragged Oakley under, my world shattering. The rope caught on the dead man’s body, taking him under too. Her hand vanished beneath the dark water, fingertips reaching once—then gone. No thought. No calculation. Just blind fucking terror.

"OAKLEY!" Her name ripped from my throat as I launched myself into the water, my body cutting through air before slamming into the surface.

Water punched through my lungs, oxygen ripped away. Every nerve screamed for air, but nothing existed except her—absolutely fucking nothing.

Through swirling darkness, her form appeared, sinking like stone, hair floating around her face like a halo in the churning water. The body entangled with her, bloated limbs dragging her deeper into the abyss.

I shot forward, my arms extending through the water. My fingers closed around Oakley's shoulder first, gripping her tightly as I pulled her toward me. The corpse's arm wrapped around her waist, his dead weight tugging her down. I grabbed his shoulder with my other hand, pushing hard against his chest to separate them. His body refused to budge, the water making every movement sluggish.

I grabbed that asshole's corpse, trying to rip it away from her. My fingers slipped uselessly against waterlogged clothes. Arms shaking, movements jerky, lungs burning—too slow, too fucking slow to reach her. I dug my fingers into his jacket, using all my strength to tear him away from Oakley. My knee jammed against his torso for leverage as I yanked Oakley free from his grip.

My bat wedged between their bodies, fighting to separate them as I grabbed my wife with my free arm, pulling her toward me. With Oakley's waist secure in my grip, I shoved the bat hard against the corpse's chest, pushing him away.

The bat got stuck in his waterlogged clothes. I pulled with desperation, lungs screaming for oxygen, spots dancing across my vision. The choice was clear—Oakley's deadweight in one arm, my bat trapped in the other. My vision darkened more, time running out.

My fingers uncurled from the handle—letting go of the only constant in my fucked up life.

The thing that freed me from childhood hell. The extension of my body that had given me every moment of power, of control, of existence. Each groove and stain told the story of another kill, another victory, proof that I was the one still standing.

The water seemed to grab it greedily, pulling it down faster than it should have fallen. All I'd ever been disappeared into the depths as I chose her over everything I'd ever known. The bat disappeared like it never was. My hand felt... nothing.

I let go of everything I'd ever been, and still she wasn't breathing.

My hand found the rough concrete block tied to her ankle. The rope was tight, swollen with water. I tugged at the knot, but it was too secure. I wedged my fingers between the rope and her ankle, pulling with all my strength. The fibers cut into my hand as I strained against it. I braced my foot against the block and pulled Oakley in the opposite direction, feeling the rope begin to give. One final violent jerk and the rope snapped, the concrete block tumbling away into the depths.

I wrapped her in my arms, kicking upward. My muscles screamed against her weight and the water's resistance. Every thrust fought against the darkness that wanted to claim us both.

I broke the surface, sucking in fresh air. Oakley hung lifeless in my arms, head lolling against my shoulder. Skin gray, lips bluish and parted, no breath passing between them. No fucking movement. Nothing.

"Stay with me," I snarled, fighting toward shore through water that seemed determined to drag us back down.

The bank sucked at my boots, mud grabbing like hands trying to pull us back into the depths. I staggered forward, refusing to fall, refusing to fail her. When I finally reached solid ground, I dropped to my knees, laying Oakley's motionless body on the mud.

Her chest didn't move. Her face remained empty. Death was coming for her.

"Oakley." My voice cracked as I pressed my ear to her chest, searching for any sign of life. Only silence answered, a void where her heartbeat should be.

I tilted her head back, pinched her nose, and sealed my mouth over hers. Her lips unmoving against mine. I forced my breath into her lungs, feeling the resistance of fluid still trapped inside, watching her chest rise under my command. Once. Twice. Her flesh felt unyielding beneath my hands, with the taste of mud and metal on her lips—the taste of death trying to take what was mine.

My hands positioned over her chest, driving compressions, feeling her ribs give slightly beneath my strength—the sickening flex of bone that would normally mean I was killing, not saving. The contrast wasn't lost on me. These same hands that had crushed windpipes and shattered skulls were now desperately trying to restart her heart. "Don't you fucking leave me."

The marks mirroring my own childhood scars—history repeating itself in the worst fucking way. Another breath forced into her mouth, forcing life back into her even if it meant surrendering my own.

I could feel her chest expand beneath my palm, then deflate without resistance. More compressions, harder this time. I counted them out loud—a desperate mantra. "One, two, three, four..." Each one a demand, a prayer, a threat to whatever force was trying to take her. The ground beneath my knees turned to mud, mixed with my own blood from scraped skin, but I didn't feel it. Nothing existed but this—but her.

"You owe me a fucking answer," I snarled between breaths. "You fucking promised me, Oakley."

