17. Seventeen

The knife tumbled end over end, glinting silver in the stark headlights as it fell in slow motion toward the sand between Jamie and I. Time seemed to stretch and warp, seconds distending into eons.

I watched it spin, my mind detached, thoughts syrupy and strange. This couldn't be real. This had to be some surreal nightmare from which I'd wake at any moment, Jamie curled warm and blood-spattered against my side in a seedy motel bed.

But the night wind pricked cold and sharp against my skin, carrying the alkaline tang of creosote and the gun oil reek of Romeo's men. The ache in my jaw where a fist had cracked against it throbbed in time with my pulse. No, this was no dream. This was a waking nightmare.

My eyes flicked from the falling knife to Jamie's face, ghostly pale in the harsh light. Tear tracks cut through the blood and grime on his cheeks, eyes wide and staring, almost feverishly bright. His chest heaved with panicked breaths, the delicate skin of his throat working as he swallowed convulsively.

Christ, he was just a kid. A vicious, feral creature, to be sure - I'd seen the unholy glee in his eyes as he shoved a blade between a man's ribs, felt the heat of his arousal as the arterial spray painted us both scarlet. But beneath the blood-soaked bravado, he was just a scared kid desperate for someone to understand him.

The knife seemed to hang suspended in the air for an eternity, tumbling lazily as the universe held its breath. In that drawn out moment, a kaleidoscope of memories flickered through my mind.

I saw Jamie that first night at the truck stop, lips wrapped around his cigarette, the wariness in his eyes, the hunger .

I relived every frenzied coupling in the cab of my truck, his lithe body undulating against mine, pale skin painted in gore and bruises. Every whispered confession of dark urges, every throaty cry of release as we lost ourselves in the maelstrom of blood and lust.

But other moments flickered by too, no less visceral. The way his nose scrunched when he laughed, carefree and boyish, at some dark joke. The soft vulnerability in his eyes when he spoke of the scars, both physical and intangible, left by a lifetime of hurt. The surprising gentleness of his artist's fingers tracing my battered knuckles, the reverence in his gaze as he knelt in front of me.

In the face of death, I realized with startling clarity that I didn't want to lose him. Somewhere along the road, between the truck stops, the kills, and seedy motel trysts, I'd come to care about Jamie in a way I hadn't thought possible.

I'd fallen in love with this feral, murderous boy, or at least as much as a monstrous thing like me could love.

The knife struck the sand with a soft thud that seemed to reverberate through the night, snapping me back to the grim reality at hand. I met Jamie's panicked gaze, seeing my own anguished resignation reflected back at me.

Time resumed its normal flow, and we moved as one, diving for the blade glinting in the dirt between us.

My fingers closed around the hilt a split second before Jamie's, wrenching it from the sand in a spray of grit. He collided with me in a tangle of desperate limbs, scrabbling for the knife, blunt nails gouging my skin.

We tumbled to the ground in a graceless sprawl, kicking up a cloud of dust that coated my tongue with grit. Jamie landed on top, knees digging into my ribs as he clawed for my knife hand. I bucked him off, rolling us over until I had him pinned, the knife's edge hovering a hair's breadth from the rabbit-quick pulse in his throat.

For a suspended moment, we stared at each other, chests heaving, breath mingling in the scant space between us. The naked fear in his eyes cut me to the bone, the plea in them unmistakable. He knew he was outmatched in strength and size. He knew he would lose this fight.

I saw the exact moment that fear crystallized into grim resolve. His body tensed beneath mine, lean muscles coiling. Then he surged upward, smashing his forehead into my nose in an explosion of bright pain.

I reeled back, stars flaring across my vision, blood sheeting hot over my lips and chin. Jamie writhed out from under me, scuttling back in the dust. My hand reflexively tightened on the knife hilt, slick and sticky with blood or sweat.

