“Don’t do that, Brett, don’t you fucking dare,” Bowen scoffs as though I just lobbed the ultimate insult at him, “you know I’ll never love anyone the way that I love you.”
He literally does not acknowledge her. Even now, he doesn’t call her by name. She’s just another victim of his vanity. She is unimportant, her role in this affair finished. Valerie Marston—or whoever she is—will become twisted in the wreckage, rusted out, and eventually lost to time.
She has, after all, deviated from the plan. A mistake that I don’t intend to make.
“Why did you just leave?” Bowen whines, veering back into loathing, “I never would’ve done something that cruel to you. Do you know how that feels?” he says through clenched teeth.
I tighten my grip on my gun, trying in vain to tamp down the cascade of adrenaline-fueled wrath running through my body. He’s a tornado spinning up outbursts of manic, sociopathic rage, unable to decide whether to stay a mortal man or transform into a hellish beast.
“Bowen,” I murmur on my breath, “you don’t have feelings.”
He tilts his head, studying me as he runs his tongue along the backs of his teeth.
“Is this the part where you freak out, Bowen?” I ask as his breaths get deeper, “Because you screwed up so bad that I told you to fuck the hell off?” I speak slowly and with intention, “You’re like a leech, using everyone up and sucking the life out of them until there’s nothing left. And once you throw them away, you move on to someone else. You don’t love anyone. You don’t know how.” I casually emphasize the last word as my voice slowly reverberates against the ceiling. Bowen bares his teeth in a momentary grimace like the werewolf that stalks the woods of Hellbranch. But I’m not finished, “The only thing to do is take you out into those woods and put a bullet between your eyes, because that’s what you do to rabid animals.”
His arms fall from the door frame and he straightens up, drawing air through his teeth.
When the adrenaline hits, what are you going to do?
It all happens at once, but before he can take a step, there’s a faint click when I pull the trigger and then I cast the Glock to the floor at the same moment I reach for the sliding glass door. Bowen probably doesn’t realize the gun jammed. To him, it probably looks like I just ditched my only protection—that I really don’t have the nerve. But it’s not because I’m afraid, it’s because I’m prepared for anything.
The thunder came without rain, and now sunlight spills through the clouds and floods the yard. In only a few strides, I fly off the deck and tear across the grass toward the forest. My only indication of anyone behind me is Bowen’s heavy footfalls on the deck as he takes off after me.
Every time you look back, you slow down.
The balls of my feet grab at the dirt, tossing dust and grass as I approach the slope. Through the pines, I find the rocks that jut out of the soil and make it to the top. It’s not the toughest hill, and I clear it, adrenaline propelling me through the trees once it levels out. Stay to the right, steer clear of the brambles, keep going…
My heart pounds and each breath feels like fire in my throat, but soon the drop-off comes into view. I grab the pine branch in the same spot I did before and swing down into the leaves. But, this time, I dig my heels in and jump to the side, right into a dried-up culvert running through the hillside.
I duck inside the galvanized pipe and crouch down, motionless, listening and inhaling precious oxygen. Gently, I start moving my hips back and forth, trying to work through a sharp pain in my lower belly. I don’t know what it is, but I can’t let it slow me down now.
About five seconds later, I hear Bowen’s heavy strides on the earth above me and he skids down the hill onto the moss and pine needles.
Please don’t turn around…
He takes off again at full speed through the trees straight ahead. He’s fast, and agile. He’s been running through forests since he was a kid. But this is my forest, and I know where I’m going.
As soon as his daunting figure disappears through the trees, I dart out from the culvert and continue on the path I’ve run countless times since I’ve lived here. I keep running, hopping over the rocks and tiny streams that split the earth. Finally, I see the barn in the distance. I can make it.
But as I approach, sprinting through a grove of birches, I see a flash of black in my periphery. Bowen’s flanking me, his eyes trained on his target. A jolt of panic shoots through my chest and I push harder. It’s half fear, half burst of adrenaline, but I let out a guttural scream as I barrel toward the barn door.
I don’t slow down. I’m going to run straight through the ancient wood, splintering it in my wake. I push harder and brace for impact.