Nothing. Just the trickle of water slipping from her mouth, like the last thread tying her to this world. Everything else blurred—time, breath, memory—until all that remained was her pale face.

Too late. I'm too fucking late.

I bent over her, forehead against hers, as if I could anchor her to me. As if grief alone could drag her back. Then I sealed my mouth over hers again, pushed another breath into her lungs, and started compressions all over. Harder. Deeper. Desperate.

A spasm rocked through her body. Water gushed from her mouth as her lungs expelled the toxic sludge. I wrenched her onto her side, supporting her head as her body fought for survival. Each convulsion meant life. She was fighting. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths—unconscious but alive. A small sound escaped her throat, barely audible over the rain.

My body sagged. For one second, I could breathe.

Twigs snapped in the distance. Branches rustled as figures pushed through the treeline surrounding the lake. Voices called out commands, growing louder as they approached. Along the road behind them, sirens wailed.

"Over there!" A powerful flashlight beam hit my face. I shielded Oakley's eyes with my hand.

More boots crashed through the underbrush. Three officers emerged from different points along the shore, converging on us. Their weapons drawn, they sloshed through the shallows, uniforms soaked and heavy. The closest one raised his radio, calling for an ambulance while keeping his gun trained on me.

"Don't move! Hands where I can see them!" The lead officer advanced, wading through knee-deep water. His holster dripped as he climbed onto the shore, leaving wet bootprints in the mud.

I lowered Oakley back to the ground, fingers lingering on her cheek.

The void took over. Prez's training resurfaced—the emptiness before a kill. Hands flexing, I measured distances between each target. Three officers now stood in a loose semicircle around us. Targets. Just fucking targets. I'd eliminated worse odds before.

My fingers lingered on her wrist—her pulse weak but steady. Standing slowly, water dripping from my soaked clothes, I moved toward the treeline.

The first officer never saw me coming. One hand clamping over his mouth, the rough stubble of his face scraping against my palm. My other hand gripped his head, fingers digging into the soft spot behind his ear. A savage twist and he dropped, death traveling up my arms like a familiar song.

The second cop turned just as I reached him, eyes widening. I slammed my fist into his throat, crushing his larynx. His weapon clattered to the ground as he clutched his neck, the gurgling sounds of a man drowning in his own blood filling my ears. I grabbed the gun before it hit mud, the weight familiar in my hand despite the rain making the metal slick. I pressed it against his temple and pulled the trigger. The silenced shot punched through his skull, spraying droplets across my face.

One left. I moved back toward the shore where the final officer crouched behind a fallen log, his radio crackling with backup requests. The familiar rhythm of the hunt pulsed through me—the only time I'd ever felt truly alive before Oakley.

My blood roared in my ears as I approached him from behind. This time I wanted to feel it, needed to feel it—the death I'd been dealing out since I was fifteen. I grabbed him by the hair, the wet strands wrapped around my fingers like seaweed, yanking his head back before driving my knee into his spine with enough force to shatter it. The impact jarred up my leg, the crunch of his bones shattering sending a familiar ripple of satisfaction through me. His body convulsed against mine, then went limp—dead weight slumping against me before I let him fall.

More sirens built behind me, converging like a closing trap. I dropped the officer's body, his blood coating my hands, wet against the rain.

Reality crashed into me like a fucking freight train. I couldn't kill them all. And then what? What was my endgame? Running forever with Oakley, both of us hunted like animals? Watching her waste away in fear, always looking over her shoulder, never knowing peace? I'd killed to protect her, but for the first time, killing might not save her.

Knees giving way, throat closing around a scream that wouldn't come. Her form lay where I'd left her, breathing shallow but steady in the mud. The fight had drained what little strength the near-drowning had left in her.

Turn myself in.

Maybe it was better this way—better than shackling her to a monster who brought nothing but death. The void opened inside me as I stumbled back toward her through the rain.

I dropped beside her, gathering her against my chest. She wasn't moving, breathing nearly imperceptible. I pressed my forehead against hers.

"I'll come back for you," I whispered against her skin, words only she would ever hear. "I swear I'll come back."

I'd burn every last piece of myself for her to draw another breath. I would rot in a cell forever, and it would be worth it knowing she was safe. But never seeing her smile again, never hearing her laugh, never feeling her warmth against me—a torture I couldn't have imagined existed until now.

Fingertips memorizing every curve of her face—the slope of her cheek, the arc of her eyebrows, the small scar near her temple from childhood. Details to sustain me through a lifetime of concrete and steel.

"I love you," I whispered, the words scraping my throat raw. "You fucking hear me? I fucking love you, Oakley." Never forget that when I'm gone.

Movement caught my eye—a surgical mask dangled in the air before me.

"Hey, kid."