Staggering to my feet, I shook my head, trying to clear the ringing in my ears. Blood dripped from my chin, splattering the sand in fat, dark drops. Through the crimson haze filming my vision, I saw Jamie crouched warily a few feet away, fists raised, a feral snarl twisting his bloodied lips.

Romeo's men hooted and jeered from the sidelines, their raucous catcalls scraping against my nerves like rusted barbed wire. They jostled for a better view, eyes alight with cruel anticipation, hungry for the promised violence. To them, we were just entertainment, dancing monkeys performing for their twisted amusement.

I adjusted my grip on the knife, the leather-wrapped hilt slippery with sweat. The blade felt heavy, an unwelcome weight that seemed to sear my palm. Every instinct screamed at me to throw it away, to refuse to play Romeo's sadistic game. But the cold reality of the gun muzzles trained on us kept me still. There was no choice here, only survival.

Jamie feinted left, then darted right, trying to slip past my guard. I pivoted to block him, slashing out with the knife. He danced back; the blade missing his chest by a hairsbreadth. We circled each other, kicking up puffs of dust, searching for an opening.

I lunged forward, knife flashing in a vicious arc aimed at Jamie's throat. He twisted away at the last second, the razor edge skimming his skin and parting the fabric of his shirt. A thin red line bloomed on his pale flesh, beads of scarlet welling up like morbid rubies.

Jamie hissed in pain but didn't falter, using his momentum to spin into a roundhouse kick that caught me in the ribs. The impact drove the air from my lungs in a pained grunt, agony lancing through my side. Staggering, I barely brought the knife up in time to block his follow-up strike, our forearms colliding with a meaty thwack .

We traded blows in a brutal dance, the night air rent by harsh breaths and the dull thud of fists on flesh. Dust billowed around our scuffling feet, clinging to the blood and sweat slicking our skin. The moon hung bloated and yellow overhead, an impassive witness to our struggle.

Jamie fought with the feral desperation of a cornered animal, quick and vicious. What he lacked in raw strength, he made up for in speed and savagery. His blows stung like adder strikes, precise and tightly controlled despite the fear bright in his eyes.

I gave as good as I got, my superior size and reach keeping him at bay. The knife seemed to move of its own accord, flashing silver in the night, hungry for blood.

Jamie darted in again, a blur of shadow and snarling fury. The knife lashed out, catching him across the ribs and parting fabric and flesh in a crimson slash. He stumbled back with a pained cry that tore at my heart, one hand clasped to his side as scarlet seeped between his fingers.

My chest constricted at the sight, self-loathing rising like bile in my throat. I was a monster, carving up the only person who truly understood the darkness festering in my soul. But this was kill or be killed, a twisted spectacle for the amusement of soulless men. There was no choice here, only survival and the cold comfort that it was my hand holding the blade, not some faceless thug who would make Jamie suffer out of pure cruelty.

Blinking sweat and blood from my eyes, I advanced on Jamie's hunched form, the knife feeling like a lead weight in my grip. He scrambled back in the dirt, one arm still clutched to his wounded side, the other raised in feeble defense. Fear and pain warred with grim resolve in his eyes.

"Do it then," he spat, pink-tinged spittle flying from his bloodied lips. "Quit playing with me and fucking end this! "

The anguish in his voice ripped through me, his words like jagged shards of glass shredding my insides. He knew the inevitable conclusion here as well as I did.

I hesitated, the knife trembling in my white-knuckled grip. I couldn't do it. I couldn't snuff out the feral light in Jamie's eyes, couldn't be the one to paint the sand with his precious blood. He was a kindred spirit, the only one who truly understood the darkness that gnawed at my soul like a starving rat. Hurting him felt like carving out a piece of myself.

A harsh bark of laughter shattered the moment, grating against my nerves like a rusted blade. I glanced over to see Romeo smirking, cruel amusement dancing in his eyes as he lounged against the hood of his sleek black Escalade. His goons stood in a loose semicircle, assault rifles cradled in their tattooed arms, watching the spectacle with eager anticipation.

