13. June

Chapter thirteen

June

I 'm drowning in a sea of agony, every nerve ending screaming as the machine tears into my mind, ripping and shredding, seeking the most tender places to sink its claws. I try to focus on Cara, on the sweet balm of her smile, the honeyed warmth of her eyes, but even those precious memories are tainted now, twisted into grotesque mockeries by Faulkner's insidious manipulations.

Cara's face looms before me, but it's wrong, distorted, a cruel caricature of the woman I love. Her eyes are black, soulless pits, her grin a razor-slash of malice. "You're nothing, June," she hisses, her voice dripping with venom. "A pathetic, broken toy for me to play with until I tire of you. Did you really think I could ever love a worthless piece of shit like you?"

I try to shake my head, to deny the poisonous lies spilling from her lips, but I'm paralyzed, helpless, trapped in this nightmare of Faulkner's making. The doubts that he's planted take root, insidious tendrils burrowing deep, wrapping around my heart and squeezing until I can't breathe.

Maybe she's right. Maybe I am nothing, nobody, just a plaything for the rich and powerful to use and discard at their whim. Maybe Cara never loved me at all, maybe our life together was just a beautiful, terrible lie...

But then, through the haze of pain and despair, I feel it. The gentlest brush of warmth, of light, against the tattered edges of my psyche. A presence that I would know anywhere, in this life or the next.

"June." Her voice is a whisper, an ember glowing in the darkness. "June, my love. I'm here."

"Cara?" It takes everything I have to shape her name, to push it past the knot of anguish in my throat. "Is it... are you real?"

"Shhh." Her touch ghosts over my brow, soothing the fevered ache. "Don't try to talk. Just listen. Just feel. This isn't real, June. What they're showing you, the doubts they're forcing on you - it's all poison, all lies."

I want it to be true. I want to believe in her, in us, with every fractured shard of my being. But the roots of Faulkner's deception run so deep, the taint of it festering in my very marrow.

"How do I know this isn't a trick too?" The anguished rasp of my voice is a foreign thing, broken and bleeding. "Another mind game, another way to break me?"

There's an aching tenderness in her gaze as she leans in close, her lips a hairsbreadth from mine. "Remember our first kiss?" she breathes, and it's like every molecule in my body strains toward the honeyed warmth of her. "Remember how it felt like coming home, like finding a piece of yourself you never knew was missing? Remember what you said to me after, with the stars caught in my hair and your heart in your eyes?"

And I do. God, I do. It washes over me in a wave of sense-memory so vivid, so intense, it's like I'm there again, drowning in the jasmine of her perfume and the taste of forever on her lips.

"I will love you," I whisper, the words tearing out of me on a sob, "until the stars burn out and the universe goes cold. I will fight for you, bleed for you, die for you, and count myself lucky. Because you, Cara Briers, are my heaven, my hope, the very best part of me."

Her smile is incandescent, blinding, a supernova bursting to life in the void. "That's it, June. That's the truth they can never take from us. No matter what they do, no matter how hard they try to break you - I will always be yours, and you will always be mine. Unshakeable, unbreakable, bound in love and blood and the promise of a thousand lifetimes."

She kisses me then, and it sears through me like wildfire, burning away the fog of Faulkner's lies, the insidious coils of doubt and despair. In this stolen heartbeat, in this fragile eternity carved out of nightmare, there is only her. Only us. Only the bond forged in adversity and tempered in devotion, the unbreakable thread of our souls.

And along with the pure, singing joy of it, there kindles a darker flame. An ember of rage, of righteous fury, glowing white-hot in the crucible of my heart.

How dare they. How fucking dare they try to take this from me, from us. This shining, sacred thing, this love that has moved mountains and rewritten the laws of gravity. I have ripped out men's throats for daring to bruise her skin, burned cities to ash for the crime of making her cry. I have stormed the gates of Hell and looked the devil in his eyes, and I would do it all again, a thousand times over, without hesitation.

Because she is everything. The beat of my heart, the breath in my lungs, the keystone of my existence. And I will fight for her, kill for her, paint the fucking streets red with the blood of any fool who seeks to part us.

"Cara." My voice is stronger now, edged in steel and brimstone. "Cara, my valkyrie, my northern star. I need you to do something for me."

"Anything." There's no reluctance, no fear in her. Only faith, pure and shining. "For you, June, anything."

I cup her face in my hands, memorizing every beloved curve and angle. "I need you to step back. Just for a moment, just long enough for me to do what needs to be done. I don't... I can't let you see me like this. Like the monster they've forced me to become."

