Chapter 55

Fifty-Five

IZZY

“ I can’t believe that bitch sold us out,” Ashton growls as he hurries through the forest.

We’ve given up on trying to be stealthy. I can hear at least one of the gunmen behind us, rapidly approaching.

“She was scared,” I reason, my breath coming out in shallow pants. “But can we talk about this when I’m not freaking the fuck out?”

We left as soon as Lacey told the gunmen where we were at. I have no idea what happened to her or to Christian, but I heard a gun go off…

Panic seizes my airway.

He has to be alive.

He has to be.

I refuse to accept any other alternative.

A shot rings out, but this time, it comes from behind me, not all the way back at the party. Wood from a tree directly in front of me splinters and explodes in every direction.

“Izzy!” Ashton calls in alarm.

“I’m okay,” I pant.

But the idiot turns around and hurries back to me. At the same moment, the masked man bursts forward and tackles the wolf shifter to the ground. Ashton lets out an audible “oomph” as he hits the ground.

I don’t think, only react.

I jump onto the gunman’s back and wrap an arm around his throat, cutting off his air. In his shock, he drops the gun, and it lands on Ashton’s stomach. Thank fuck it didn’t accidentally go off.

The gunman staggers to his feet with me still clinging to him like a damn spider monkey. I apply more pressure, but he rams me against a tree, loosening my grip. Rough bark scratches against my skin where my shirt has risen up.

With a snarl, I press my thumbs into his eyeballs through his balaclava.

He screams and flails, desperately trying to dislodge me, but I hold firm. Blood wets my thumbs and the fabric of his headpiece.

With a roar, the gunman grabs my leg and pulls me off of him.

I twist in the air, landing in a crouched position, and I brace myself for his next attack.

Only…it never comes.

There’s a loud bang I feel in the hollow of my bones, reverberating through me. The gunman’s head jerks backwards, and he falls to the ground, blood seeping into the forest floor around him.

Ashton slowly lowers the gun back to his side.

“Are you okay?” he asks, never taking his eyes off the now-dead man.

“Yeah. You?”

His jaw twitches, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he slings the strap of the gun over his neck and begins to move once more.

“There’s still another gunman in the forest. He will no doubt come running at the sound of gunfire. We need to get moving.”

“Ashton…” I don’t know what to say.

He just killed a man to protect me. And though his face is impassive, an apathetic mask, I can see cracks throughout.

“Let’s go,” he says curtly, letting me know in no uncertain terms to drop the conversation.

And I follow.

We skirt around trees until we finally reach the other side of the forest, closest to where the gunman stands with the children. Neither of us speaks. A frigid type of tension permeates the air, lifting the hairs on both of my arms and causing my skin to ripple with goose bumps.

So far, we haven’t run into the second gunman, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen. There’s no doubt in my mind that he heard the gunshot, and we weren’t exactly being subtle when we hurried away. There’s a trail of trampled leaves and smudged footprints leading directly to us.

We need to be quick but smart.

Okay, think, Izzy, think.

There’s one gunman near the children, but a few more surround the adult wolf shifters. We need to take the lone gunman out first…but without alerting the others to our presence.

Ashton holds his gun up and aims it at the back of the gunman’s head.

“What are you doing?” I whisper-hiss.

My breathing is slightly erratic, both because of the rapid trek through the forest and the fear pulsating through me.

“We need to take him out,” Ashton replies tersely.

“Have you ever even held a gun before?” I demand, and darkness flashes in Ashton’s eyes. I know he’s thinking of the man he just killed, so I quickly change the subject. “Ashton, you can’t take the risk, not with how close he is to the kids. What if you miss and hit one of them instead? Not to mention the fact that it’ll alert every single gunman here to our location.”

Ashton’s entire body begins to shake, but he still doesn’t lower the gun.

