The Choice (The Gamble Series Book 2)

by Kathryn Jacques

  “Because we are old friends,” she says, though her face shows no joy, only a broken, painful sorrow and sheer exhaustion. “Neil and I grew up together. I had no idea he’d been placed in this position.”

  Whatever meaning all this has is lost on me as I stand dumbstruck in the middle of the circle of people who should be firing bullets at each other.

  The man, Neil, clears his throat and rubs his face. “We’ve been planning an uprising against Sawyer and Elijah for the last several months. Their tyrannical mission and sick lack of any empathy has done nothing but destroy countless lives. We had no idea Nole and Charlie planned an attack tonight, but when my men and I were summoned to Sawyer’s chambers for protection against a blind infiltration, we knew it was now or never.”

  “So instead of shooting us, you shot Sawyer’s guards? Whichever ones weren’t on your side?” I ask for clarification.

  “Yes.”

  "And gave an empty gun to Elijah?"

  "That too."

  I turn to Nole and Charlie. “You guys really had no plan to get out of Sawyer’s trap?”

  They share a look and then both shake their heads.

  “No,” Nole replies. “I had no idea of any of this. I thought we were… I thought we’d lost. You can imagine my surprise when Neil and his men started attacking the other League members instead of us. Though not nearly as surprised as Sawyer I'd imagine."

  “Where is Sawyer?” I demand, unable to fathom just how lucky we all are. Sure, Elijah escaped, but technically, we should all be dead now anyway, so maybe I can deal with Elijah still loose in the world. Can't be picky with my life on the line.

  The crowd parts, Neil stepping aside to reveal a crumpled figured on the ground lying in a widening pool of crimson blood.

  I force myself to swallow, my throat tightening as my stomach performs a complicated variation of twists and flips. Shuffling forward, I shift closer and closer to the body until Sawyer’s face comes into view. A small round bullet hole pierces his forehead, shattering out the back of his skull. Just like his grandson had done to Ashlynn. Empty, lifeless hazel eyes stare unblinking into nothingness. Like those ROC citizens whose murders he ordered.

  The room tilts and my knees go out from under me, but Ryder snatches me with one arm, placing me back on my feet as understanding dawns.

  We’ve survived. I’ve survived. Sawyer is finally dead. The League is no more.

  “Who?” I manage to choke out. “Who did it?”

  “I did,” Charlie says, her voice wavering and as I whip around to face her, I see she is on the verge of tears and fighting so valiantly to not cry in front of me or Ryder or everyone else that looks to her for leadership and guidance.

  She killed Sawyer. Charlie killed her father. Her father who was insane and she has a son who is a monster. And yet she still cares, that much is written so plainly on her face it's as though someone tattooed it there like my barcode; the grief, the burning agony, the knowledge that she had no other choice. It was kill or be killed.

  Knowing she might not like it, but also knowing I don’t care, I rush forward and hug her. At first, she stands strong and tall, returning the embrace stiffly, but after a moment her weight falls into my arms and she begins to cry, her tears dampening the shoulder of my shirt.

  Then Nole’s beside us, pulling her away and into his own arms.

  “Charlie,” he whispers, brushing auburn hair from her face. “I’m so sorry.”

  He leads her away into a dark corner of the ancient store, behind more of those disconcerting mannequins. I want to set fire to every single one. We can make a party of it.

  “Kelsey!” I hear someone shout, turning in time to see Rey push through the crowd that has formed around Sawyer’s dead body.

  Rey’s face is strained, eyes wild and blond curls tangled and matted with sweat. As he moves closer, I see blood splatters his skin and his shirt and even the waistband of his pants.

  "Rey!" I cry in a mixture of shock and alarm, having not expected to see him... well, ever again actually. "Rey, what happened? Are you hurt?"

  Kelsey!” he calls again, spotting me in the throng of people who have turned their attention from the dead man to stare at Rey instead. He stops only a few feet away, motioning for me to follow him back to the main section of the mall, or whatever remains in the aftermath of the fire from a few days ago. His face turns somber. “Follow me. It’s… it’s Jax. He’s been shot.”

