Page 27 of Ripple Effect, Vol. 4

Yet another piece of trivia that has my sensors on high alert.

“Said he got hung up at work.” If I had to guess, poor bastard’s probably hanging from the ceiling at this very moment.

All the flags inside my head converge into a single warning as I cross the parking lot and climb into my car. The buzz of alcohol hasn’t slipped into drunken territory, but it’s enough to screw with my instincts, so I fire up the engine, exiting the bar.

Not even a mile down the road, and headlights flip on behind me, coming up fast in the rearview. I slam on the gas and veer to the right, tires squealing as I head down a side street.

The car behind takes a hard turn, zigzagging back and forth until the driver gains control.

Flashlights ahead flicker, and the oncoming car barrels toward me. Closer. Closer. The car ahead of me and the one behind box me in. I yank the steering wheel to the side and the world spins upside down. I lean to the side, across the passenger seat. Glass shatters, the fragments and gravel pinging against my face. The ground zips beneath me and metal crunches above my head. A sharp searing pain slides up my arm and my chest hits the dashboard, knocking the breath out of me. My body is jostled and rattled, until at last, everything stops.

Motherfuck!

A throb hits the back of my neck, and I flex my fingers testing to make sure nothing’s broken, mentally assessing my condition. I glance around at my mangled vehicle where the roof on the passenger side tapers down to nothing on the driver’s side. Gaping holes make up the windshield and side windows which have shattered.

Army crawling through the passenger window, a lick of flames hits my forearm, quickly turning to a cold numbness. I look down to see blood seeping from my sleeve. I pull the jacket back to a gash up my arm where a small bit of glass sticks up from my skin, and I tug it out.

Still, I keep on, sliding out of the passenger window, until my face hits the white snow. The second I’ve fully exited the car, a click piques my ears and I roll onto my back, drawing my side arm. All around me, four of Dorian’s men stand with guns aimed down at me.

“Well look what we have here, boys. A fuckin’ raccoon in the woodpile.” A familiar voice emerges from the crowd.

I could shoot him. Take him out and call it a day.

Dorian steps forward, shaking his head. “I have to admit, Ripley. You surprised the fuck out of me. Never in a million years would I have pegged you a fucking traitor.”

Every muscle in my body aches, but I don’t lower my weapon, in spite of Dorian’s men holding guns trained at my head. It’s futile. Even if I take out Dorian, every one of his men will happily fill me with lead.

In what could be my final moments, I’m grateful for one thing. No matter what happens to me, I’ve already set Dylan free.

16

Dylan

Fuck love.

Love is a liar. A conniving, manipulative bitch that befriends you, lures you in, then fucks your man behind your back.

I’m done with love, but I’m not done with Ripley, yet. I’m not stupid to think he won’t go after Dorian—he practically confessed it.

Yeah, he ditched me and I should just let whatever happens happen, but I know why he did it. Doesn’t matter how cold he is, his actions always come down to keeping me safe.

Even if Ripley and I don’t get a happy ending, I’m not letting him go after Dorian alone.

“Jörgen!” I scream until my voice is hoarse, my hands merely slipping along the brass knob. “Please! Open the door!”

Ripley should’ve been back by now, and I mentally push away thoughts that he’s not coming back at all.

I kick at the solid wood and pain shoots up my toe. “Ah fuck!”

I collapse to the floor, cradling the injury and sob, feeling helpless and numb. Disconnected from myself.

“How could you?” I don’t bother to yell. The man on the other side of the door is impervious to my pleas. “How you could you let him go after Dorian alone?”

For a moment, the room falls quiet and only my sniffling can be heard above the wind rapping at the window outside.

The door clicks.

Light slices through the darkness and silhouettes a giant standing in the doorframe. “He wants this. He’s finishing the job to keep you safe.”