Suddenly, the door swings open, seemingly from my energy alone, and I burst into the barn. Flying across the dirt floor, I slam shoulder first into the planks of the animal stalls. I bounce off the wood and look over my shoulder at the doorway just in time to see the outline of another dark figure. But it’s not Bowen.
He’s a solar eclipse, blocking out every modicum of sunlight. Bowen doesn’t know that there are more than monsters in this forest. Colson’s the reaper, clad all in black, and he’s come to collect.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
Colson
Present
His heavy footfalls pound the earth behind her as Brett tears into the barn. Seconds later, I step into the doorway and swing my arm out, bracing my legs and catching Bowen’s chest as soon as he leaps over the threshold.
Just like when we were kids, he doesn’t see it coming. His feet fly out from under him, his back slams onto the dirt floor, and I go down with him in a cloud of dust. But we’re not kids anymore. Instead, we’re both just grown up, jaded brutes who claw our way back from strife angrier than ever.
And that’s what we’re doing now, locked in a perpetual battle. I don’t even remember when it started—the soccer field in Dire Ridge or the cemetery where I spilled his blood next to Evie’s grave? Regardless, now it’s on the dirt floor of my broken-down barn outside Gunnison, Colorado after he came into my house and chased the mother of my child through my forest.
We’re fists and grunts and breathing and thrashing until there’s a crack somewhere above me and then a yell. The beams above give way from the force of Brett’s body slamming against the decaying wall and the 100-year-old timber breaks free from the joists. I feel their impact all around me and Bowen and I release each other, rolling away as one end of the largest cross-beam crashes down between us.
I jerk my head up, searching for more falling debris, and then whip around in a panic. I don’t see Brett or Bowen. There’s dust and wood hanging precariously, threatening to pull the whole roof down on us. I can’t hear anything except shuffling and muted barking from outside and the creaking and banging of the beams as they hit the walls before crashing to the floor.
Kicking aside splintered wood and stumbling over beams wedged at awkward angles, I make my way to the far wall where Brett ended up after she ran through the door. There’s finally an opening in the wreckage and I duck under it and into the open space. Dust spins in the sun-soaked air and there’s suddenly more light spilling into the room through the gaps in the crumbling wall. I hear footsteps on the dirt and whip around just in time to see Bowen rushing me.
I brace myself, ready to absorb his impact, when a shrill scream cuts through the thick air and something darts in front of me. Bowen slams into me, knocking me back into the wall. I grab him by the shoulders of his t-shirt and prepare to push off the creaking wood. If I can throw him back into the debris for a few seconds, I can reach my weapon, unload the whole clip into him, and end this.
But as soon as I grab his shoulders, he tenses and then shudders. Then I realize his chest isn’t touching mine and I can feel Brett’s hair against my neck. Everything stops, and there’s just silence.
Bowen and I stare at each other, mere inches apart, face to face for the first time since that night at the old railroad bridge, sweat beaded on our foreheads and dripping down our temples. Nine years have passed with nothing but agony and limbo followed by pure vengeance. This was supposed to be controlled, instantaneous, clean…
But, even after all that planning to kill one another, we all still ended up in a chaotic melee of dirt and splintered wood, throwing elbows and trying to outrun each other like we’re still on the field. Except now there are no red cards or time outs or penalties. The only score is who gets to leave this barn alive.
He digs his fingers into my arm and chest, blinking hard, his mouth gaping with shock. He looks down, his face only inches away from Brett’s. She’s looking up at him with her eyes wide and mouth set with fierce determination. She’s crushed between the two of us, her chest pressed against his and her back against mine.
Bowen stays that way for a few moments and I’m not sure why he isn’t moving. But then he leans into Brett and he clenches his teeth in a painful grimace. Streaks of blood appear across his teeth, seeping onto the edges of his lips as he licks them away. Bowen slowly pushes away from me to take a step back, and that’s when I see it.
Brett’s fist rests just beneath Bowen’s chest, soaked in blood and gripping the handle of a Buck knife stuck between his ribs. Before he can move another inch, I clench my fists and jerk him back to me as hard as I can. Brett gasps and Bowen lets out a gnarled growl as the knife sinks deeper into him. He stares down at her, seething, for a few moments before I pull him tighter against me, her, and the knife.
