Beneath the Stars (Falling Stars 4)

Aggression gathered. My chest squeezed around the ferocity of it.

Royce shifted uneasily.

I stopped the car as soon as I was clear of the main road. My headlights speared through the night, like silver blades that slashed through the vapors and revealed the true darkness lurkin’ on the other side.

Royce’s hand curled around the doorlatch, his throat bobbing as violence skated through his being. “We come out of this alive. All of us. Don’t get stupid. Just roll with the plan. Sent the text to Baz so he can make the call for backup now. Closest station is seven miles away. If a cruiser is closer, they’ll be here sooner. Stall him unless we get a good shot.”

My nod was hard, and he was slippin’ out the door and letting Richard out, and they were silently slinking into the shadows while I let off the brake and slowly wound my way up the uninhabited path.

Trees rose higher on each side. It ramped up my anxiety, stokin’ the illness that had infested me since I was nine.

Ravaged my insides and infected my soul.

All the ugliness finally eruptin’.

No way left to beat it down. No fuckin’ wayward smile to pin on my face, no hashtag or pictures to hide behind.

When I came to a stop, I was pared down to the raw, bleedin’ skeleton of myself.

Anguished fury thrashed as I took in the scene where my headlights illuminated the small meadow where there was a break in the trees. A stream rolled through, and some rotted logs were toppled on their sides. A truck was parked off to the left.

But the only thing that mattered was what was to the right over by the brook.

My mama was on the ground and pushed against a toppled log, her arms tied behind her back and that gag still in her mouth.

Bile mauled my throat. I swallowed it down and forced myself to focus. This was the one thing in my life that I wasn’t gonna wreck.

Problem was I felt my entire body rock with rage when my gaze traveled to Maggie.

I was struck with an overpowering urge to jump from the car, the riot itchin’ at my fingers threatening to send me ballistic.

Because there was my Sweet, Sweet Thing.

She lay in a wretched ball on her side.

Tied up.

Broken and battered.

Felt it.

That crazed energy that whipped and whirred. A cyclone that spun mayhem into the air. Her spirit that whimpered and cried.

Agony and pain leeched from the well of her body.

She was hurt.

Really fuckin’ hurt.

Wanted to rush for her. Drop to my knees and run my hands over every inch of her body. Find where she’d been injured. Promise I would fix it. Heal it.

But I knew this was the only thing I could do.

I snapped open the door, and I wrapped my other hand around the handle of the gun, felt the weight of its finality as I carefully slipped out of the car and into the swath of darkness that was only cut by the blindin’ glare of the headlights.

You’re a good boy, Rhys. A good, good boy.

I squeezed my eyes against my father’s words. Against the praise I’d never deserved. Prayin’ and prayin’ that once—just once—I might find the fullness of that strength.

Take care of my mama the way I’d promised to do.

Get Maggie the hell out of here. Protect her from the shit that was my life.

Be good for someone else.

Those more vulnerable.

Malice jumped into my veins when I felt the movement off to the right. I squinted, trying not to lose my quickly raveling control when Noah came slippin’ like a snake out from under the cover of the trees. A gun casually held at his side and a smirk on his face.

“Ah, he’s here.”

“Let them go. This is between you and me.” Tried to keep the wobblin’ out of my voice. Still could barely fathom the fact he’d done this. That he’d been huntin’ Maggie all these weeks. That he’d taken both her and my mama. That we were standing here.

He just laughed a disbelieving sound. “Is that really what you think?”

My chest stretched tight and every muscle in my body flexed with the promise of retribution.

To end this motherfucker, once and for all.

Maggie’s gaze found mine through the murky, disorientin’ view of the headlights. But those charcoal eyes—they were clear—writing me in their story.

Sketchin’ me in her belief.

Shockwaves of her relief banged into my spirit.

Coaxed me forward.

My sweet siren beneath the stars. Except this was a setting she never should have been victim to. She was supposed to fly. To soar. To chase down every good thing in this life.

I was never, ever supposed to hold her back.

Tightening my hold on the gun, I lifted my glare to Noah who stood ten feet behind them.

Hate on his face.

Different this time, though.