Willow and Nicky.
Orla.
Nash.
Their names began a mantra in my head, the order switching up with every rotation cos I loved them all the same.
Different. But the same.
The same. But different.
Eventually, it dawned on me that Viktor meant stop fighting the current. That we were wasting energy we no longer had, and my limbs got the memo before I did, every muscle falling slack save the ones in the fingers still clinging to my Russian friend.
Or maybe I was just knackered. Regardless, the current caught hold of us, hurling us downriver. We hit rocks and fallen trees, and I braced myself for a wider stretch of water and that moment when we wouldn’t know which way to swim.
Then my knee collided with wet mud, wedging in deep. It halted the free fall, and I used every ounce of strength I had left to hang onto Viktor.
I scrambled for better purchase, grateful for the decade I’d spent hoofing up and down ladders. I hauled us up the bank, using tree roots as handholds, praying to a thousand gods that we’d washed up on the right side of the river, not the one we’d started on.
In the dark, it was impossible to tell. And no lie, it destroyed me.
I fell onto dry land, inexplicably thinking of Folk and Alexei and the mad journey they’d survived to get home. Alexei had made no secret of the fact that Folk had saved him. But the Folkster was a fuckin’ marine. A special forces ninja. I was a lumbering idiot, and I was so damn cold every movement lapsed into slow motion.
Viktor fell.
I got him against another tree and tapped his face. “Look at me.”
He didn’t.
I struck him harder, jarring him from the blissful place he’d gone, that final, gentle ride that would end all this pain. Forcing him awake. To meet my gaze, both of us cleaner than we’d been before our rapids ride in the river.
Every cloud.
Couldn’t say Viktor gave a shit.
I’m losing him.
I gripped his chin, cringing as the heavens above chucked another burst of motherfuckin’ rain. “Listen, I’ll make you a deal. If you’re still breathing by the time I see the MC in the distance, I’ll tell you everything about Ranger, from his real name to his fuckin’ shoe size.”
Viktor’s eyes rolled.
Fuck it.
As bike engines shattered the air again, I picked him up and slung him over my shoulder.
11
ORLA
The shattered Cort lay at my feet, a days-old disaster of fractured wood scattering the bar floor. It wasn’t Nash’s favourite guitar. I wondered if he’d even care when it finally dawned on him what he’d done. If he’d see the deeper meaning in the mess.
He’s breaking.
This wasn’t news to me, but by now it was undeniable to anyone who’d witnessed him stumbling, wide-eyed andasleep, from the bar couch and wreaking havoc on that guitar. And the sickest thing was, I was glad of it. Without Locke, I couldn’t handle this on my own. Not anymore.
Beside me, Rubi shifted in his restless doze. It made me want to punch him for no reason whatsoever. It wasn’t his fault he was here and Nash wasn’t. That it had been hours since anyone had heard from the active search parties on the road.
Something’s wrong.