The Havoc We Wreak - Becca Steele Page 0,77

a crawl.

Caiden shoved me with all his might, sending me flying across the docks. There was the sound of two gunshots and shouting. Someone screaming.

My only thought was Caiden. Nothing else mattered.

Winded, I struggled to my feet, crawling towards the SUV as more gunshots sounded, the noises rebounding off the buildings, echoing all around me.

Where was he?

My eyes were drawn to the figure on the floor, unmoving, the rain soaking through his clothes.

I took in his unnatural stillness, the blood pooling at his side.

No.

No.

No.

Reaching him, I fumbled for his pulse with shaking hands but couldn’t feel it. I tried, and tried again, my fingers slipping over his soaked skin as I tried desperately to feel for anything. Anything that would tell me he was still here with me.

Nothing.

I curled myself over his lifeless body, stretching my arms around him and laying my head on his chest.

His heartbeat, always so strong and steady, was silent.

“Don’t leave me,” I sobbed. “Wake up. Please, wake up. I can’t live without you.”

The pain in my chest was so immense that I could barely breathe through it.

“You won’t have to.”

I looked up, through my tears, the rain falling on my face and fizzing on my skin. My mother stood over me with a gun in her hand.

“You killed my boyfriend!” I screamed. “You killed my dad!”

“And since you refuse to join me, you can join them.” She smiled.

Reaching down, I pulled the knife from its sheath and lunged forwards, slipping on the wet ground. Zayde’s words echoed in my head—stick and twist—and I channelled every single piece of my rage and heartbreak into my strike. I stabbed it through her leg, and twisted it.

She toppled backwards, her shrill scream of pain echoing around us, and the momentum tipped me over the edge. I was falling with her, still holding on to the knife, landing on top of her with a thud.

There was blood coming from her forehead. Why was there blood coming from her head?

I shook my own head, blinking, then rolled off her body.

“Winter.” I was being scooped up, someone carrying me.

“Caiden!” I cried his name over and over, desperately struggling against the person carrying me.

“Shhh. We need to get you out of here.” The sound of sirens drew closer, and then I was being bundled into a car, and we were moving.

Without Caiden.

I left my heart behind, shattered into a million pieces.

“Even the darkest night will end

and the sun will rise.”

Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

AFTERMATH

I slowly blinked my eyes open, screwing them up against the light. The sun was streaming in the window, the rays falling across my arm. Where was I?

“I wondered when you were going to wake.” I turned my head to see the speaker. Arlo’s face creased into a smile when he saw me.

“Where am I? Wh—” I stopped dead as everything came rushing back to me. A cry tore from my throat. Utter devastation tore through me, leaving me gasping for breath.

Caiden.

I curled into a ball, the pain too much to bear. I sobbed into the pillow, my heart breaking all over again.

A warm hand touched my head, brushing my hair back gently. “Shhh. It’s okay,” Arlo soothed, the mattress dipping as he settled on to the side of my bed.

“How can it be okay when he’s gone?” My words came out as an incoherent sob.

“What?” His voice was suddenly alarmed.

“How can you be so calm after everything that’s happened?” I choked out, turning my head to meet his eyes.

“Take a deep breath. Maybe I’d better fill in the blanks.”

Something wasn’t right. Call it a gut instinct. I glanced across the table at Lars De Witt, engaged in casual conversation with Michael Lowry. He was relaxed, swirling the whiskey in his glass absentmindedly. Nothing wrong there. The official signing of the deal tomorrow was only a formality; this would benefit all of us greatly. These drinks were a chance to show him that we’d accepted him as one of our own. Of course, he already belonged to Alstone Members Club, but here, in our inner sanctum, we only allowed a trusted few.

Still, I couldn’t seem to shake the unease gnawing away at me.

“Sir?” At the low voice of my security guy, I sat up straight. “We have a gentleman at the door of the club. He wishes to speak to you, and he’s refusing to take no for an answer.”

I frowned. “Who?”

“The Granville boy. James. He’s, uh, rather agitated.”

“Right. Leave it with me.” I turned to address the table. “Excuse