  It’s as if someone has smashed me across the face with a rock. I falter backward, the air whooshing from my lungs.

  Someone latches onto my arm, pulling me out of the tunnel surrounding my vision. It’s Rey. He’s talking so fast through his labored breathing I almost miss what he says.

  “Jax saved me, jumped in front of a bullet meant for my head. You need to come. He keeps asking for you.”

  Relief floods through me. “He’s awake?”

  “He was. I don’t know now.” Rey stops suddenly, clasping my shoulder and biting his lips. “Kels… it’s bad.”

  I can only nod and swallow, my tongue and throat so dry no words will slide past. My mind wants to wander to the worst possible scenario; that once again I am going to watch someone die. Someone who will die because I couldn’t follow the rules. Someone I love.

  Shoving the horrifying thoughts away, refusing to allow them to take over my emotions, I stumble through the marble halls after Rey. Blood soaks every surface and bodies litter the floor. League members, compound members, Risers. I search each face, praying I recognize none.

  One looks at me with opened, lifeless eyes and I am reminded again, of all people, of Ashlynn and how her emerald green eyes looked so doll-like in death. I stop staring at the faces and keep my eyeline trained on the back of Rey’s head. I set up invisible, mental blinders between the carnage and myself. If I am going to survive whatever I find next, I need my mind as clear as possible.

  We round a small corner leading to one set of the mall’s exterior doors. A small group of people huddles in a tight circle. The mood hangs tense and ominous.

  Willing myself forward, forcing my feet to comply, I push through the outer edge of the group until I stand over a woman who kneels beside Jax. She presses someone’s shirt to his chest, though now it’s so saturated with blood I have no idea what color it once had been.

  Jax lies prone on the cold, hard floor, one leg twisted oddly beneath him and arms splayed out to the sides. Fresh blood coats both his shirt and the broken brown tiles underneath him. His eyes are open, though I don’t think he really sees anything as they drift around, a glassy haze enveloping his vision.

  “Kelsey,” he mumbles. “Where’s Kelsey?”

  I choke back a sob, falling to my knees next to him and taking one hand in my own. His skin feels cold to the touch, a greyish tinge setting in. He gasps and whimpers, his breath so weak I wait for each one to be his last. With a shudder, Jax's teeth clack together.

  I can feel death beside me, gazing over my shoulder as he waits to claim Jax for his own. I am powerless to stop him.

  “I’m right here Jax,” I whisper, brushing sweat-drenched hair from his face. Cold perspiration has broken out along his brow and upper lip, somehow making him look even more pale and ghostly. Even his eyes seem drained of their brilliant hues.

  “Is Kelsey safe?” he asks, eyes wandering around, flicking over my face but registering nothing. This time I can’t control the sobs erupting from my chest. I flip my head to all the people just standing around watching Jax die.

  “Is anyone going to do something?” I demand, hearing the shrill note of rising insanity in my tone. Everyone looks at the person next to them or at the floor or the ceiling, anywhere except me. Their expressions look hopeless, no one wanting to voice the truth.

  I fist my hands in my hair, pulling at the curls. “There has to be something we can do! We can’t just let him die!”

  “Kelsey,” someone says and Lara pushes forward to squat beside me, sadness wr
itten across her sharp, angular features. “The bullet went through the upper right side of his chest and out the back. It definitely cracked his collar bone, though we think it missed his lung. But every time he breathes, he loses more blood and we have no way to stop it. Not here at least. Without the right supplies, and our doctor, Camrie to help him, there’s nothing we can do.”

  My gaze returns to Jax, he’s muttering, but too softly for me to make out what as his head tosses from side-to-side. He has minutes left at most and a wrenching pain tugs at my heart, as if someone intends to rip it from my body.

  I wring his limp hand, smooth his damp hair and whisper into his ear, praying he'll understand. "I wasn't lying earlier, Jax. I really do love you. I'm so sorry it's ending like this."

