Timber (Hades, #4)

by Tate James

This book is dedicated to survivors. You’re the real heroines.

"Wake up and smell the betrayal, Gumdrop," I muttered, then took a long pull on the bourbon. "Sometimes if it quacks like a duck and shits like a duck, it's a fucking duck."

"That was for the look on Hayden's face when she realized you'd been lying to her. You ever make her feel like that again—no matter how noble your intentions—I'll fucking kill you. We clear?"

At first, I'd worried she'd shoot me. Then I'd worried she'd stop loving me. And goddamn if I wasn't willing to do anything for even one more day inside her heart. Even knowing this would be the sorry outcome of it all.

"You're not worth the clean-up fee."

I should have killed her the moment she walked back into my life five years ago.

She'd never used her real name when she'd been married to my father, and when she’d resurfaced to recruit me that day after the Timberwolf massacre, she’d reintroduced herself to me as Agent Rebecca Laurence.

With just one flippant comment from Jeanette—Agent De Rosa—he'd achieved the one thing Chase had failed at for so many years. He'd broken me.

I was so utterly exhausted, sick to death of being strong all the time.

I didn't care what I tore or broke. I was taking him to Hell with me.

Thoughts and dreams of what I'd do to Chase if I ever got free were the only things that kept me going. Yet every time I started to fall asleep, I was plagued by one gut-churning, heartbreaking thought. Why had no one come for me? Surely, even as mad as Lucas had to be, he'd have called Cass. Or Demi. Or hell, even Gen. Was anyone looking for me? Did anyone care?

He knew full fucking well I was too weak to free myself now. Too sick and frail. Broken. But he'd underestimated me. My body might be his to play with, damage, starve, and weaken... but he didn't have my mind.

Piece by piece, I took all the recent torture and abuse—no matter how patchy the memories—and tucked them into a box. Then I locked the box, wrapped it in chains, and dipped it in molten steel. Crack that, motherfucker. I had plenty of those same boxes littered through the infinite darkness of my mind, each neatly labelled with the damage they contained. But sooner or later, I knew they'd become too heavy to hold.

No hallucinations of myself appeared to tell me otherwise, or agree, but I could hear the voice of my own various identities as clear as day inside my head. Their message was unanimous. Who fucking cared if it was a trap. A slim chance was better than no chance, and stuck in the cell? Strapped to the bed while Chase raped me, burned me, drowned me, choked me? There was no chance there. So... screw it. Escape or die trying.

Six names I committed to memory. Six men who were colluding with my psychotic torturer.

Gritting my teeth, I dropped the boots, then forced myself to lay a false trail through soft earth, leaving obvious footprints as I went. I could hear water running somewhere in the distance, but I needed to cover myself. If Chase was following—and he would be—then I couldn't just run blindly in a line and hope he was too dumb not to see the signs of my clumsy passage.

So after a couple of minutes, I dug deep for strength and slowly pulled myself up into a tree. Fuck me dead, it hurt.

Strength wasn't on my side, though. No matter how badly I wanted to survive, I was still only human. Barefoot, basically naked, malnourished, weak, drug-damaged, and bleeding, I was no fucking match for Chase and he knew it. His laughter echoed through the night as he pursued me at a leisurely pace.

"Quiet," my savior hissed, clapping a hand over my mouth as he lifted me in his arms and started running. A hundred times faster than I'd managed since breaking free, the world whipped past my face as I inhaled the smoky, rich smell of man-sweat, gunpowder, and Zed. Zed. He'd come for me.

It was well-decorated, comfortable, but somewhat impersonal, like it was a vacation house or something.

Zed and I were both O negative, and while we could donate to anyone, we could only receive O negative blood. We always joked that it might come in handy one day.

Giving me a pint of blood was probably the least he could do. "Yeah," Lucas whispered. "Fucking idiot probably should have told us he had a knife lodged in his side before I took his blood, though." My lids snapped open once more, but Lucas just shook his head. "Don't worry, he's fine. Alive, anyway. Go to sleep, Hayden. I'm not going anywhere."

"...fucking lights on?" someone was asking. "Because she asked for light," Lucas replied in a low voice. "You didn't hear how scared she was when she woke up in the dark, Cass. I'm not risking that again."

"Saint," I breathed, my eyes locking on his scowling face above the bed. "You're here." His brow furrowed deeper at my words, and he crouched down. "Where the fuck else would I be?" he grumbled. "I only left to get Doc, otherwise the hounds of hell couldn't have made me leave."

"Doc wants to check you for broken ribs," Cass rumbled. "And whatever else. Lucas stitched up your wrist but probably made a mess of it." "Fuck you, dick," Lucas muttered. "I stitch like a damn sewing machine."

"You heard her," Doc's wife, Maria, snapped, pushing her way into the room with a stern, no-nonsense scowl. "Hades gave you an order. Get out." A shudder ran through me at her words, but I kept my mouth shut as Lucas and Cass reluctantly left the room.