Her eyes blaze, incandescent with love and fury. "You could never be a monster, not to me. You're a warrior, a knight in blood-stained armor. My savior, my strength, my heart walking outside my body. And there is no part of you, no piece of your soul, that I will ever turn away from."

Tears sting my eyes, gratitude and adoration a living thing in my chest. "I love you," I whisper, the words an oath, a covenant. "In this life, the next, and every one beyond. Always, only, forever yours."

"And I you." She leans in, her lips a sweet benediction on my brow. "Go now, my love. Do what you must. And know that I am with you, every step, in every beat of your heart."

I nod, letting her presence, her love, fill me up, shore up all the broken places. A deep breath, a squaring of the shoulders, and she fades like mist beneath the morning sun.

But I carry her with me, an ember glowing bright and fierce in my soul. Drawing strength from the memory of her smile, her touch, the stubborn tilt of her chin that means she's ready to take on the world.

Cara believes in me. In us. In the love that has carried us through the crucible again and again, forging us into something unbreakable. And for her, for the family we've built from blood and tears and desperate defiance...

I will unleash Hell itself.

The door slams open, Faulkner striding in with his usual sneer of smug satisfaction. "Well, well, my boy. How are we feeling today? Ready to stop fighting the inevitable and embrace your glorious purpose?"

I stare straight ahead, a perfect mask of blank obedience. Let him think he's won, that he's hollowed me out and filled the void with his poison. It will make the shock on his face that much sweeter when I tear out his tongue and feed it to him.

He gestures, and the orderlies swarm me, unstrapping me from the table and hauling me to unsteady feet. "Look at you," Faulkner crows, circling me like a jackal. "So close now, so beautifully broken. Just a few more tweaks, a little fine-tuning, and you'll be ready to take your rightful place at your mother's side. The perfect son, the sharpest blade in the Deveaux arsenal."

My lips curve in a smile, small and secret and sharp as sin. "A blade, am I?" I murmur, my voice a rasp of sand and smoke. "Then let me share with you the first rule of warfare, doctor. Never put a weapon in the hands of a man with nothing left to lose."

His face twists with confusion, then dawning horror as I explode into motion. A headbutt to shatter his nose, blood spraying in a satisfying crimson arc. A knee to the groin of the first orderly, an elbow to the throat of the next. They fall like dominoes, like straw men before a hurricane, as a lifetime of training and fury sings in my veins.

And then it's just me and Faulkner, his eyes wide and rolling in terror as I pin him to the wall, my hand an iron vise around his throat. "W-wait," he sputters, scrabbling uselessly at my grip. "Mr. Deveaux, please, let's be reasonable, I was only following ord--"

I lean in, my smile a wolf's grin in the dark. "You know," I purr, "you're absolutely right. You were just following orders. So it's only fair I return the favor and follow the orders my beautiful, brilliant wife gave me not so long ago."

He blinks, uncomprehending, and I tighten my grip until he squeaks. "'Burn it down, June,' she told me, her eyes bright with righteous rage. 'Burn it all down and salt the fucking earth.' And oh, good doctor..." I bare my teeth in a snarl of savage joy. "I aim to please."

I feel the flutter of his pulse against my palm, the bulge of his eyes, the piss running warm over my wrist as he empties his bladder in terror. And I feel nothing. No pity, no remorse, not even a flicker of self-recrimination. Only a cold, clear certainty that this is right, that this is just, that this is the only possible ending to the tale they've forced me to live.

"Oh, and Faulkner?" I lean in until I can taste his fear, thick and cloying. "Cara sends her regards."

And with a final, vicious wrench, I snap his neck like kindling, letting him crumple to the floor in a boneless heap.

For a moment I just stand there, chest heaving, hands shaking with the aftershocks of adrenaline. The weight of what I've done, of the carnage I've wrought, presses down like iron bands around my lungs.

But there's no time for guilt, for second guessing. Cara is out there, our child nestled beneath her heart, and every second I waste is a second they're in danger. A second Elaine has to spin her webs and sharpen her knives.

So I move. I strip the corpses of keycards and weapons, stuff them into the pockets of a stolen lab coat. And with a final, contemptuous kick to Faulkner's slack face, I slip out into the hallway, into the labyrinth of steel and shadow and the distant promise of freedom.

I have no fucking clue where I'm going, the facility a clinical maze designed to confound and disorient. But I can't stop, can't falter. Cara is out there. My family, my future, the only thing in this godforsaken world that matters.

And I will claw my way back to them if I have to carve a path in blood and bone.

