It was kind of fitting that she was spending her last hours alone. That was the way she’d lived ever since she’d escaped the city when she was thirteen years old, after she’d climbed into the back of that supply truck, hidden under a blanket, and hadn’t moved a muscle during the eight-hour drive.
She’d been alone for an entire year before encountering another outlaw. She taught herself how to make snares, how to build fires. She’d hunted her own food and slept in abandoned buildings and barns. She’d thrived on her own. And even when she got older and began letting other people into her world . . . even after she came across Foxworth and decided to form a permanent settlement there . . . even when she became friends with people like Bethany and Arch . . . even when she’d let Jake into her bed and Sloan into her confidence . . . she’d still considered herself alone.
But Reese hadn’t realized, not until this very moment, how much she depended on all those people. And how much they depended on her. She could picture them sitting around and planning a rescue, fully prepared to risk their lives to save her. She knew with bone-deep certainty that they would try to come after her, and that knowledge made her think back to Ferris’s questions earlier. How she’d doubted herself, questioned whether she would let her people die if it meant securing her revenge over the council.
The answer to that was . . . no. She wouldn’t let them die. She’d take a bullet for any one of her people, give her life before she let the Enforcers hurt them.
But there were two people she’d give more than her life for. She’d give them her heart and her soul and every goddamn thing they wanted from her. She would give up anything, even her vengeance, just to see them again and tell them that she was wrong.
Love did exist. She knew it did because she felt it. She didn’t feel it for one man, but two, and maybe that made her a really messed-up individual, but it was the truth.
She would die before she let anything happen to her men. Which meant she needed to find a way to get a message to Sloan and Rylan. A signal for them to abort whatever foolhardy rescue plan they were putting in motion, because any march on the Enforcer compound or the city itself would result in their deaths, and she could not have that on her conscience.
But she also couldn’t get a message out when she was trapped in this room. No one had come in or out since her interrogation, and she had no idea when Ferris was planning to execute her.
Her groan of dismay echoed in the quiet room. She closed her eyes, but sleep didn’t come. Instead, she lay there on the cot for what seemed like an eternity, and she was still in that position when the door finally creaked open.
A burst of hope went off inside her when she saw Dominik in the doorway. He was alone, but Reese could hear the murmur of voices in the hall.
Fuck. She needed to be quick. “Dominik,” she started.
“Shut up,” he snapped. His face was expressionless as he stalked over to the cot.
“Please,” she whispered urgently. “I know you’re still in touch with—” Warning flashed in his eyes, and she quickly amended, “I know you still have contacts. I need you to get a message to my people. It’ll be for both our benefits, because trust me, you don’t want them laying siege on you guys, so please—”
“Shut up,” he said again, sharper this time. Then he nodded at the door and two Enforcers marched inside.
They hauled her off the cot and the next thing she knew her hands were yanked behind her back and a pair of handcuffs was snapped into place. Her stomach lurched when she glimpsed the item in one of their hands.
“Is that really necessary?” Reese muttered, but no one answered.
The Enforcer swiftly put the hood over her head.
Darkness.
And with the darkness came a spark of fear. She’d seen pictures in the old prewar history books. Hooded figures being led to the gallows . . . a noose tied around their necks.
Her own neck started to itch, even though she knew that wasn’t her fate. Ferris had made it clear he wanted pomp and circumstance for her execution. Reese envisioned dozens of uniform-clad men lined up with their rifles drawn. Citizens being forced to watch. Or hell, maybe they wanted to watch. Maybe they were so brainwashed by the council that they truly believed the outlaws were the real danger.
She squeaked when her feet suddenly gave out from under her. Someone tugged her forward, but she didn’t know where she was supposed to walk. She moved one foot in front of the other and prayed her death would be as painless as her mother’s. She’d heard the doctor say that Sylvia hadn’t felt pain from the overdose. It was as if she’d died peacefully in her sleep.
But Reese doubted that dozens of bullets shredding into her flesh could be considered peaceful.
She was dragged forward again, and then she felt a whisper of breath through the thin cloth covering her face. “Don’t try anything stupid.” Dominik’s voice, low and raspy. “It’ll be easier if you don’t fight.”
A choked “fuck you” squeezed out of her throat.