Through the branches and leaves, I can just barely make out the gunman pacing in front of the crying kids. He’s just as tall as all the others, though not as broad. I wouldn’t say he’s lanky, necessarily, but something about him suggests that he’s younger than the others.

“And if you kill him, who knows what the fuck will happen to Christian,” I continue in a rapid-fire whisper, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.

Someone needs to remain calm, and it’s apparent that person isn’t going to be Ashton. I’ve never seen him so…unhinged before. The man has lived his life following carefully curated rules, and every single one of them has just gone up in flames.

“What if we’re too late? What if he’s already dead?” Ashton whispers.

“He’s not dead,” I snap—probably too loudly. I quickly work to moderate my volume before I alert anyone to our location. “He’s not dead.”

“And where’s Emery? And Reid? And my father? Where did Ethan go?” Tremors rumble through his body, and a bead of sweat slides down his forehead.

“Ashton, lower the gun.”

“I don’t know what to do. I was supposed to protect them, but I failed. I fail at everything. I can’t?—”

“Ashton, lower the goddamn gun,” I hiss, and my words finally seem to penetrate his downward spiral.

He inhales shakily, tears misting in his eyes, and slowly lowers the gun back to his side.

I thought I would be able to drag in a full breath now that the imminent threat is over, but I can’t. There’s too much at stake.

“Come on,” I whisper, moving farther down the tree line until I have a better view of what’s happening.

Tall trees lean together overhead, their branches knotted, but they provide a large enough hole to see out of while still remaining hidden. Now that I’m looking at everything from the side, I can spot things I didn’t notice prior.

Like Hale and Gerry, huddled in the center of the shifters, matching scowls on their faces as they glare up at the picnic table.

And there, behind them, I see Mr. Remington and Silas.

Emilia and Mimi are with men and women I believe are their parents.

No Desiree.

No Emery or Reid.

I try not to let panic take root. It’s a good thing that I don’t see them. That could mean that they weren’t around when the gunmen arrived and started rounding everyone up.

Taking a deep breath, and bracing myself for what I’m about to see, I flick my gaze towards the picnic table.

Relief causes every muscle in my body to loosen.

Christian’s alive.

He’s fucking alive.

He’s on his knees in the center of the table, his head lowered and his body trembling, but he’s breathing. I can see the rise and fall of his chest.

But what’s wrong with him?

Why isn’t he moving?

Look at me, I mentally scream. I’m here. I’m coming for you. You’re safe.

A force that seems imprinted on every corner of my soul flares to life.

Look at me.

Please look at me.

Christian doesn’t lift his head.

It’s only then I catch sight of the second body beside the first, her features slack in death.

Oh god.

I place my hand over my mouth to muffle my intake of breath. I’m way too close to the edge now to risk making a sound.

Lacey’s dead.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

My breathing turns thready, and I squeeze my eyelids shut and count backwards from five. When I reach one, I snap my eyes open and prepare myself for what I have to do next.

Ashton’s still behind me, his face pale and eyes glazed, and I gesture for him to stay where he is. His brows arch upwards, but I’m already moving through the trees, diving behind a camping chair before anyone can see me.

I refuse to let my guard down as I crawl from chair to chair—all of them scattered haphazardly across the lawn—towards the gunman and the children. The leader continues to speak, his accented voice slashing at my skin like a thousand tiny needles.

I slowly stick my head around the chair and come face-to-face with a toddler with blonde ringlets and puffy cheeks. Her tear-filled eyes meet mine, widening in horror. I quickly place my finger to my lips, indicating for her to remain silent.

She stares at me, her mouth parted, tears cascading down her face.

I have no idea if she’ll heed my request, and I don’t plan to stay around long enough to find out.

Silently, I creep out from behind the chair and move towards the gunman, who has his back towards me. This may possibly be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life, but I have to try.

Nobody else besides the kids is aware of me yet. The adult shifters are all staring intently at the picnic table-slash-stage, and the other gunmen are focusing on the shifters.

