Page 123 of Boy of Ruin
My name.
A soft, broken murmur.
Clanking, like metal on metal. Fear runs over my body in a hot wave as I grab for the tarp, yank it off of the…crate.
A wire crate.
Like for a dog.
Jeremiah is inside, his knees to his chest, hands bound in metal cuffs in front of him, his back hunched as he’s curled into a tight ball.
And there’s a black skeleton bandana over his mouth, his eyes half closed as he tries to focus on me. His face is swollen, blood under his eye. Seeing me, he knocks his wrists against the wire of the cage.
That clanking sound again.
He’s barely conscious, his movements lethargic, slow.
But he’s trying to hold on. I feel sick, the forest spinning around me, but I have to move. I have to move, but my knife is gone, and I don’t hear Lucifer and Mayhem arguing anymore and I know they’re coming. The truck is only a few feet from the house. Still, I crouch down to my knees, my fingers skimming over the metal bars of the crate, searching for the latch in the dark.
“It’s okay,” I tell my brother, my voice shaky. “It’s okay, I’ll get you out, J, it’s okay.” I can barely hear myself, and I don’t know if, in his lethargic state, he can hear me or understand me, but I have to get him out.
I have to get him out.
I have to fucking get. Him. Out.
Where is Ria? Where the fuck is Nicolas?
My fingers are shaky, adrenaline still surging through me as my fingers finally catch on the latch.
My pulse spikes, and I pull up, my eyes on Jeremiah’s pale green ones, glowing in the darkness as he tries to keep them open.
But I already know it’s fucking hopeless.
I feel the bed of the truck shift, someone jumping on top of it.
I hear footfalls as I try to yank the door of the crate up.
It’s not big enough for him. He’s crouched into a ball, and he’s already been through this. He’s already fucking done this, and he can’t again.
We can’t do this again.
We can’t be bait for a cult, we can’t be killed for powerful men that seem fucking untouchable, who’ve used us our entire lives for their advantage.
And what has anyone done about it?
My chest heaves and I realize I can’t lift up the latch, like it’s stuck, caught on something, or locked closed, but in the darkness of the forest I can’t see what, and when arms band around my chest, a sob tearing through my throat, I know I’m fucked.
I was never going to get him free.
This was always going to end with both of us dead.
Still, I don’t let go, my fingers straining against the latch, the metal biting into my skin.
“Let it go, Angel,” Maverick whispers in my ear, his scent enveloping me. He’s crouched down behind me, arms wrapped tight around me, his hot breath fanning my skin. “You can’t save him.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat, watch Jeremiah’s eyes flutter closed.
We just got to the good part. We just worked our shit out, and I just started to understand him. I don’t want to let him go.