"Finish him, puto," Romeo called out, making a slashing motion across his throat. "Put the little bitch out of his misery."

White-hot rage exploded behind my eyes, boiling through my veins like molten lead. How dare he? How fucking dare he treat Jamie's life like some cheap entertainment, a bit of barbaric sport for his twisted amusement? In that moment, I hated Romeo more intensely than I'd ever hated anyone. More than the abusive father who beat me bloody as a child, more than the cop who nearly sent me to prison when I was sixteen. I wanted to carve that smug smirk off his fucking face.

My vision tunneled, narrowing to a laser focus on Romeo's smirking face. The rest of the world fell away - the shouts of the men, the acrid stench of gun oil. Even Jamie's labored breathing faded to static. There was only the red haze of rage and the icy certainty that Romeo must die .

I pivoted on my heel, hurling the knife with every ounce of strength in my body. It flashed end over end, a silver blur streaking toward Romeo's face. His eyes widened in shock, the smirk freezing on his lips as he realized his mistake a split second too late.

The blade buried itself in his left eye with a wet crunch, the force snapping his head back. He toppled off the Escalade's hood, arms pinwheeling, landing in a graceless heap on the sand. Scarlet blossomed around the knife's hilt, stark against the pallor of his skin.

For a single, crystalline moment, no one moved. Romeo's men gaped in stunned disbelief, brains struggling to process the sudden turn of events. Jamie stared at me from the ground, something like shocked awe flickering in his eyes.

Then the night erupted in gunfire, the staccato bark of assault rifles ripping through the stunned silence. Bullets whined past my head, kicking up puffs of sand at my feet. I hit the dirt, rolling and scrambling for cover behind a nearby boulder.

I pressed my back against the cold, rough stone, chest heaving, adrenaline surging through my veins like an electric current. Bullets pinged off the boulder, chips of rock stinging my exposed skin. The night air was thick with cordite and the coppery reek of spilled blood.

I risked a quick glance around the boulder's edge, trying to get a bead on Jamie's position. He was crouched behind a low rise in the sand about fifteen feet to my left, one arm still clutched to his wounded side. Our eyes met, a moment of perfect understanding passing between us. We were in this together, for better or worse. Ride or die.

The gunfire intensified, the harsh bark of rifles echoing off the surrounding dunes. Romeo's men were advancing, spreading out in a loose semicircle to flank our positions. I could hear them shouting to each other in rapid-fire Spanish, coordinating their attack .

My mind raced, desperate for a plan. We were outnumbered and outgunned, armed with nothing but our wits and the burning desire to survive. I scanned our surroundings, searching for anything that could give us an edge.

My gaze landed on the sleek black shapes of Romeo's vehicles parked a short distance away. An idea sparked in my brain, reckless and half-formed. It was a long shot, but what choice did we have?

I caught Jamie's eye again, jerking my chin toward the cars. Jamie's eyes widened in understanding, a feral grin stretching his bloodied lips. He gave a short, sharp nod, coiled and ready to move.

I held up three fingers, counting down. Three, two, one...

We burst from cover as one, sprinting flat out across the sand, weaving and zigzagging to present harder targets. Bullets stitched the ground at our heels, puffs of sand exploding around our pounding feet. My heart jackhammered against my ribs, breath sawing in my lungs as I pushed my battered body to its limits.

Jamie ran like a gazelle, all long limbs and fluid grace despite his injuries. I marveled at his resilience, the sheer force of will that kept him moving. Pain was a distant thing, adrenaline and desperation pushing it to the background.

We reached the cars and split up without a word, each taking a vehicle. I dove into the driver's seat of the sleek black Escalade, Jamie claiming a jacked-up Silverado with the big metal cow-catcher on the grill. Keys dangled from the ignitions, our captors' arrogance working in our favor for once.