  Even though Rey stands less than two feet away, I won’t repeat a mistake I’ve already regretted once. Leaning down, I kiss Jax softly, one last time.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  As I break away, I see Jax's eyes are closed, breathing labored as he has slipped into a final oblivion. I wish I could stare at his eyes, commit their beautiful turquoise to memory, but maybe it’s better this way, he won’t feel any more pain. If only there was a way to stop the blood pumping from the small round hole in his chest. It’s almost amazing how one tiny little object can destroy so much, kill one life and shatter so many others in a matter of seconds. If we were in ROC, they’d be able to save him. They have real doctors and stitches and-

  And…

  An idea collides into my mind, scattering my emotions and giving me one flutter of hope to cling to. I remember watching Rey do it once when he cut his arm at work. The deep wound wouldn’t stop bleeding, but Rey couldn’t afford stitches or medical attention, so he took care of the problem on his own, me beside him for moral support. It sickened me then and it’s absolutely nuts now, but what do I have to lose at this point? What does Jax have to lose? If I don't, he's dead in two minutes.

  A lantern sits on the other side of Jax, the flame still flickering, ignorant to the devastation. Grabbing the handle, I surge to my feet and rush to an old wooden bench resting in a mangled heap in a corner.

  “What are you do-“ Rey calls, but I ignore him as I raise the lantern over my head and hurl it with all my strength at the pile of dry, rotting wood. The lantern shatters, fuel racing free and immediately igniting on the ancient piece of dry, broken furniture as the lantern flame transforms into a blazing fire.

  Sliding Ryder’s knife from my belt, I jab it into the flames, my skin burning and blistering in the heat. Welts form and pop on my fingers, but I grit my teeth, and force myself not to pull away until I know the blade has grown hot enough.

  “Cut open his shirt!” I order, hurrying back to Jax’s supine form. No one moves. “NOW!”

  Rey drops to the floor, grabbing the neckline of Jax’s T-shirt and ripping it down the middle, exposing Jax’s bare, blood-soaked chest.

  I kneel again, holding the hot knife in my throbbing hand. “I’m really sorry Jax, this is gonna hurt.” Not sure why I bothered to say anything. It’s not like he can hear me.

  Pressing the steel blade to the wound on his chest, his skin sizzles and smokes. The smell of cooking flesh waifs into my nostrils, causing me to gag and swallow the rising bile, turning my head as far from the stench as possible.

  Whatever unconsciousness Jax had slipped into wasn’t enough. His eyes pop open, wide with fright as a scream of agony bursts from his lips.

  “Flip him over,” I order. Rey rolls Jax until he lies on his side, whimpering in his pain-induced semi-consciousness. Together, Rey and I remove the tattered remains of his shirt and with a deep breath, I press the knife to the jagged, bloody exit wound.

  Jax cries again and again as the wound is cauterized shut, until finally the blood no longer flows and his screams go silent and I know he’s thankfully blacked out.

  Rey slumps down beside me as I sit back on my heels, panting from the ordeal. Burned welts have erupted on Jax’s skin, red and slimy and in some places charred black, but he’s alive. At least for now. Hopefully for always if I have any say in the matter. I drop the knife, clutching my burned hand to my chest as the searing pain sets in.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” Lara asks, her jaw slack with shock. The others stare at me too, their expressions an odd combination of revulsion and admiration.

  “I did it once,” Rey replies, pulling back the sleeve of his shirt to display the old burn scar. “Kelsey watched me do it.”

  “Bleeding stopped,” is all I say as I stare at the crimson puddle around Jax. I can’t believe it’s all his. I can’t believe it’s all his and he’s somehow still alive.

  Nodding slowly, Lara crouches beside Jax, checking his pulse and breath. “He’s weak, still lost a lot of blood and will be at risk for infection, but if the bullet missed his lung and he makes it through the next couple days, he might be ok. You saved his life.”

  Everything feels surreal. The entire night feels like some twisted, macabre combination of a horrific nightmare and a wonderful dream.

  I lift my head to the group of Risers around me, because whether we came from Charlie's compound or not, we are all Risers now. Taking each face in turn, I manage a small smile. “Sawyer is dead.”

  Their eyes widen, lips parting in round ‘O’s’ of surprise as they dart glances back and forth between each other.

  “Really?” Lara asks, her voice so filled with hope. I remember that she hid in Sawyer’s ranks for over a year, watched his callous insanity firsthand and also watched her friend die because of him. She probably wanted Sawyer dead as much as anyone.