Doc offered me a hand to help me up, but when I pointedly didn't take his offer, Maria pushed him aside and offered me her arm instead. Smart woman, she knew what she was doing. I gave her a tight nod of appreciation as she helped me ever so slowly to my feet, not rushing me when I needed to pause and let my head clear.

With his wife's help, he ran through a physical check from head to toe. He thoroughly cleaned the nasty mess of my shoulder and muttered some comments about needing surgery to repair the AC joint that Chase had fucked up. The damage was where the collarbone met the shoulder blade. It didn't sound like an urgent thing, though, so I said nothing and let him continue.

Sure enough, three ribs on the left and two on the right were fractured but not at risk of puncturing anything.

From her bag she pulled out a small packet and popped a tiny white pill out into her palm. Without a word, she handed it to me, and I damn near choked with how fast I swallowed it down.

I swallowed past the tension in my throat before I could reply. "Only a year ago." And they lasted for five. The pill she'd given me was just an extra precaution, and one I was more than happy to take.

"Hades..." I tensed. As weak as I was, as damaged, abused, and fragile as I was, I didn't feel like Hades anymore. She was strong and unshakable. I was nothing but an empty shell of that woman.

I shook my head—not just to deny her statement but to shake away that painfully depressing thought that had just filled my head. Where the fuck had that even come from? I wasn't an empty shell. I was a goddamn survivor.

"I'm alive, Maria. That's the only thing that counts."

"Well, it's going to be a slow recovery anyway. We're talking weeks, not days." I gritted my teeth but didn't argue with him. It was pointless when he was simply giving me an expert opinion. I could have that argument with my own body after he was gone.

The door clicked shut, and I counted to one hundred inside my head, waiting for the door to open again. Only after reaching one hundred did I let the tension seep out of my body and the breath rush out of my lungs. Then, only then, did I let myself fall to pieces.

I'd held so damn strong, stoic, and calm for the entire time Doc and Maria had been here, but I had nothing left. My walls turned to dust, and a silent scream wracked my chest. When the tears finally rolled free, I knew there would be no stopping them. So as carefully as I could, I curled into a ball and sobbed into my pillow, letting the emotions flow. But I stayed silent. Always silent and alone. But I wasn't alone. Just when I felt like my soul was shredded beyond repair and my mind splinted like a broken mirror, the muffled sound of voices cut through my agony. Cass and Lucas... and Zed. They were in a heated argument outside my room, but they were here. I wasn't alone. I'd never truly be alone again, and that knowledge calmed me enough to finally sleep.

Cass held my eyes, searching, then scrubbed a hand over his face. "Want me to punch Gumdrop for you, Red?" I blinked at him in confusion, but he just arched a brow back at me. "He slapped you, Angel. You look as weak as a kitten right now, but I'm more than happy to act as your fist."

Only then did I realize that he was touching me, and I wasn't turning into a raving madwoman. Maybe Chase hadn't fucked me up as bad as I'd thought. Maybe I could find my way back to me after all.

I needed to regain some of my mental fortitude, though. I needed to stand on my own two feet, even if that was metaphorically and not physically.

"You can't be serious," he rumbled. "She's been in that sick fuck's hands, beaten, tortured, stabbed, drugged, starved, and fuck knows what else, for twelve goddamn days, Lucas." He shifted his furious glare back to me. "You are an invalid, Red. Suck it the fuck up and accept some help."

"Twelve days, four hours, and fifteen minutes. That's how long he had you." I blinked up at him in shock. "It felt like longer," I finally whispered. "It was twelve days, four hours, and fifteen fucking minutes too long," Cass growled.

as

Without a doubt, he would hunt Chase down and kill him with his bare hands if they found out even a fraction of the details. Which was why I would tell them nothing. I had my own revenge plot already ...

My right one was bandaged heavily from where I'd cut it, but my left showed all the clear signs of my restraints: scabs and bruises in a near perfect band, the same width as the straps that had held me immobile. Without looking, I knew my ankles would show the same marks.

Cass shot me a warning look, then disappeared out of the bathroom once more. As much as I loved him, I also felt like I could breathe easier with fewer people in my personal space.

"Can I wash your hair?" I liked the way he phrased that, like he wanted to do it, rather than was offering me help.

He flashed a reassuring smile back at me, then stepped fully into the cubicle with me. His T-shirt soaked through in an instant, but he made no move to take it off as he reached over to angle the shower spray toward me.

Panic attack. I'd just had a motherfucking panic attack over a shower. Oh, hell no. No freaking way was Chase taking showers away from me. No way, no how.

"I'm okay," I mumbled, lifting my head ever so slightly. The water was off, and Lucas was on his knees in front of me, totally saturated. "I'm okay." "You're not," he argued, "and that's okay."