Page 41 of Worth the Ruin
“I’m shocked you can count that high to be honest,” I say in a bored voice. I’m not worried about Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Fuckface. I let them close in on me, but I do tilt my head ever so slightly and tense my muscles as Jett stoops to snatch up my pack. He strolls around the clearing as he digs through it, tossing things out. Bartlett and Meadows grin at me as I shift forward, watching Jett like a hawk. They came here to attack me, and that’s all well and good. I was ready for it, welcomed it even, but I hadn’t thought about them rifling through my shit.If he touches Leo…
He pulls out the stuffed dog and laughs darkly.
“Thisis what you carry around with you everywhere? This is what’s so fucking important that you won’t leave this pack behind?”
“Put. The Dog. Down,” I say in a deadly cold voice. This had been a fun game before, a cat playing with the mice before the killing blows. Now, it’s fucking serious.
Jett smiles at me, one of those sick, twisted smiles, and time seems to slow as I watch him toss the stuffed dog into the river. My world tilts on its axis and a red haze covers my vision, fury roaring to life in my chest and taking over my entire body. I sprint forward, thrusting an elbow into Bartlett’s nose before spinning around Meadows, evading them both easily. I run towards Jett and slide beneath his outstretched meaty hand just as shots ring out. I don’t give a shit. I hear shouts, maybe even my name being yelled, but I don’t. Fucking. Care. None of it matters. I have to get to him. I fuckinghaveto. He’s my last piece of Gabby. I can’t lose him. I won’t lose him. I’d rather fucking die.
I dive into the river, and am immediately swept up in the current. I start to swim, faster than I ever have before, desperateto get to the dog. I can barely see him ahead in the fading sunlight, being pulled farther and farther away from me, but I refuse to give up. I push harder, force my body to move faster. I grit my teeth and the only thing I hear over the roaring water all around me is her name echoing in my head.Gabby. Gabby. Gabby. It’s a mantra. It’s a prayer. It’s desperate plea. I scream a wordless threat to the world, telling it in no uncertain times to fuck right off. I will not lose him. I will not lose her, not again. Iwill not lose.
I fight and I fight and somehow, against all odds, I make it to him. I grab the dog like my life depends on it, holding him so tightly my fingers ache. I try to make my way towards the bank, but the current is so fucking strong, stronger than it had seemed before, and the surge of adrenaline that had gotten me through that rushing water to fight fate itself, is spent now. I kick and try to pull myself through the water, but I’m so fucking tired. I’m not going to make it. A very small, dark part of myself accepts my fate, welcomes it even.Finally, it thinks.Finally time for no more fighting, no more pain. Finally time to rest.
But the larger part of me rears up then to beat back the darkness.No. No, this can’t be how it fucking ends. After everything that’s happened, after everything I’ve lost and given up and fought for. A face flashes in my mind now. Not Gabby or Mitch or even Jonah. That face makes the voice scream in my head now. NO! I’m not ready. This isnothow it ends. So, I fight. I fight against the current with strength I don’t have.
“Melody!” Traeger’s voice rings out and I realize that somehow, I’ve almost made it back to the bank. Traeger rushes to me, diving into the water and wrapping his arms around me. Holding me up and tugging back towards the shore. When we’ve mostly made it out, he lets me go and I collapse on hands and knees, sucking in ragged breaths in between coughing fits. Traeger drops to his knees beside me.
“Melody! What the fuck were you thinking?!” He grips my shoulders and hauls me up, his eyes desperately searching my own. “Are you alright? God, Melody…”
“Fine,” I gasp, breathless. “I’m…fine…”
He clenches his jaw and someone else stomps through the shallow water to us. Wynn.
He mutters a string of insults and prayers and insults in Cajun and I manage a half-sob, half-laugh as he helps me stand. Traeger takes a few steps back. I want to pull him close again, but I realize that we’re surrounded by a small group of people. We trudge out of the water and back onto dry land and Wilson throws a towel over my shoulders. The rush of everything that happened in the water finally starts to recede and a cold, burning fury fills my every nerve.
I meet Traeger’s gaze so he knows that I’m deadly serious when I say, “I’m going to fucking kill him.”
