21. Gavin

21

GAVIN

F rom my hiding place, I watch the horror show unfold.

Every second that I don't step in, sweep Hellena out of danger, feels like a knife in my gut. Twisting.

Agony.

She's up there, exposed and alone, going through the motions of an event that she should have chosen, that she should have planned and rejoiced in.

And shared with the people she loves. Getting married to me, or Tell, or…

I'm dumbstruck from the moment the dark-haired assailant storms onto the stage.

Especially when he saves Hellena from Marco.

When he stands there without blinking, without even looking at her.

How is he even alive?

But the dark circles under his eyes, the pallor of his skin, says it all.

He belongs to Rachelle, body and mind.

Unfortunately, the minute they take the stage, the whole party goes to shit. Over every wall, out of every bush and from around every corner, Ghosts swarm the place.

I'm glad I was already inside.

Thanks to Tell's disguises and Sing conveniently overlooking our lack of credentials. Not sure what to think about that guy, yet.

And right on cue, Ora and the rest of the Block blast through the back wall of the estate, storming in.

Only instead of the original rescue plan, which involved grabbing Hellena and getting the fuck out of here, they're playing defense against a horde of junkies.

While Marco's men can't decide who to attack first.

Half the time, they're with us, and the next moment, they're turning on our people.

Not that I blame them.

It's not like we gave them any warning that we were coming.

Two bodies smash into me, and I take a knee, launching one over my head, slamming my elbow into the other's face. Both go down, but two more take their place.

"Gav!" Tell hollers from my right, and I instinctively duck, feeling another body soar over my head.

A hand claps into my palm, dragging me to my feet, and we're running toward the stage.

Only to be surrounded by a squad of Ghosts.

Squad is a generous term. More like a pack.

In a heartbeat, we're engaged with way too many hostiles. There's no way we'll last against so many.

"Ideas?!" Tell shouts, bashing the few remaining teeth from a gaunt skull.

"Hit harder, hit faster!"

"Remind me why we aren't shooting these psychos?"

"You want to hit our people? Line of fire, dumbass! You want bullets flying through this place?"

That's when it hits me.

Marco's crew aren't shooting either.

Which means someone is in charge, giving orders. And I have a feeling I know who.

Not that it makes a difference to us if we get torn apart by a dozen wild animals.

"If you dipshits spent half as much energy fighting as you do chatting, you'd be just fine!"

A boot swings past my nose, missing me by an inch. Slamming into one head, then another on the backswing. Fucking Alaya.

"Showoff."

"I just show up !" she spouts, hooking another enemy with her leg and slipping them to the ground.

"Show me that move later!" Tell whoops, catching a flying fist and rolling a guard past him, off balancing the massive thug.

Right into my waiting fist.

"You're too gangly. Requires flexibility and speed."

"You'd be surprised how bendy I am, actually."

"Sounds like a personal problem. Does Hellena know?"

"Every time I start to like you, you go and ruin it, you know that?"

"It's my Southern charm." Alaya breaks a wrist, whipping the poor bastard into a choke hold and knocking him out.

"More like Southern harm."

"And with that, we're done here," I growl, elbowing the last baddie in the face and rushing ahead.

"I see what you did there!" Alaya cackles, bringing up the rear.

The scene on the stage escalated in the time it took us to get through, and before I can make it to Hellena, the whole thing goes ass up.

The whole place freezes, locked in a stalemate.

More Ghosts pile into the grounds, making our escape start to look a little grim.

Then Rachelle lays down an ultimatum.

Followed by some seriously sick shit when she jabs Marco with Devo. I've seen a lot of fucked up things in my day, but that stuff is next level. Never seen someone the first time.

So I'm not surprised when Marco wants to end it.

But instead of shooting himself, he goes for Rachelle.

"Hell!" I shout, bolting for the stage before anyone can stop me. She sees me, her eyes lighting up.

The gun goes off, and we both flinch, looking back to see who got hit.

That's when I realize for the first time who the guy is on the stage. My view was obstructed before.

I couldn't figure out why Hellena looked so shocked.

It's him. Evan. In the flesh. Alive.

He dove for Marco right before the gun went off, knocking Rachelle out of the way and tackling the prone man. No one got hit.

The surge of relief and horror intertwines and erupts through my body in a wicked flush of grief and confusion. Like a rebound of shame and regret slamming into wanting to break down in tears of joy.

Oof. Good thing I'm in control of my emotions.

Evan. How did he survive?

How did Rachelle…?

No time for those questions now.

Raising my gun, I sidle up to the platform, covering Hellena, trying to get her attention. But she's focused on the two men grappling, rolling across the red carpet, fighting for the gun in Marco's hand.

"Stop! Both of you!" She scrambles to her feet, her dress catching and ripping in her dash to intercede in the fight.

"Lena! Watch out!" I'm trying to find a shot, a way to end this. Too many bodies. Too risky.

Marco slams Evan in the face, knocking him back, raising the gun…

That goes soaring from his hand as Hellena kicks out as hard as she can, snapping bones in his hand in the process. Marco howls in pain, flopping back and writhing.

"That is enough!" Rachelle screams, still wearing the microphone.

The noise rattles the windows on the house behind us, adding to the madness around us.

It's another eye in this storm, a pause where every single eye is drawn to the finale. Center stage.

Funny. Evan would really appreciate this sort of thing if he weren't a mindless drone.

Rachelle's perfect makeup is smeared, her gown torn from falling.

And her eyes are wide. Too wide.

Like completely fucking out of her mind wide.

"We said we will have order. We will have what is ours! We will take, consume, fuck, destroy, devour…!" Her voice quavered from high to low, cracking in different tones with every sentence.

Almost like someone else is speaking through her.

Which is our cue to get the hell out of here.

"And kill!"

The motion is so quick.

The barrel of the gun leveling at her side.

And firing point blank into Marco's head.

Another moment of shock, the Ghosts staring in awe of their leader. Marco's men staring in disbelief at the murder of theirs.

Just enough time for me to grab Hellena and drag her off the stage, into my arms.

Alaya, Tell, and a cluster of Block bikers form up around us, ready to make a push for the exit, aiming to get out before anyone can recover enough to put up resistance.

But it's too late.

"Stop them," she cries, and a wall of bodies forms around us.

It's a mix of psychos and suits.

Worse, there are a few of our people mixed in, too, looking grim for the decision they just made. I guess I can't really blame them.

We're kinda fucked.

"I will tell you once more, and even extend the offer to the group trying to break out," Rachelle announces over the press. "Declare yourselves to the Herald. To the Seven. And be free."

"I have a feeling that offer doesn't extend to us," Hellena mutters, gripping my arm tightly.

"Good guess."

None of our formation wavers, but we all look at one another. This is it. We're done.

The chant starts softly, growing louder as it ripples through the gathering.

"To the Herald! To the Seven!"

Again and again.

Until it's a deafening roar, a frenzy of shouting.

All I can do is pull Hellena closer, wrapping an arm around her as Tell leans against both of us from the side.