The engines roared to life, headlights cutting harsh white swathes through the night. I cranked the wheel, tires spitting sand as I whipped the SUV around. Jamie did the same, the truck's big V8 growling like a feral beast.

Romeo's men scattered, diving out of the way of our vehicles.

I stomped the gas pedal, the Escalade's powerful engine roaring as it leaped forward, sand spraying from the spinning tires. The SUV's reinforced bumper caught the first man square in the chest, sending him pinwheeling through the air like a rag doll. He landed in a crumpled heap, limbs splayed at unnatural angles, his rifle clattering to the ground.

I cranked the wheel hard, tires screeching as I whipped the vehicle around for another pass. In my periphery, I saw Jamie doing the same, the Silverado's big chrome grille snarling as it plowed into a cluster of men, scattering them like blood-spattered bowling pins.

Bullets pinged off the Escalade's armored body, spider-webbing the windshield. I ducked low behind the wheel, shards of glass raining down on my shoulders as rounds punched through. The acrid stench of gun smoke mingled with the coppery tang of blood, the night air thick with cordite and death.

I aimed the SUV at the next group of thugs, their faces white with terror in the harsh glare of the headlights. They tried to scatter, but the loose sand slowed them, dragging at their boots. The Escalade's bumper caught one square in the back, the sickening crunch of shattering bone lost beneath the roar of the engine. His body folded over the hood, broken.

I yanked the wheel, sending the broken body tumbling off the hood in a boneless sprawl. The Escalade fishtailed, tires clawing for purchase in the loose sand before finding traction. The V8 snarled as I punched the gas, the SUV leaping forward like a big black jungle cat.

Jamie's Silverado roared up alongside me, its chrome bull bar dripping gore, headlights painting the night crimson. He flashed me a feral grin through the cracked windshield, teeth white against the blood splattered mask of his face. In that moment, drenched in blood and backlit by muzzle flashes, he was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen.

We plowed through Romeo's men like a pair of mechanized predators, the screech of tortured metal and the wet crunch of breaking bone music against the desert night. They tried to scatter, some squeezing off wild shots that sparked off our armored hides, but there was nowhere to run. The desert was a vast, open killing ground, and we were the apex hunters.

I clipped one man with the Escalade's back fender, sending him pinwheeling into the night. He hit the ground hard, limbs flopping like a stringless marionette. Another fell beneath the Silverado's churning tires, his scream abruptly silenced as he disappeared beneath the big truck's undercarriage in a spray of blood and shattered bone.

The desert night erupted into a hellscape of twisted metal, broken bodies, and blood. The screams of dying men mingled with the roar of straining engines and the staccato bark of gunfire, a demonic symphony that pounded in my skull. The air was thick with drifting cordite, burned rubber, and the warm copper reek of spilled viscera.

I lost myself in the mechanical mayhem, the beast within me howling with savage glee as I reduced men to mangled meat. Rational thought fled, subsumed by the pure predatory focus of the kill. The Escalade was an extension of my body, a five thousand pound battering ram that made a mockery of flesh and bone.

I clipped one of Romeo's men with the front fender, folding him over the hood like a blood-soaked rag doll. His rib cage caved with a wet crunch, jagged ends of shattered bone erupting from his chest in a gory bloom. I stomped the brake, momentum sending the ruined body flopping to the sand to be crushed beneath the SUV's churning tires.

The Escalade's reinforced bumper caught the next man square in the spine with a sickening crack. He jackknifed over the hood, limbs spasming, a scream gurgling through his shattered teeth. I barely heard it over the thundering of my own pulse.

The desert fell suddenly, eerily silent as the last broken body crunched beneath our tires, the night no longer ringing with agonized screams and the staccato pop of gunshots. The Escalade idled roughly, its front end crumpled and gore-streaked, crimson rivulets dripping from the grille. Shattered glass glittered in the headlights like macabre diamonds.