He doesn’t argue, just leads the group back up the river bank—Jesus, how fucking far had I’d traveled down stream??—until we finally reach the cleaning again. Jett, Bartlett, and Meadows are there on their knees, hands bound behind their backs. The rest of the group stands around them in wearing looks of disgust and anger, a few of worry and confusion.
Traeger steps forward while I hang back beside Wynn, Wilson and Johnson flanking us.
“The three of you stand accused of conduct unbecoming of members of my fucking team,” Traeger says, voice as hard and sharp as tempered steel and carrying through the clearing. He isn’t yelling, but this is somehow worse. More intense. More menacing. His gaze skates over the rest of the group, a very clear warning there, and I see every single person acknowledge it very seriously. Here is the Traeger I’d heard rumors of, the one who was cold and ruthless and terrifying.
“I’ve been hearing things, boys,” he says in that quiet, cold voice, “things that I don’t fucking like. But it was allhearsayto use a pre-fucking apocalypse word, and I believe in innocent until proven guilty. But tonight, you were seen, by multiple witnesses, threatening Melody Morales. I’m paraphrasing here, but I heard something along the lines of there being a certain number of you and a certain number of holes to fill—does that sound about fucking right?” His jaw ticks and I can practically feel the anger radiating off of him in waves, hitting like lashes of a whip. “And I don’t believe that Mel gave any invitations for such things.”
He pauses for a tick, waiting to see if any of them are going to try to refute it. None of them do, of course.
“Alright then. Guilty it is.” He turns to look at me. “Mel, the punishment is yours if you want it.”
I don’t say a word, just toss the towel to the ground and stride forward. I slip Traeger’s knife free from his belt as I pass him in a smooth, practiced motion. He arches a brow but otherwise doesn’t react. Bartlett whimpers when I approach, but he doesn’t get a word out before I slide the blade across his throat. It glides through his flesh and muscle like a hot knife through butter. I would remember to commend Traeger for the quality of his blade later. A small gasp ripples through the group, but I barely hear it. I’m in a dark, cold place where there is nothing but me, and the blade, and the task at hand.
Bartlett gurgles and chokes as blood pours, soaking the ground. Collins shakes violently as he stares, horrified, as Bartlett’s body slumps forward. He cuts his eyes back to me. They’re wide and terrified and he tries to pull away, but he can’t go anywhere.
“No, p-please, please just wait. I didn’t want to! It was him, he?—”
I flick my wrist again, gliding the blade across his jugular and bringing forth another fountain of blood. I feel it splash on my throat and chest, hot and wet, but I don’t care. His body thuds to the ground beside Bartlett’s. I move to stand before Jett. He doesn’t whimper or cry, but he does close his eyes as I slash out with the knife, the deadly sharp blade whispering against his throat, a thin line of blood slowly blooming. Barely a scratch. A second later he pries his eyes open, blinks in stunned relief, and grins that stupid fucking grin.
“I think you missed, bitch,” he sneers, but then gasps as I slip the knife into his side, sliding it up between his ribs in just the right spot, with the exact amount of pressure needed. Blood gushes over my hand, but I don’t pull back. Not yet. His eyes fly wide in pain and surprise. I lean in close as he shifts forward, desperate to cover his wound, his instincts telling him to curl up and protect himself, but he can’t do any of that. His hands are still bound and he’s being held upright by Mendoza.
“That just pierced your lung,” I say in a low voice, though loud enough for those closest to us to hear. “You don’t get a quick death, you sadistic fuck. You’re going to drown in your own blood, and it’s going to take time. It’s going to hurt. You’re going to feel your life draining away as you choke and struggle for air. You were always going to die by my hand for what you did to Jonah, that was never in question, but I would have made it quick…well, quicker, anyway. I would have made it painful, don’t get me wrong, but not like this.Thisyou brought on yourself.”
I pull back and cock my head to the side as he wheezes, the sound thick and wet.
“B…itch,” he spits, though there’s not as much venom behind the words as he’d like. I look at him impassively.
“I told you to put the fucking dog down.”
I step back and Mendoza shoves him forward. He falls heavily on his face, rolling to the side and coughing up blood. I take another step away and look down. Blood coats my boots and arms and chest.
