I meet Trix's gaze, asking the silent question. They widen with primal ferocity. What's she saying?

"It was him." The confession darts from her lips with an undertone of absolute fact.

More blood pours from the tip of Eli's knife.

"Snitchin' wh.o.r.e." A sick smile curls his lips. "Just like her sister."

She cries out, and the sound slices through my chest.

I blink and shake my head, sure I misheard. "What did you say?"

Trix cries out. More blood. She claws at his arms, but he doesn't let up.

Dread and fear and anger mix in a volatile c.o.c.ktail of hate.

"You f.u.c.king heard me, a.s.shole." He rips Trix back farther, her bare feet skidding in the dirt as they search for purchase. His eyes are wild, like I've seen Drake's when he's high and paranoid. "She's a snitch."

I step forward, watching the blood drain from Trix's face. Her legs wobble and Eli hoists her up.

"You killed Lana." Uncertainty gives way to rage. "It was you-"

I'm grabbed from behind, the cool metal of a gun shoved into my temple. I struggle against it. A thick forearm wraps around my neck.

Two guys have me locked down. I don't allow my eyes to move from Trix's.

"End him. Now." Elijah says.

Trix lurches forward. "No-" Her voice cuts off with a vicious tug at her head. My heart pounds.

I struggle again, but I'm overpowered. I throw everything I have left into getting to her, but gain zero distance. f.u.c.k, this is it.

"Kill him!" Elijah's eyes are bulging from his head; the knife he's holding to Trix shakes in his hand.

One of the men holding me back groans. "f.u.c.k."

The gun c.o.c.ks.

I struggle harder, hoping one of my guys gets to me before Trix has to see my brains blown out over the desert.

"Mason, no!" Trix flails in uncoordinated kicks until the neck of her shirt is soaked in her own blood.

The visual rockets through my veins.

Fury rolls, swelling. Svetlana died because of what she saw, now so will Trix. Just like her sister, she'll be cut and sliced.

It builds, raging in a violent crest. Ripped from everyone who loves her. Taken from me with one swipe of that blade across her neck.

Madness ramps as the weight crashes.

First Lana, now Trix.

Tortured.

Destroyed.

Lost forever.

I roar and rip from the hold. The flare of a shot fired doesn't slow me down. Elijah's eyes widen seconds before I hit. Trix's body falls limp to the ground as I tackle him. His knife jabs, but I feel nothing except for the pa.s.sion that rages for justice. Every hit connects. The battle with flesh and bone mirror the battle within as I release years of anger on the man who's hurt those I love.

The heat of fresh blood coats my hands, and I can't stop. Voices call out, hands try to grab, but my obsession for revenge spurs me on. His arms drop limply, his head lolling with every punishing blow. But it's not enough.

Wind whips around my head, kicking up dust to coat my blood-soaked arms with grit. Registering on some level that he's out, I can't pull back my fury. Can't cage the beast that's out for revenge. For Trix and for Lana.

He deserves to die.

Lights shine brightly all around, but it's fogged, tempered by my mania.

My lips curl back over my teeth, and the metal tang of splattered blood feeds the fire. More, more, I'll never stop. I don't fatigue. Left-right-left-right, every punch energizes the next.

Can't . . . stop . . .

My muscles lock up. f.u.c.k! Heat stuns me still. I'm knocked to the ground. My body flops without control. I struggle to get up, to finish what I started, but my muscles spasm and ignore my efforts. I try to look around, but even my eyes are doing their own thing.

Soft hands cradle my head. Trix's eyes fill my field of vision. Tears stream down her face. "Shh . . . it's okay."

No! I try to force the word, but nothing comes out. She must know as she cradles me closer, rocking. "It's okay. Everything's going to be okay now."

She's not safe. Not yet. Not until every motherf.u.c.ker here is dead. I fight, push my body to react to my brain's commands, but get nothing.

"It's over . . . shh . . . stop fighting it." Her voice soothes as I come back into my body. "It's okay," she calls out to someone. "He's okay." The last word cracks with emotion.

Twitching, I force my muscles to respond. I reach up and wrap my hand around her neck, her blood tacky against my palm. I flex my fingers into her neck, trying to communicate. I'm okay, but you're bleeding.

She holds my grip to her wounded skin. "I'm good. I promise." She runs her fingers through my hair and keeps her eyes locked with mine. I'm unable to release her neck. Feeling her pulse flutter beneath my fingertips is the best f.u.c.king feeling, and I hold them there until our heartbeats align.

No one's coming after us. It's over.

This could've ended so differently. My stomach turns, and I slam my eyes closed to keep from puking like a little b.i.t.c.h. What the h.e.l.l happened to me? My fingers flex again against Trix's neck. She's here. Alive. That's what matters.

My muscles calm and I move to sit up. Pain slices through my arm, but it dies quickly when I study my surroundings. "Holy s.h.i.t!"

Helicopters and SWAT teams litter the once-dark desert floor. I scan the area, able to make out faces that are now illuminated as spotlights shine on every s.p.a.ce.

Jonah helps a man to his feet, only to hand him over to be cuffed. Blake's arms are crossed over his chest while he's deep in conversation with a guy who looks completely out of place in a suit and tie. I search for Rex, but can't find him. f.u.c.k! My stomach lurches again and I push up further. "Come on. Where is he?"

Trix's grips my forearm. "Who?"

My eyes continue to survey. "Rex. I . . . if anything happened to him . . ." Dammit, he has to be okay.

"There!" She points over my shoulder to a cop leading Rex away in handcuffs.

I push to stand, but fire stabs through my arms and my side. I groan and drop back to my a.s.s.

