Edge of Defiance (Edge of Collapse, #5)

by Kyla Stone

“He was supposed to be one of the good guys. He could have been—he was supposed to be—”

Rosamond might have fired the kill shot, but Noah had stepped willingly into her trap. Noah had allowed her to lure him, bait him, a fish wriggling on a hook. Even at the end. Even knowing the bitter truth.

“He always had a choice. He tried to pretend that he didn’t, but he was lying to himself. That’s on him. No one else. He chose the path that led to this. So did Rosamond.”

A warrior’s heart beat inside her, but she was still a girl: a lonely orphan who’d only longed to be loved.

Noah had let her down, but Hannah wouldn’t. She would die before she hurt this beautiful girl.

All these tears. I CAN NOT!

She would be okay. She was strong. She was surrounded by people who cared for her.

At Quinn’s request, they’d moved Milo to her bedroom. With the militia destroyed, they could’ve used a Winter Haven house, but everyone thought Milo would want to be in a familiar place, surrounded by warmth and love, with the delicious scent of Molly’s honey-slathered cornbread in the air and a bunch of cats sleeping all over him.

Lee came to check on Milo; it was a tense, uncomfortable visit. The nurse blamed them for the fires, the fighting, the death and destruction. He’d supported the militia to the end. He wasn’t the only one.

He can go somewhere else too. Only reason he was still around is because he was just as much a coward as the rest. He was still getting fed and staying warm. He didn't care what was happening around him.

Noah was dead. And Quinn was a killer. She’d killed Rosamond Sinclair. Rosamond deserved it. She didn’t regret that part for a second. That didn’t lessen the stupid nightmares. It didn’t save Milo or bring Noah back from the dead. It didn’t make the darkness inside her go away.

“Even now, after everything? Even if Milo dies?”

“Yes, even then.” “How can you say that?” “We’ve already done it. We’ve already suffered incredible loss. I have. You have. And we’re still here, Quinn. We’re survivors, you and I.”

Her fear, guilt, hatred, and helplessness were all tangled up in an ugly mess inside her. How shaken she was at taking a life, even one as despicable as Rosamond. Her constant worry for Milo. And her inexhaustible, inexplicable anger at Noah. Her devastation at his betrayal, his cowardice.

Hannah bowed her head and squeezed Milo’s hand. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.”

She watched him process the realization that his father was dead and gone.

Milo wept; his mother wept with him. There was nothing anyone could do to help him, to lessen his suffering. Hannah’s, either.

Everything she and Milo had gone through together. Everything they’d survived. It was Noah who ended up hurting him the worst. He’d abandoned Milo, abandoned them both. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

For days, Quinn had been unusually quiet and reserved. He was glad to see her acting like a kid again. But she didn’t laugh like Milo; she didn’t smile.

Concern niggled at him. He needed to check in with her and make sure she was alright. Perhaps giving her a shift on watch would put a grin on her face. She’d held her own with the superintendent. Maybe it was time to give her more responsibilities. She might need it.

And because Hannah loved him, Liam loved him, too. And Charlotte. Such a tiny thing, and she had him wrapped around her little finger. Everyone knew it. Liam knew it. He’d move heaven and earth to protect her.

STAHP!

Bishop was planning a funeral for the nineteen townspeople killed by the militia over the last few weeks, including Owen Truitt and Wayne Marshall.

Sutter had converted two additional homes into warehouses for the militia, both crammed with stolen supplies. Not just food, but a dozen camping stoves and portable heaters, hundreds of propane and butane canisters, gallons of kerosene, and several solar panel kits and chargers.

Ooooh now I'm mad again that he got away.

Molly said it would be enough to get them through the spring into planting season as long as they conserved wisely—and if they could establish a community garden, work hard, and get crops growing as soon as possible.

The militia had left behind eighty-seven noncombatant family members—partners, children, and elderly parents.

Naw… Wait a minute. Send them home or put them in some other vacant houses.

They’d freed Darryl Wiggins, but James Luther, the turncoat militiaman with a sickly father, was still under house arrest. They weren’t sure what to do with him, either.

“Just because the militia is gone doesn’t mean we’re safe.” “We’ll never be safe. Safe doesn’t exist. Not after the collapse, and not before. You do the best that you can, and you live the life that God gave you.” “You sound like Bishop,” Liam said wryly. She flashed him a mischievous grin. “That man rubs off on you.” “That he does.” “You’re still worried,” Hannah said, reading his mind. “I’ll always worry.” “A greater truth was never spoken,” she quipped, then grew serious. “Look around us. Look what we’ve accomplished. How far we’ve come. Give us six months. Give us a year. Imagine what we can do.” “You have so much confidence.” “I know the people I have confidence in.”

He cleared his throat. “I thought I was saving you, you know.”

“Back in the forest, in the cabin.” She gave him that wry smile, her lips tilting in that way he loved. “I wouldn’t be here without you. I wouldn’t have…all this.” He spread his hands wide, unable to explain the emotion thickening his throat.

These people, this place. Her. He didn’t have the words to explain how she’d found a way into his cold, dead heart. H...

Now he wanted it all. Hannah. Her children. Ghost. The friendship of Quinn, Molly,

and Bishop. A home to call his own. The messy, painful beauty of a life fully lived.

“People save each other, Liam. We saved each other.”

Yes y'all did!

“You belong here, you know.” she said. “Fall Creek is yours, too.”

It took everything in him not to draw her into his arms. He resisted the urge to tilt her chin up and kiss her. Something held him back. When it was the right time, he would say what he needed to say and make his intentions known. That wasn’t today. Her husband had died only days ago. She’d almost lost her son, not to mention killing her captor or watching his sociopathic mother die in front of her.

Whatever decision Hannah made, he didn’t want it to be a reaction to trauma or grief. He wanted it to be real.

I love it! My chest!!! I can't.

“Your nephew,” she said. “You won’t be at peace until you find him. Find Jessa’s parents. If they’re willing, bring them back to Fall Creek. Bring the rest of your family home.”

And I'm out. My heart can't take it. 2 more books left.

He’d once commanded a group like this, though his was smaller. He would have turned them into his own personal army—if Liam Coleman hadn’t destroyed his plans.