Page 184 of Carrick
The picture frame beside her rattled. One hand slapped flat against the drywall like she needed something real to anchor her. The other curled into a fist so tight her knuckles turnedwhite, the tremor in her arm visible even from across the room. And her eyes?—
God, hereyes. They were fire and grief and betrayal and something too frightening to name.
“You said you’d protect him,” she rasped, every word ripping free like it had barbs. “You said if something went wrong—if anything happened—you’d get him out.”
“I tried,” I said. And I hated how small it sounded.
Two words. Whittled down to bones.
Ash in my mouth.
Bellamy swayed forward—half a step, no direction, like her legs didn’t belong to her anymore. Like her body had stopped taking orders. “You promised!” Shescreamedit. The kind of scream that doesn’t stop in the throat,it explodes from the soul. “You told me you’d watch him. You said you’d keep him safe. He was my brother!”
Her voice cracked on the last word, splintered like glass under pressure. And her body went with it. She was shaking so hard it looked like she might fly apart in pieces. Her grief wasn’t passive. It wasn’t quiet. It was acreature—snarling, clawing, devouring her from the inside out.
I opened my mouth, unsure what was meant to come out—maybeI’m sorry,maybeyou’re right,maybe just her name. But it didn’t matter. She spoke first.
“You watched him burn!” she spat. “You let them burn him!”
And then she shattered. Not like glass. Like ceramic. Something that breaks with dust in its seams and silence in its cracks.
Her knees buckled.
Maddy tried to catch her again, but Bellamy twisted—writhing out of reach like the contact would burn.
She fought everything. Sobs wracked her in violent bursts—less sound, more seismic tremors. Her hands tore at her scalp,fingers tangled in her hair like she could rip the grief out by the roots. Each breath hitched, shallow and broken, her lungs frozen, her body rebelling, her soul coming apart from the inside out.
I moved toward her again. She stood and backed away, stumbling, her eyes feral and wrecked.
“Don’t—” Her voice was ragged, shredded. “Don’t you touch me—don’t you come near me?—”
“Bellamy—”
“NO!”
The word fractured like a lightning strike.
Then she turned. Ran. Bare feet pounding against hardwood. Her shadow flickered down the hallway—wild and shaking—until she disappeared behind a door.
And the slam that followed… It didn’t just rattle the walls. It sank into the bones of the house and made it hold its breath.
Silence fell. Heavy. Uneven. Full of things we couldn’t say. But even in the silence—her sobs stayed. They clung to the air like smoke. Like the aftermath of a fire. Like grief that had nowhere else to go.
I stayed standing for too long, staring at the hallway like I could bend time with willpower alone. Like maybe if I anchored myself in place—if I held my breath long enough—the walls might fold backward and spit us out into a version of the night where none of this had happened. Where Rayden hadn’t died. Where Bellamy’s scream wasn’t echoing in my skull like a goddamn war drum.
But time doesn’t bend for regret. It sharpens.
And every second I stood there, I could feel it digging in.
Maddy slipped away without a word, her steps soft and soundless as she followed after Bellamy—barefoot, quiet, hands curled into her sleeves like prayer. The door at the end of the hall swallowed her whole.
Then silence again. But not the clean kind. Not peace. It was the kind of silence that feels heavy. Sticky. Alive.
Quinn leaned forward in the chair, elbows on his knees, his expression carved from exhaustion and restraint. Blood still seeped through the bandage Deacon had applied, but he didn’t flinch. Just stared ahead like he was watching the walls fall in slow motion. “We need to decrypt the drive,” he said. His voice was rough but steady. “Tonight. If there’s anything on it—anything we can use—we can’t wait. We move fast.”
“Yeah,” Sully muttered. His hands braced on the table, knuckles pale. He didn’t lift his head. “We know.”
Jax dragged both palms over his face like he was trying to wipe the night off his skin. His voice came low and frayed. “How the fuck are we supposed to do this now? How are we supposed to tell her any of it mattered?”
