Chapter 295

Chapter 295
“This… all of this,” Tom rasped, his voice low and venomous, “it’s your fault, Tamara.” His tone shifted then, slipping into something achingly lonely, almost human. It sent a chill down my spine. For a terrifying moment, it seemed like he was a broken man, desperate, craving something no one could give him. “If only you had let me have you… if only you hadn’t fallen for that… monster—Isaiah. None of this would have happened.”
He leaned closer, and my stomach churned. His fingers traced a deliberate path along my jawline, over my cheeks, brushing my lips—and then, impossibly, he tightened his grip around my neck, fingers like iron coils. My body froze. Air became a memory. My lungs burned, constricting in panic, every second stretching impossibly long.
“You turned me away,” he hissed, his black eyes boring into mine, filled with hurt and fury so deep it was almost painful to witness. “You chose him over me. Everyone chooses him over me—my father, my boss, my friends… even my
 sister.” He laughed then, a sound so dark, so cruel, that my blood ran cold.
Isaiah groaned behind him, thrashing against the men holding him, but Tom didn’t care. He tilted his head, eyes glittering with something almost insane, watching my reaction as if studying a butterfly struggling in a net. The grip on my neck tightened ever so slightly, just enough to make my vision blur at the edges. My cheeks flushed red, my tongue thick, my heartbeat loud enough to drown out the world.
“I didn’t think you’d do this to me, baby girl,” Tom continued, his voice dropping even lower, almost a growl now. “Why did you? Why… why choose him? Why?”
“T-Tom… p-please…” I choked out, words breaking, trembling, and desperate. My lips parted to beg, to plead, but my voice barely made a sound. My throat burned, every breath a struggle. He ignored me, black eyes darkening even further, swallowing the last glimmers of any softness I’d glimpsed.

The pressure increased.

Not enough to snap—just enough to make every second stretch into agony.

My vision blurred at the edges, bright pinpricks dancing as my lungs screamed for air. My hands flew up on instinct, fingers wrapping weakly around Tom’s wrist, nails digging in, but he barely reacted. It was like he didn’t even feel me.

“TOM!” Isaiah roared.

The sound of his voice—raw, unhinged—cut through the haze, but Tom only tilted his head, studying my face as if fascinated by the way my lips parted uselessly.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Still begging for him even now. Always him.” His grip tightened another fraction. “Do you know how that feels? To never be chosen?”

My knees buckled.

Isaiah snapped.

The men holding him barely had time to react before one went down with a sickening crunch, Isaiah’s elbow slamming into his throat. The second guard barely got his gun up before Isaiah ripped it from his hands and smashed his head against his knee.

“DROP HER!” Isaiah bellowed.

Tom’s eyes flicked toward the chaos for half a second—just a second.

That was enough.

A sharp crack rang out.

Tom’s grip loosened abruptly, his hand jerking away from my neck as a bullet tore through his shoulder. He staggered back with a curse, disbelief flashing across his face.

I collapsed.

Air tore back into my lungs in a violent rush as I hit the ground, coughing, choking, my throat burning like it had been set on fire. My hands clawed at the dirt, my chest heaving as I dragged in breath after breath.

“Tamara!” Isaiah’s voice broke.

Gunfire erupted.

Everything happened at once—shouts, screams, bodies hitting the ground. Isaiah moved like a force of nature, ripping a gun from one of Tom’s men and firing with brutal precision. His men surged from the shadows, bullets flying, chaos swallowing the field whole.

I crawled backward blindly, my head spinning, ears ringing.

Isaiah reached me in seconds, dropping to his knees and pulling me into his arms, shielding my body with his own.

“I’ve got you,” he panted, one hand cradling my head, the other gripping his gun. “I’ve got you. Breathe, baby. Look at me.”

My fingers fisted in his shirt like he might disappear if I let go. My throat ached, every swallow painful, but I nodded, forcing air into my lungs.

Tom’s laughter rang out suddenly—hoarse, and unhinged.
Behind him, chaos littered the ground. His men had been reduced by half—some dead, their bodies twisted unnaturally in the dirt, others groaning in pain, clutching gunshot wounds as they bled out. One of the remaining men dragged someone forward at gunpoint.
My vision swam, blood roaring in my ears. And then I saw her.
“Maggie—”
The name tore itself out of my chest. I shoved Isaiah away without thinking and stumbled toward her, my legs barely holding me upright.
She was still bleeding. Still fighting. Still failing.
Maggie’s face was ghostly pale, her lips tinged blue, eyes glassy and unfocused as she struggled to remain conscious. Blood soaked through her clothes, dripping steadily onto the ground beneath her feet. She swayed, barely upright, held in place only by Tom’s brutal grip on her shoulder.
Tom tutted softly, amused.
“You see, brother,” he drawled, shoving his man aside and taking the gun himself, pressing it firmly against Maggie’s temple, “this is why you always lose.”
Isaiah came to a halt behind me, his breathing heavy and ragged, chest rising and falling like he’d run a marathon through hell. All of his men had revealed themselves now, forming a wall behind him—guns raised, eyes locked—but none of that mattered. Not with Maggie like this.
“You let emotions clog your brain,” Tom continued lazily. “Feelings. Attachments. Such ugly little weaknesses.” His lips curved. “I’m grateful you hated me. Truly. I’m grateful I had no one who loved me like this.” He gestured vaguely between Isaiah and me. “Makes things much easier.”
My gaze never left Maggie’s. She looked at me then, eyes glossy with pain and apology, her knees buckling slightly. My heart seized.
“What’s it going to be, brother?” Tom purred, pressing the gun harder into her skin. Maggie flinched, a broken sound slipping from her lips. “Will Tamara forgive you if you let her sister die here? Today?” He smiled cruelly. “Do you think she’ll ever look at you the same again?”
Behind me, I felt Isaiah stiffen—felt it like a crack through bone. And I hated that I couldn’t dismiss Tom’s words as manipulation, because buried beneath the cruelty was a truth I wasn’t sure I could outrun.
All I knew was this: Maggie was dying. And I couldn’t let that happen.

“Let her go, Tom.” Isaiah’s voice came out rough, strained. “Take me instead. It’s me you want. It’s always been me.”
My head snapped back toward him, tears spilling freely now, my lips trembling as I shook my head. No. No, no, no.
Tom clicked his tongue.
“That might’ve worked before,” he said lightly. “Before I realized who you truly are, Isaiah.”
He shook his head, disappointed, and shoved the barrel harder into Maggie’s temple.