The cold, brisk breeze scrapes my face, and I lick my lips nervously, looking around again before I pop the trunk. Rushing around the car, I dig in the back and grunt as I gather the bag with supplies.
Warding off the chill and my paranoia, I drop the heavy bag onto the soil and start to drag it. The muscles in my arms ache, and my thighs are on fire, but I keep tugging until I find the spot I’m looking for. Letting go of the bag, I stand upright, a cool sweat already breaking out across the top of my brow. My shoes are smudged with dirt already, and I can feel the pesky bugs and poison oak already working their magic on my legs.
Guess some things never change.
Heaving a deep sigh, I unzip the bag and yank out the shovel that’s already sticking out halfway. I toss the shovel onto the ground and drop to my knees. I rub my hands across the ground, trying to feel for anything unusual in the earth. A dip in the dirt or anything that will give me an indication of where I need to start digging.
My hands pause on a small patch of dirt. As I look around me, I realize this is the only part where the weeds and poison oak haven’t been able to grow. With no other options, I push to my feet, and I slam the point of the shovel down into the solid earth and start digging. It’s a lot harder than it looks. Much harder than I expected.
The wooden handle scrapes the flesh of my palms, and with each swish, each rise, and each toss of the dirt behind me, my breathing escalates. The cut, scrape, and swoosh of the dirt and shovel fill the air, and what feels like a river of sweat rolls off my body, soaking my clothes. Pain lances through my arms and hands, and fatigue starts to slow me down.
What feels like hours go by until I notice something in the deepening hole. A sob catches in my throat, and I fall to my knees. I don’t even have to look at the whole thing. I know what it is. I recognize it.
I toss the shovel aside and start digging frantically through the dirt with my hands until I can see clearly.
“No, no, no.” I sob, lifting the material in my hands. I know this shirt. Madison and I fought over it many times. But of course, it fit her better than it did me.
“Oh, Madison.”
I lift the shirt that’s stained with dirt and covered in dried blood. It looks old and dingy. And the tears fall in torrents. I can’t get them to stop.
“I’m so sorry, Mads. It should’ve been me. It was supposed to be.” I clutch the material to my chest and sob, vowing to make them pay. The piece isn’t enough. I want them to suffer. All of them.
No amount of jail time will ever be enough. I want their blood. I want their pain. I want their—
The sound of a twig snapping behind me has me going rigid. Slowly, I start to turn around, and the dark chuckle grates down my spine.
“Just had to keep digging, didn’t you, Mackenzie?”
I suck in a sharp breath at the sound of his voice. Whirling around, I drop onto the ground with a thud, looking up at him. He’s the last person I expected to be here. The trees cast dark shadows across his normally handsome face.
“You … how …?”
Vincent tsks. “I knew it was you the whole time, Mackenzie. The second you walked through those club doors, I knew what you were there for. We all did.”
I shake my head, disbelief coursing through my veins. There’s no way. Baz wouldn’t have let them around me if he knew. He would’ve pushed me away sooner, wouldn’t he?
Vincent takes a threatening step closer, and I scramble away, my fingers digging into the dirt as I go.
“You’re going to pay for what you did to her,” I seethe, tears leaking down my face.
Vincent bends, a sinister grin on his face.
“That’s not happening, sweetheart.”
At the same time he lunges, I roll and scramble to my feet. I slip and slide in the dirt as I start running back toward the car. My heart is pounding so loud; all I hear is its frantic beat, and my blood roaring in my ears.
I’m almost there. I can practically taste it.
My fingertips make contact with the cold metal of the handle, but Vincent’s fist tightens in my hair, yanking the strands. He whirls me around, and I let out a blood-curdling scream, kicking at him.
The trees rattle with the piercing sound. Animals scurry, every trace of life leaving me for dead at his hands.
“God, you guys even scream the same.”
My chest cracks, hysteria clawing at my throat. This whole time I thought fate, the gods, wanted me to find the truth and get justice for Mads. Little did I know, they just led me to the same fate as her.
I really was the one meant to die.
I can’t let this happen. I won’t let him get away with this.
“Help me!” I scream and kick, growing angry as he tries to tighten his hold. His fist plows into my face, stunning me silent for a few seconds. It gives him just enough time to secure his grip around my bicep and yank the driver’s side door open.
“Get in the fucking car.”
I buck against him in one last futile attempt. My last fuck you to him and all the Savages. When something cold is jammed against my temple, and I hear a loud clicking sound, I freeze. Every muscle is wound tight as realization sets in, causing dread to swirl in my gut.
“Ah, good. You’re not so fucking stupid, after all.”
Slowly, with the barrel of Vincent’s gun still pressed against my head, I get inside the driver’s seat. I don’t know what he’s doing here. It wasn’t his place I broke into. How did he even know where to find me?
Vincent snatches the keys out of the ignition, where I left them, and nods toward the seat belt.
“Put it on, and don’t try any bullshit. I’m not in the fucking mood tonight.”
My hands tremble violently as I reach for the seat belt. I’m hyperaware of him moving around the front of the car, his gun still trained on me while he watches my every move. My heart is hammering violently against my chest, and everything feels heavy. The air, the pain in my heart. That same pain leaks into my chest, dripping incessantly.
Vincent slides into the passenger seat, slamming the door as he goes. He shifts in his seat, pointing the gun at me again. Sweat breaks out across my forehead. I can’t focus with that thing pointed at me. I can’t think of anything, but his finger slipping on the trigger and my brains splattering everywhere.
“Drive.”
Bile rises up my throat, a fresh round of tears blurring my vision. “I-I …”
“So help me God, Mackenzie, if you don’t start this fucking car and put it in drive, we’ll kill you just like we did your sister, and believe me, that’s a death you won’t want to relive.”
My eyes widen, shooting to his. In doing so, I find myself staring down the barrel of the gun. It looks harmless from here, but I know it isn’t. That’s the only reason I take the keys from his hand and start the car. I’m on autopilot as I press on the brake and put the car in drive, going back the same way I came.
I lick my dry, cracked lips, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye.
“How did you even find me, anyway?” My voice doesn’t even sound like my own. It’s barely a croak at this point.
“I have my ways. Now, shut the fuck up and keep going.”
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. I grit my teeth together, trying to suppress the sudden bout of anger. It causes a burst of adrenaline to kickstart in my veins and slowly spread through my body.