"Mase . . . you're hurt." Her hands move over me in tentative touches, but I can't take my eyes of Rex, who's being loaded into the back of a van.

"Sorry, man." A SWAT guy dressed in black tactical gear steps in front of me. "We had to tase you."

"Why is my friend being arrested?" I motion toward the van whose doors just slammed shut.

"Looks like you've got some injuries." The cop studies my arms and torso.

I tilt my chin and see multiple puncture wounds in my arm. Eli, that f.u.c.king a.s.shole. "Why is Rex being arrested?"

The cop swings his gaze to the b.l.o.o.d.y heap of a man at my side then to another mound of blood and body across the way before turning back to me. "I'm afraid you and your friend have some explaining to do."

I didn't have to hear him say the words to know what we'd done.

Elijah and Hatch are dead.

Thirty-eight.

Trix Everything is so f.u.c.ked up.

While I'm sitting in a hospital waiting room, unable to see Mason, who's in a hospital exam room guarded by cops, Rex is at the police station. They've both been arrested for murder, but Mason's stab wounds had to be attended to before-I take a shaky breath-before they take him to jail.

I've answered all the questions and given them all the information I have, everything from the night Svetlana was murdered until now. They know the truth, and even though they see me suffering for answers, they've given me none.

The door to Mason's room opens, and Detective Hodgeson, the man who questioned me both at the scene and again here at the hospital, strolls out. His eyes latch on mine, and he waves off the cops who are with him. They nod and leave, and he heads over to take the seat next to mine.

I shift and wipe my palms on the fresh scrubs they gave me when I arrived. I was able to clean up a little in the bathroom, washing the blood and dirt from my arms and face, but the smell of death still lingers on my skin.

"Miss Langley." With his dark hair and kind eyes, he smiles at me so sweetly that I almost cry.

No, hold back. I have to be strong for Mason.

"Is he okay?" I fist my hands in my lap.

He nods. "He's fine. He'll be sore, and I'm pretty sure they lost count of how many st.i.tches he got, but he'll be okay. Luckily, the knife missed all his vital organs."

I exhale and my shoulders droop. "Oh, thank G.o.d."

"You were very brave tonight." The edge of anger tinges his words. "Things could've gone differently if we'd had better intel." He shakes his head.

From what I understand, Jonah and Blake called the cops, and if they'd been even five minutes later . . . A shiver slithers up my spine. Detective Hodgeson's words finally sink into my sleep-deprived and traumatized brain. "Wait . . . intel? What do you mean?"

He tilts his head, studying me. "I think you need to talk to Mr. Mahoney."

I jerk my gaze from him to Mason's hospital room door. "What? Can I? I mean they said I couldn't."

He shrugs one shoulder. "I think it's okay. I'll need to talk to the DA, but something tells me charges won't be filed. Everything else you need to know you should probably hear from him."

Taking that as permission, I shoot to my feet and move toward the door. His chuckle makes me pause, and I realize I was rude not to thank him. "Thank you," I call over my shoulder then speed walk through the door that the guards had opened for me.

My heart pounds wildly as I step into the sterile room. My gaze goes to the bed, but it's empty and looks like it hasn't even been sat on. I move deeper into the room, but Mason's nowhere to be found. Moving back to the hallway, light from the cracked bathroom door catches my eye. My cheeks heat, and I contemplate waiting until he's finished, but the sound of his mumbled voice pulls me to peek inside.

I cover my mouth to keep from gasping aloud at the sight of Mason. His hands are flexed, fists braced on the sink, and his wide and powerful back ripples with tension. White gauze and tape litter his flawless skin in patches over his left bicep, forearm, and ribcage. My gaze slides down his muscular back to the swell of his backside, which peeks up from above the loose-hanging scrubs. I gawk shamelessly at him, this warrior.

My warrior.

"Trix, baby." His soft whisper brings my eyes up to find him staring at me through the reflection in the mirror.

Time ceases as our gazes fuse in an unrelenting hold.

He studies the gauze wrapped around my upper arm and then drops his gaze to my neck, which is wrapped in bandages, with a few st.i.tches underneath.

To think he was stabbed, could've died there in the middle of the desert as I held him to me. I'd never have survived that. My hand goes to my throat, realizing how quickly both our lives could've been over. Tears p.r.i.c.k my eyes, and I roll my lips between my teeth to keep them from quivering.

He turns and crosses to me in long strides. "No, baby, don't cry."

Pulled tight to his chest, I wrap my arms around his hips.

"Shh. Everything's okay." He rubs my back, pressing firmly to loosen the tense muscles. "My brave surfer girl."

The warmth of his bare skin on my cheek fills me with a sense of belonging. "I'm so sorry, Mason. This is all my fault. I should've walked away like you said. I should've-"

"No." He grips my chin and tilts my head back to meet his glacial eyes. "Don't say that. Don't ever f.u.c.king apologize for them, do you understand?"

My eyes dart to the side. "Prison, Mason. I know what the detective said, but what if you end up in prison because of me?"

His eyebrows drop low beneath the s.h.a.g of his blond hair. "About that . . ." He shifts me, and with his hand splayed at my lower back, he leads me to the bed. "There's something you need to know."

Whatever calm I'd found dissolves, and my blood turns cold.

He crawls onto the bed, motioning for me to join him on his right side. I curl into him, and he wraps an arm around me, settling in deeper.

"What is it?"

He clears his throat. "We got played."

I jerk my head up and wince as pain slices through my neck. "What? By who?"

He presses my head back down to his chest, resting his big hand on my neck as if to soothe it. "Jessica's pregnant and-"