Chapter 296

Chapter 296
He shook his head, disappointed, and shoved the barrel harder into Maggie’s temple. She whimpered, her body sagging further.
“I think I’d feel much better taking both of them instead,” Tom went on, his gaze flicking to me. “Tamara and her sister.” His eyes glittered. “But you don’t care about the sister, do you?”
My breath hitched.
“News reached me,” Tom continued smoothly, enjoying every second, “that she helped conspire to kill Tamara. Poisoning isn’t exactly an act of love, now is it?”
My mouth fell open. Maggie let out a broken sob, her tears mixing with blood as her face twisted in pain.
“Though it wasn’t intentional,” Tom added, feigning thoughtfulness. “Right?”
The words lodged in my chest like glass.
Isaiah stepped closer and placed a hand on my shoulder. I flinched violently and turned on him. His eyes burned with anguish, the hurt in them sharp enough to cut—but I couldn’t help it. First Noel. Now Maggie. And Isaiah knew. He knew… and he didn’t tell me.
How do you come back from that?
“Don’t listen to him, baby,” Isaiah begged, his voice cracking.
I wanted to ask. God, I wanted to demand the truth. It sat right on my tongue, burning to be spoken—but Maggie’s low moan dragged my attention back to her. She was losing too much blood. Too fast. She wasn’t going to make it without help.
And suddenly, the choice became clear.
“Take me instead.”
The words left my mouth before fear could stop them.
The field went deathly quiet.
It wasn’t until Tom let out a long, impressed whistle—and I felt Isaiah go utterly still behind me—that the weight of what I’d said truly hit.
Isaiah grabbed me and yanked me back against his chest, spinning me to face him. His eyes were blazing, wild.
“Are you out of your mind?” he snapped. “What do you think you’re doing?”
I ripped my arm from his grasp, fury and desperation colliding in my veins.
“If trying to save my sister makes me crazy,” I hissed, tears streaming freely now, “then so be it.”
The pain in his eyes nearly broke me.
“I’m going to be fine, Isaiah,” I said softly, even as my voice shook. “You just—” I swallowed hard. “You make sure my sister gets to the hospital.”
He shook his head immediately, violently, like the idea itself was unbearable.
“No,” he said hoarsely. “I won’t—”

But his words never reached me.
Tom moved first.
He shoved Maggie forward without warning. She crumpled instantly, hitting her knees with a dull, sickening thud. I screamed her name and lunged for her—but strong hands seized me from behind. Two of Tom’s men lifted me clean off the ground, hauling me back as if I weighed nothing.
In the blink of an eye, positions shifted.
Now it was me.
I was the one dragged forward.
I was the one with cold metal pressed to my temple.
And strangely—horribly—I felt relief.
At least it wasn’t Maggie anymore.
My eyes found Isaiah’s across the chaos. My husband. The man bound to my soul. And the look in his eyes—God—the sheer, naked anguish there shattered something inside me. That pain alone hurt more than any bullet ever could.
I love you, I mouthed to him.
I couldn’t tell if the wetness rimming his eyes was sweat or tears. I told myself it was sweat. I needed to believe that. I needed one small mercy for my sanity.
“Let’s see if you can catch us, brother,” Tom drawled lazily, dragging me backward toward his car, the gun never leaving my head. “Run hard. Run very hard.”

Isaiah surged forward with a roar, pure violence incarnate. Tom’s men rushed him, but they didn’t last long. I watched in horror and awe as Isaiah tore through them—bones breaking, bodies falling. He moved again, closer—
Then the ground erupted.
Men poured out of the bushes. Dozens. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. Armed. Ruthless. Faces twisted with hunger for blood.
Isaiah froze for a fraction of a second, shock flickering across his face as he took in the sheer number of them. Behind me, Tom laughed—deep, hearty, satisfied.
Something inside me collapsed.
I wanted to fall to my knees. I wanted to scream and cry and beg God to wake me from this nightmare.
“He won’t make it, gorgeous,” Tom murmured casually, almost kindly, as he shoved me into the back seat of his car. “You should start saying your goodbyes now.”
The door slammed shut.
I twisted around desperately, searching for Isaiah through the window. He was surrounded—completely encircled now. Him and his men swallowed by a sea of enemies.
Through the side mirror, I caught one last, horrifying glimpse.
Martha was running toward us, screaming something I couldn’t hear.
An axe came out of nowhere.
It struck her square at the back of the neck.
I screamed as her eyes widened in shock, blood bursting forward as her body collapsed lifelessly to the ground.
The car jerked into motion.
Tom watched the scene unfold through the windshield, his face utterly blank. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles white—but he didn’t stop. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look back to retrieve his mother’s corpse.
He simply drove away.
And with every mile between us, I felt Isaiah slipping further and further from me.