My hands shook on the steering wheel, knuckles skinned and bloody. Adrenaline still surged through my veins, my heart slamming against my ribs. The coppery reek of blood clogged my nostrils, undercut by the sharp stench of ruptured bowels. In the aftermath, the true carnage we had wrought became clear.

Mangled corpses littered the sand, limbs twisted at impossible angles, torsos crushed nearly beyond recognition. Shattered bone jutted obscenely through rent flesh, glistening wetly in the harsh headlights. Viscous puddles of crimson-black spread beneath the bodies, the dry desert earth drinking it in greedily. Chunks of pulped meat clung to the vehicles' grilles and undercarriages.

I stared at the carnage through the cracked, gore-streaked windshield, a distant part of my brain registering the sticky wetness soaking my clothes, the metallic taste coating my tongue. The stink of violent death hung thick and cloying, settling in my lungs like oily smoke.

Jamie's Silverado crunched to a halt beside me, its powerful engine ticking as it cooled. He stumbled from the cab, one arm still clutched to his blood-soaked side, his face a ghastly mask in the harsh headlights. But his eyes were alight with the same savage triumph burning in my own veins .

He picked his way through the slaughter, glass and gore crunching beneath his boots, a macabre prince surveying the bloody spoils of war. I levered myself out of the Escalade on unsteady legs, my abused muscles screaming in protest. The desert swayed around me, shock and adrenaline warring for dominance.

Jamie reached me and without a word pulled me into a crushing embrace, his mouth finding mine in a brutal kiss that tasted of blood and gunpowder. I clutched him to me just as fiercely, fingers digging into the lean muscle of his back, anchoring myself in his strength.

We clung to each other amidst the ruin we had made, broken bodies cooling in the sand around us.

We held each other in that gore-soaked embrace for a small eternity, the rest of the world fading to insignificance. In that moment, there was only Jamie - the heat of his body against mine, the iron tang of blood on his lips, the hammering of his heart that echoed my own. He was my anchor, the one point of stability in the spinning chaos.

When we finally broke apart, I took a moment to just drink him in. His hair was matted with blood, his torn shirt revealing the lean lines of his torso, the ugly gash across his ribs still oozing crimson. But in that moment, drenched in blood and gore, he had never looked more beautiful to me.

"We did it," he breathed, voice rough with exhaustion. "We fucking did it, Stu."

I huffed a laugh, the sound tinged with more than a little hysteria. "Yeah, we fuckin' did."

The scale of what we had done began to sink in as I surveyed the slaughter around us. The desert sand was painted black with blood in the harsh glare of the headlights, clumps of shredded viscera glistening under the moonlight .

The night seemed to stretch into infinity as we stood there among the cooling corpses, the desert a vast and silent witness to our bloody triumph. Despite the carnage, a strange sense of peace settled over me, the restless beast within momentarily sated by the orgy of violence.

I turned to Jamie, really looking at him for the first time since our desperate battle began. Bathed in the harsh glare of the headlights, he was a vision of blood-spattered beauty, feral and triumphant. The tear tracks cutting through the grime on his face gleamed like liquid silver, his eyes wild in the stark light.

I pulled him to me again. He came willingly, melting against me like he was always meant to be there, all hard lines and coiled strength. I buried my face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the heady mix of copper and sweat and something uniquely Jamie. In that moment, he was the only real thing in a world gone mad.

"Let's get out of here," I murmured against his skin, my lips brushing his jumping pulse.

He nodded, pulling back just far enough to meet my gaze. "Where to?"

I glanced around at the mess we'd made, the ruined vehicles and shredded corpses. Nobody was going to miss Romeo and his gang. They were meat for scavengers now.

I smirked at Jamie. "I hear Milwaukee's nice this time of year."

Jamie barked a laugh, the sound wild and unfettered in the vast desert night. His eyes danced with manic mirth, bright with the promise of new hunts on the horizon. "Then what are we waiting for, honey bunny? Let's hit the road."