Yeah, a lot of people had died. But after everything—the kidnappings, the betrayal, the hell that had just ripped through Crossfire Creek—it felt like some kind of grim judgment. Fitting, if not merciful.
The debris finally stopped falling. The fire behind the bunker had dulled to a smoldering glow, sending thick smoke curling into the night sky.
Jackson pushed himself to his feet, every muscle aching from the blast. He crossed to Avery and Riley, scanning them quickly. Avery’s cheek was cut, and there was a raw scrape along her forearm, but she was upright, alert. Riley was shaking but alive, clutching Avery’s sleeve like a lifeline.
“You two okay?” he asked.
Avery nodded, voice rough. “Yeah. Banged up, but okay.” She looked at Riley, her tone softening. “She’s tough.”
Riley gave a small, broken nod. Her lip was trembling, but she held it together.
Isla emerged from the bunker’s side entrance, supporting Megan with an arm around her shoulders. Both were pale and streaked with grime, but Megan was on her feet, moving on her own.
When Noah came limping through the smoke toward them, Riley’s composure shattered. She broke free from Avery and ran straight to him, flinging her arms around his waist. Noah grunted, caught off guard, then wrapped his arms around her tight, pressing his cheek to the top of her head.
“It’s all right, kiddo,” he murmured. “You’re safe now.”
The words carried through the clearing, thin and hoarse, but they felt like a promise finally kept.
Jackson stood a few feet away, taking it all in. The wreckage, the smoke, the rain. The Brotherhood was gone. The fight, for now, was over.
But as he looked at Avery, mud-streaked, exhausted, alive, he knew the war wasn’t finished.
Not by a long shot.
The air still smelled of smoke and wet earth, thick enough to sting the back of Jackson’s throat. He watched Isla pull off her gloves and dig her phone out of a waterproof pouch, her hands trembling just slightly from the adrenaline still wearing off.
“I’ll call for an ambulance for Darian,” she said, glancing toward the man still sitting in the mud, his hand clamped against his bleeding wrist.
“Good,” Noah said, his voice hoarse. “Call Sheriff Chase, too. Let her know what’s gone down here.”
Isla nodded and stepped away, pacing toward the tree line as she lifted the phone to her ear. The glow of the screen lit the edge of her mask. She’d never pulled it off after the firefight, and in the flicker of firelight it made her look otherworldly.
Warren stirred in the mud a few yards away. He was still pinned, one leg crushed beneath the slab of concrete, but the bastard hadn’t lost his sneer.
Jackson watched him blink hard, focus sharpening when his gaze landed on Isla. For a moment, his expression twisted—confusion, disbelief—and then he barked out a laugh that was half pain, half mockery.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he rasped. “You couldn’t even face me yourself, Avery? Sent a decoy instead of taking the punishment you deserve?”
Avery stiffened beside Jackson, the words cutting through the haze of rain and smoke like a blade. She stepped forward before he could stop her, shoulders squared, eyes hard.
“Punishment for what?” she snapped.
Warren’s laugh turned low and ugly, echoing off the shattered concrete. “You really don’t know?” he asked, voice sliding into a sneer. “Figures. You and your perfect little team, pretending you’re clean. Pretending none of you deserve what’s coming.”
Jackson shifted closer, hand hovering near his weapon, not because Warren was a threat anymore, but because he didn’t trust himself not to end it right there.
Avery didn’t flinch. She took another step toward Warren, rain dripping from her hair, her gaze unblinking. “Try me,” she said.
Warren’s smile faltered, the edges slipping into something meaner, darker.
Jackson could feel it. The air tightening again, tension crawling back in despite the fire dying behind them.
Even beaten and broken, Warren was still dangerous. Still trying to poison the moment, to pull them all back into his chaos.
And from the way Avery’s jaw set, Jackson knew she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction.
Jackson stayed low, watching Warren through rain-streaked smoke. The man’s face was pale, half-hidden in dirt, but his eyes burned with a cold, ugly satisfaction that made Jackson’s stomach turn.