Page 128 of The Fall of Summer
He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow. He sprints across the gravel like a man possessed, screaming my name, his hands reaching for me even though I’m already too high, already slipping away.
Then, mid-stride, his body buckles. He falls to his knees, his fists slamming into the earth, his face lifting to the sky with a roar that cracks something inside me.
I slam my palms against the window, claw at it, sobbing so violently my chest feels like it’s tearing in two.
“Jacob!” My voice is swallowed by the propellers, but I keep screaming anyway, because I have nothing else.
The helicopter banks, turning, pulling me away from him. My body lurches with the motion, but my eyes stay fixed on him until he’s nothing but a shrinking shadow on the ground.
Jackson’s laugh lands in my ear—wet, delighted—and for a split second, Jacob’s broken shape flares behind my eyelids: the way he threw himself to the ground, the way he tried to reach for me even when he knew I was too far away. It stacks on top of everything else until something inside me fractures.
“Well, well, well… looks like the Sheriff can sniff you out, Princess.”
Red crawls along the edges of my vision and my body moves on its own. My fist lashes out, swinging from my seat I can’t fully turn in; knuckles smash into Jackson’s jaw with a dull, sick crunch. My free hand claws at his face, nails ripping skin, and a hot ribbon of blood streaks from his cheek to his mouth. His laugh dies into a raw, animal noise.
One of his hands clamps my wrist with the force of a vice; he jerks and bends my fingers back so quickly that a white, clean snap lights up my skull.
Two fingers go wrong under the pressure, pins and pain flaring bright and immediate. He shoves me until the harness grinds into my collarbone and my cheek slams into the cold composite wall. The impact knocks the air from me; warm liquid beads at my lip and Itaste iron. He pins me with an elbow across my chest, breath hot and ragged at my neck, and the straps bite deeper as he leans in—close enough that I can feel the rasp of his words against my skin. My hands tremble, useless inside his hold, and every beat of the rotor seems to match the jagged pace of my heartbeat.
The helicopter tilts; the world outside tilts with it, men shrinking in the wind, but inside that small, thudding cage there’s only sound and the geometry of damage: the sting of bitten knuckles, the electric flare of broken bone.
And all I can do is sob.
A hand slides up my dress, finding my entrance.
I flinch violently, trying to twist away from his touch, but Jackson doesn’t move his hand away. His elbow presses deeper into my spine, rough and unrelenting, as I fight against it. Blood drips from my nose, warm and metallic, sliding over my lips before I can breathe it away. The taste fills my mouth, whetted and bitter, mixing with the panic clawing at my throat.
“Do you always get this wet when you’re angry,” he says through the headset, his voice dripping with a mockery of calm. He pushes a finger inside of me, my body trying to reject him.
Jackson squeezes my thigh, hard enough that I wince. “Don’t go quiet on me, Princess. Don’t stop fighting me now.”
He releases his elbow enough to allow me to whip my head back toward him, but my chest still pressed hard against the cold surface, tears still dripping down my cheeks. “Stop.” My voice is hoarse, raw.
His mouth curls into a smile, slow and serpentine. His teeth catch the faint cabin light, pointed, white. His eyes—those searing blue flames—study me like I’m prey he’s been stalking for years. The blood on his cheek is smeared, though drying into his skin.
“No,” he says, leaning closer, his breath hot against my ear even through the headset, “You’re a fucking goddess. And this,” he curls his finger upward “is mine now.” His tongue darts across his lips, a quick flicker that makes my skin crawl.
“Please,” I whisper, though my voice quivers.
His laugh is low, rich, cruel. He pushes off me and leans back in his seat, removing his finger from me and spreading his legs wide likehe owns the entire helicopter. I push myself away from the wall, but gather myself against it, crossing my legs and backing up as far away from him as I can. Tears fill my eyes as I cradle my broken fingers and wipe the blood from my nose.
“Princess,” he says, almost tender, almost mocking, “The sooner you realize there’s no escape the better.” Then he raises his fingers to his mouth and sucks my taste from them.
I look away, jaw tight, refusing to meet his gaze as he makes a low, satisfied sound that curdles my stomach.
I shut my eyes and whisper Jacob’s name, barely a breath, like saying it might anchor me to something real.
When I open them again, Jackson is still smiling—patient, cruel, and certain he’s already won.
