Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 38333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
So I don't try to pretty it up.
I help Savannah to her feet, steadying her when she wobbles. Hand over her white dress—now wrinkled and stained. Watch her pull it over her head, the fabric settling over skin that's already bruising where I gripped too hard.
She doesn't complain. Doesn't ask me to be softer next time.
Just pulls her panties up her legs, smooths the dress down, and looks at me with those blue eyes that see too much.
I tuck myself back into my jeans. Button. Zip. Pull my shirt over my head and shrug into my cut—the leather settling across my shoulders like the weight it is.
This is how I'll leave it.
Ugly, but true.
No apologies. No promises I can't keep. No fairy tale ending where the outlaw becomes the prince and the princess slums it in a trailer.
Just this: her in a white dress. Me in black leather. The space between us filled with everything we can't say.
"Come on," I tell her. Keeping my voice even. "I'll walk you back."
Savannah doesn't argue. Just takes my offered hand—her fingers small and pale against my scarred knuckles—and lets me lead her over to her horse.
Cassia's waiting where Savannah left her, reins trailing in the dirt, looking bored.
The mare huffs when she sees us. Probably judges me for what I just did to her rider.
I cup my hands for Savannah's bare foot—why does she always come barefoot? Then I give her a leg up into the saddle.
She settles onto Cassia's bare back, legs dangling, white dress riding up her thighs, looking down at me with an expression I can't read.
"Legion—"
"I'll see you," I interrupt. Because I can't hear whatever she's about to say. Can't stand here and pretend I deserve the concern in her voice or the love she keeps offering like it's free.
I turn to go, but words split the night open, stopping me.
"One word between us splits the very sky," she says quietly. "They come for us but still we strive to try."
The words freeze me mid-step.
My poem. The one I wrote when I was sixteen, still stupid enough to believe words could mean something permanent.
"To make a place where love can truly grow," Savannah continues, her voice steady. "To Hell with those above and those below."
I turn back slowly. Stare up at her sitting on that horse like some kind of vision in white. The moonlight catches her hair, turning it silver-gold.
"How—" My voice cracks. I clear my throat. Try again. "How do you remember that?"
She doesn't smile. Just looks down at me with those eyes that've been haunting me since I was fourteen years old.
Something twists in my chest. Something that feels like the brand—wrong, infected, eating me from the inside out.
She shifts on Cassia's back. Gathers the reins in one hand while the other rests against her thigh, fingers spread over the pale fabric.
"You wrote me a promise," she says. "Now I'll write you one."
I wait. Don't move. Don't breathe.
Savannah lifts her chin. Her voice comes clear and strong:
"Through fire and blood we walk the path alone,
Two souls condemned who carved this world from stone.
Let them come with judgment, sword, and chain—
We'll build our kingdom from the ash and pain."
Somethin’ inside me cracks. Nah, it rips me the fuck open. Raw and bleeding. And she's not even done yet. She keeps going…
"No grace above will break what hell has made,
No fear below will stop this vow we've laid.
When all is lost and even angels fall—
You'll still be mine. I'll still be yours. Through all."
I stand there like a statue while her words echo.
Through fire and blood we walk the path alone...
Can't move. Can't speak. Can't do anything but watch her sit on that horse like some kind of warrior queen who just declared war on heaven and hell both.
My throat's closin’ up. Eyes burning. Chest so tight, I might crack a rib just breathing.
Two souls condemned who carved this world from stone...
She wrote me a fucking poem.
Memorized mine. Gave me hers. Like we're trading vows in some cathedral made of blood and barbed wire.
I want to say somethin’. Anything. Want to tell her—
But the words won't come.
They never do when it matters.
Savannah doesn't wait for them anyway. She turns Cassia with a gentle press of her knee, the mare wheeling smooth as silk, and they disappear into the dark. No goodbye. No looking back over her shoulder.
Just gone.
Like she makes decisions and lives with them. No second-guessing. No begging me to chase her or promise her things I can't deliver. She said her piece. Laid down her vow. And now she's riding home because that's what you do—you make your choice, then you fucking stand on it.
I could learn something from that. From the resilience of Savannah Ashby. The girl who got drugged and tied to a bed, then came back swingin’.