I turn towards the kids, give them what I hope is a reassuring thumbs-up, and then refocus on my target. His back is still towards me, his attention fixed on the picnic table with the others, and I take my chance.

With an almost blistering speed, I place one hand over his mouth and my arm around his neck. I begin to drag us both backwards, his body kicking and flailing. Panic sets in—I’m not sure how much longer I can hold him—but then Ashton’s there, capturing his legs, and the two of us drag the man into the forest.

When we’re far enough away that no one will overhear us, Ashton hisses out, “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Wasn’t thinking,” I pant out, my body shaking with both exertion and adrenaline—the latter of which is rapidly dissipating.

Damn, this fucker’s heavy. And he keeps biting me. The second time he does it, I release his throat and slap him across the face from my position above him.

“Stop fucking biting me.”

After removing the gun from his body, I release him, and after a moment, Ashton does as well. But before the man can even get to his feet, Ashton points the stolen gun at his forehead. I aim the second one at him as well.

I’m honestly not sure if I could shoot him. Not like this.

I’ve killed before, but that was self-defense.

Could I shoot someone when they’re on their back with no weapons, their hands in the air?

“Take your mask off,” Ashton says curtly, jerking his chin up.

The man doesn’t react.

Ashton brings the gun even closer to his face. “I said, take the fucking mask off.”

A wry chuckle erupts from the gunman’s lips as he moves to grab the fabric. I watch him like a hawk, unsure of what other weapons he has on his body.

He pulls the balaclava over his head, the material messing up his dirty blond hair.

A familiar, grinning face stares back at me.

“Kain?” I don’t know why I’m surprised, especially with what Christian told me in the car, but shock holds me immobile, cements my feet to the ground.

Ashton doesn’t look too surprised either, though his eyes flash with a murderous intensity. “Tell me why I shouldn’t put a bullet through your head right this fucking instant.”

Kain chuckles, still keeping his hands out in front of him to show us he isn’t armed. “Because you’re Ashton James. You’re not a killer.”

Ashton’s jaw tightens. “What the fuck were you doing? Who are those people? Are your brothers involved?”

I remember, belatedly, that Kain is in a pack with his older brothers.

Kain’s smile merely broadens, revealing two rows of perfectly white teeth. “You’re on the losing side, my man. I know you don’t want to hear it, but it’s the truth. The world is changing, and you can either join the movement or get left behind and die with the others.” Something dark and almost manic flicks to life in the shifter’s gaze. “He knows that we’re the superior species. It won’t be long until the world knows it as well.”

“What the fuck are you going on about?” Ashton demands at the same time I ask, “Who’s he ?”

Kain’s gaze shifts to me, and the expression on his face has panic jangling my nerves. “Those deaths out there? They’re your fault. All we wanted was you. If you would’ve come to us, those shifters would still be alive.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ashton seethes.

“He doesn’t want to hurt you,” Kain continues, ignoring Ashton entirely, his shrewd gaze trained on me. “He just needs you to?—”

Ashton knocks him unconscious with the butt of the gun. Kain’s eyes roll into the back of his head.

“Don’t listen to him,” Ashton tells me fiercely. “He’s just trying to get into your head. It is not your fault that Sam and Lacey died, you hear me?”

Ashton glares at Kain’s limp form and then leans forward to spit on him.

I jerk myself back to awareness, wiping away the sludgy remnants of Kain’s words as if he physically threw them at me.

“I need to get the kids to safety. Only then will the shifters be willing to fight.”

“Go.” Ashton begins to remove his belt. “I’m going to secure him to a tree. We might be able to get more answers out of him later.”

“Be careful.”

Ashton wets his lip with a sound of regret. He doesn’t meet my stare as he begins to drag Kain’s limp body towards the nearest tree.

At first, I don’t think he’s going to acknowledge what I said, but as I begin to hurry back the way I came, I hear his voice, soft and unsure, “You too.”