Page 102 of Carrick
“No,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “You’re choosing them.”
“I’m choosing reality,” he snapped.
“You’re choosing to die,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“I’d rather die than drag you down with me.”
There it was. The raw, ugly truth. And it shattered something in her. When she spoke, her voice was broken, barely above a whisper.
“You already have.”
Those three words cut deeper than anything she could’ve screamed.
Rayden flinched like she’d physically hit him. His mouth opened—but there was no defense. No lie. He just… stood there. Looking hollow.
Bellamy stumbled back a step, like her legs had forgotten how to work. She would’ve gone down if I hadn’t caught her.
Her hands clutched at my chest like she didn’t know what to hold on to anymore. Her face pressed into my shoulder. She was trembling—not just from grief, but from fury. From the total collapse of something she’d held onto for too long. I wrapped my arms around her and held tight, anchoring her while the world inside her caved in.
“Carrick,” she whispered, voice so soft it barely registered. She didn’t look up. Her eyes stayed locked on Rayden, like he might disappear if she blinked. “We can’t leave him.”
I looked at her brother—the man who’d broken into her apartment, torn through the wreckage of her life, and now stood there bleeding excuses. But beneath the panic, beneath the mess and hollow defiance, I saw it. He wasn’t just afraid of dying. He was afraid of himself. Afraid of what he’d become, of how little was left of the boy in that photo, grinning beside her with scraped knees and sunlight in his hair.
I didn’t trust him. But I trusted her. And right now, she needed him to live more than she needed him to earn it.
I couldn’t save him. But I could buy him time.
My hand dipped into the inside of my jacket, fingers closing around something heavier than it should’ve felt. Tucked behind the inner lining was the emergency stash—off-books, untraceable, meant for exfiltration only. Twenty grand, give or take. A last resort. And this? This wasn’t protocol. It was something else entirely.
I held the envelope for a beat too long, like maybe hesitation could rewrite the choice I’d already made. Then I stepped forward and shoved it into Rayden’s chest. Hard.
He caught it on instinct, stumbling back a step. His eyes dropped to the envelope like it might ignite in his hands. When he looked up, confusion was carved into every line of his face.
“What is this?” His voice was hoarse. Hollow.
“A head start,” I said flatly. “That’s all you’re getting.”
Rayden blinked, the words not landing all the way.
“Why?” he asked, throat working. “Why would you—? You don’t even know me.”
I looked at him—then down at Bellamy, still pressed against me but barely standing. Her shoulders trembled, breath shallow, fists clenched in the front of my shirt like I was the only thing anchoring her to the world.
She wasn’t crying. She was beyond that. She was coming apart quietly, from the inside out. Her brother had alreadygutted her—torn through her apartment, crushed what little hope she had left—and watching him die on top of it all would’ve destroyed the last of her.
I couldn’t let that happen. Not if I had any way to stop it.
“Why?” I repeated, my voice low and steady. “Because I’ve seen what it looks like when someone loses the last person they’re still holding on to.”
Rayden swallowed hard.
“I’m not doing this for you, motherfucker,” I said. “I’m doing it for her. So she doesn’t have to bury you.”
Rayden stared down at the money like it wasn’t real. Like he couldn’t process the weight of it, or the fact that someone was giving him a second chance he hadn’t earned.
But then his eyes lifted—toward Bellamy.
“This… this should be enough to pay them back. Or at least mostly. I can get back on their good side, earn some trust back.” He took a deep breath, and nodded, like he was planning it all out in his head. “They won’t need to come after you anymore. I’ll keep you safe.”
