Chapter 9

ELI

At least it was him.

I closed my eyes. The last thing I ever saw was the sight of Caleb, his hand quaking, fury etched into his face as he pointed the barrel of the gun at my head.

But at least it was him.

No torture, no regrets. One click from Caleb and I never had to sink into the madness he conjured in me again.

I wanted it to be Caleb pulling the trigger. It was so much better than Sam having the last say on my life. If I didn't get the choice, then Caleb could decide when I died. And he was finally giving me what I'd been craving for years.

And I said what I had to say. I barely caught his flinch in the harsh light, but it told me everything I needed to hear.

The pain had taken over, there was no need for me to fight it.

Lacey would live, the Donelli's would remain strong, despite all my efforts, and I would be nothing but a memory for Caleb.

Like Chalmers and Jones' cooling bodies, the only thing that held me upright was the cable ties which bit into my wrists. And I wanted to stand tall in death.

"I'm sorry," Caleb croaked.

Pain I tried not to see for so long scarred deep in his eyes. Which was enough. I believed that he meant it, and I hoped he knew I told him the truth.

He would always choose his family, it was what he was raised for, and where his loyalty lay. And the hate he showed me every time he entered me attested to that.

I wish I could have at least seen Lacey again, and held Caleb, showing him how much he had taken from me with the hope he forced on me.

Time ached as it stretched on. The sharp light, Caleb's thick breaths, the tension blanketing the loading bays. And Caleb's finger on the trigger.

His face creased into the scowl I was so familiar with, his lips tearing back into a snarl.

His weight shifted. A scrape of a boot on concrete, a swing of his arm, and quiet shot barely audible in the loading bays.

A cry burst from Caleb as the bullet fired straight between his father's eyes.

Sam's body flew backwards, crumpling onto the ground, his chest rising one last time with a terrified rattle that bounded around the loading bays.

My prize stolen from me.

There was no time to react. Caleb had the advantage. He used the seconds of absolute shock to swing the gun upwards. Four shots, four bullets shattering glass, the loading bay plunged into darkness as he took out the floodlights.

And then, chaos.

Shouts and loud bullets reigned, nothing but noise bouncing around the loading bays. I struggled against the cable ties, throwing my weight forward. The pipe clanged but it was no use; my numb wrists were already bleeding.

Something exploded near my ear, and I jumped as shards of stucco embedded themselves in my neck. The bullet just missed me, but it was the only luck I had. And I doubted I could call it luck.

Men cried out, yelling orders, the sounds of their bodies hitting the ground swiftly followed.

And I couldn't see Caleb. I wanted to help him, to do something to make sure he survived. And, if it was not for Caleb, then for Jones and Chalmers. Someone had to know what happened here.

It all ended too quickly. Two minutes of panic, then the empty silence returned.

Vain hope I buried deep inside myself reignited. Because his father was dead. Because Caleb shot him instead of me.

My body shook. The longer the fight drew out, the more I trembled in the harsh air. My vision hadn't adjusted to the darkness, though I caught a figure limping towards me.

Another shot, closer now, one which could have easily killed me. But it went into the back of a man lying still by my feet.

My hope became a flame. It had to be Caleb. I prayed desperately as the figure lumbered towards me. I had never wanted anything more than him in that moment.

There was a low groan, and he suddenly fell into the wall beside me, his left shoulder crashing into the concrete. Heaving breaths, wild eyes, his warmth fanning my face.

"Eli," Caleb whispered softly, and my heart burst in pain and relief. There was a sharp nick on my left wrist, drawing more blood as he cut away the restraints. I stumbled forward as I was suddenly released, and solid hands caught me and harshly pulled me to his chest.

A single breath. That's all he gave me. One breath to wrap my arms around him. His face pressed into my shoulder. A shuddering inhale from us both as we drew in each other scents.

But that was it.

He lifted his head, his fingers digging into my bruised shoulder.

"We have to fucking move," he growled.

He released me, twisting his body, securing a hand on my back as I threw my arm over his shoulder. It didn't matter how much we tried to hide it; we were as fucked up as each other.

If we were getting out of this alive, there was no time for words. Only pure, determined focus as we hauled ourselves towards the cars parked around the side of the depot, holding each other like we were the last men left alive.