  “Yes. I saw it with my own eyes. Elijah though, he escaped.”

  A stocky, middle-aged man behind Lara snorts. “Whatever. Sawyer’s dead, as well as half his little militia. Most of the others have scattered in fear. Elijah has no one behind him, no support and no one to help. He might as well be dead for all the good an escape did him. We won the war.”

  The man brings up valid points, but I’d still be considerably more at ease if I saw Elijah’s corpse myself and had a chance to nudge it around with my foot. Maybe burn the body just to be sure. And then throw a celebration over his death.

  Then a wave of guilt crashes over me because this is Charlie’s son and as horrific a person as he is, I’m sure a part of Charlie still loves him and would forever grieve his death.

  “So now what?” Rey asks. “Even with the League destroyed, I don’t really want to stay in their headquarters, but I doubt Jax will survive a trip all the way back to the Risers’ building.”

  “Charlie’s safe house,” I blurt. “The one we used the first time I was rescued from the League. It’s just a few miles. If we can find a way to transport him, we can stay there until he's well enough to go home. There must be others injured as well who can't travel all the way back home."

  Everyone nods and murmurs in agreement. Two men leave to find wood or something to use as a make-shift gurney. I return my attention to Jax, wrapping my fingers between his again and brushing my injured hand through his hair, sticky with drying blood and perspiration and dirt. I wish I had water and a cloth to clean his face and wounds but that will have to wait.

  Someone clasps my shoulder and I look up to see Rey hovering over me. I’d nearly forgotten he was here and I consider dropping Jax’s hand for a moment, hoping I don’t hurt Rey’s feelings, but the look on my best friend’s face indicates he understands. Right now, this isn’t about who loves who more or less or what. It’s about Jax, who nearly died saving Rey’s life, needing support and comfort so he can recover.

  “I’m gonna find Charlie and Nole," Rey says. "Update them on everything out here and see if they need any help rounding up the last of Sawyer’s soldiers. Do you need anything?”

  I shake my head. “Thank you, Rey. For everything you’ve done for me.” I squeeze his hand, momentarily connecting all three of us.

  A smile slides over Rey's lips as he nods and let's g
o. I can’t help but think his smile, once so full of life and mischief and everything that made him Rey, now looks sad and empty. I don’t have time to dwell on it though because he flips around, his long, lanky gait carrying him back toward Sawyer’s chambers.

  * * *

  In less than an hour, we’ve lashed Jax to the seat of an old metal bench and several men now carry him from the League’s mall, Lara and I in tow. Others follow, carrying more of the wounded while Nole and Charlie stay behind to assess the dead.

  Slipping into the woods, I give the mall one last look of smug defiance. We won. If I have any say in the matter, this will be the last time I ever set foot in that building. I wish we had time and resources to burn the rest of the thing down just like Elijah burned Charlie’s compound.

  We all travel in silence, me pacing alongside Jax’s makeshift gurney so I can hold his hand. He hasn’t woken and his complexion is so pale and ashen, I repeatedly check for a pulse, heaving an exhale of relief every time I find it, however weak it might be.

  By the time we finally reach the safe house, dawn hovers on the horizon, a hazy mist of humidity hanging in front of the ruby red sun. I love the warmth. Inside ROC, the public areas and halls weren’t climate controlled to conserve resources, and the rationing of oil left most of the private suites, or at least those who could afford it, at a cool sixty-six degrees. It never occurred to me that the air could be warm, like a heated blanket wrapped around my bare skin.

  Following the men carrying Jax upstairs, they place him in one of the many old bedrooms onto a squeaking, rickety bed with tattered, dust covered blankets. Lara fetches a bucket of water from the well, returning to the room just as I’ve managed to slice off the last bits of Jax’s shredded shirt.

  “Thanks,” I say, taking the bucket and a clean cloth.

  “You should get some sleep,” she says with a pat on my shoulder. “You've had a long night. I can clean him up.”

  I shake my head. “It’s ok. I want to be here if he wakes up and I doubt I’ll be able to sleep all that much anyway.”