Alarms blare, a rising cacophony that sets my teeth on edge. Booted feet thunder on tile, the crackle of radios and barked orders echoing off the sterile walls. They've found Faulkner, found the gore-spattered ruin of the room where he thought to break me. And now they're coming, a pack of wolves scenting wounded prey.

I'm fast, surefooted, darting through twisting corridors with the economy of motion Cara so loves to admire. But they're faster, a relentless tide crashing against my heels, the searing hiss of a bullet kissing past my cheek a stark reminder of how badly the odds are stacked.

Four dead ends, a fresh slice of hell behind each one, and the snarling of the hounds draws ever closer. My lungs scream, my muscles shake, the last dregs of my reserve sputtering out in an acid wash of exhaustion.

They've got me pinned now, the thunder of their approach swelling from every direction. No way out, no clever feint or desperate gambit left to play. Just me, a stolen pistol, and the grim determination to make the fuckers work for it.

I snap off a shot, then another, the gun bucking savagely in my grip. A cry, a spray of blood, and one of the faceless goons goes down in a boneless sprawl. But it's a drop of rain against a forest fire, a single stone before an avalanche. They just keep coming, a remorseless tide of kevlar and auto-fire, and I know with a cold, sinking certainty that this is where it ends.

In a heartbeat the hall will be choked with lead and smoke and the screams of the dying. In a heartbeat I'll be just another cooling slab of meat on the tiles, my last thought a prayer that somehow, against all odds, my sacrifice will buy Cara the freedom I never had.

But the heartbeat passes, and then another, the gunfire suddenly conspicuous in its absence. Shouts ring out, fury and disbelief swallowed up by a rising tide of panic. Boots slap tile in a ragged beat, a disorderly retreat so at odds with the mechanical precision of moments before.

And through the confusion, through the choking haze of spent cordite, a single word rises like a beacon. A name, heavy with threat and promise, spat like a curse and whispered like a prayer.

Corleone.

Understanding slams into me like a hammer blow, staggering in its intensity. Sarah. Dante. The favor he called in, the weapon he wanted primed at the heart of Elaine's empire.

They've come for me. They've come to bring the devil home to roost, and God fucking help anyone stupid enough to stand in their way.

A laugh bubbles up in my chest, tasting of blood and hysteria. Oh, it's far from over - Elaine is too canny, too entrenched to fold at the first hint of resistance. There will be countermoves and contingencies, shell companies and shadow wars waged in boardrooms and back alleys. A thousand fresh hells to wade through on the long road to freedom.

But it's a chance. A narrow ledge to balance on, sharp and treacherous as a blade. And for Cara, for our child, for the promise of a future without fear...

I will dance on the edge and call it solid ground.

I shove to my feet, every joint screaming a symphony of protest. Adrenaline carries me down the hall in a limping run, towards the distant sounds of chaos and the faintest whisper of fresh air.

Sarah. I need to find Sarah, my unlikely guardian angel, and regroup. Need to figure out our next move, how to press this momentary advantage before Elaine can rally her forces and redraw the battle lines. Need to--

I round a corner and skid to a halt, heart lurching against my ribs. A familiar figure stands at the end of the hall, small and slight, a riot of dark curls haloing her grimly determined face.

"Sarah," I rasp, all other words lodging like bone shards in my throat.

She whirls, eyes widening as they rake over me, cataloging the blood and bruises and feral light. "June! Jesus, I've been looking everywhere for you. Are you--"

The question dies as I stagger forward, some deep-seated instinct sending her arms out to brace my weight. I let her, too spent to be stoic, greedily soaking up the offered comfort like a withered plant in a downpour.

"I'm okay," I grit out, the lie ash on my tongue. "Thanks to your boss's impeccable timing. Remind me to send him a fruit basket once this is all over."

She huffs a laugh, a short sharp sound utterly devoid of humor. "I'll be sure to do that. But June..." Her breath catches, an odd hitch that has me pulling back, searching her face for clues. "There's something you need to know. About Cara."

And just like that, the bottom drops out of my world.

"Is she..." I can't finish, can't give voice to the yawning terror that claws at my guts.

"They're fine," Sarah hastens to assure me. "As far as I know, they're both healthy and safe. But..."

Before Sarah can continue, another an unfamiliar figure decked out in tactical gear, their face obscured. Do they work for Corleone? Elaine? Are they friend or foe?

In that moment, as I stared into the impassive mask of my potential liberator or executioner, I felt the cold muzzle of an unseen gun press against my temple and heard a familiar voice whisper.

"Juniper Deveaux, you're a hard man to find..."