Chapter 173: When It Breaks
Harry stood at the base of the building, neck craned upward as everything started to come apart.
It didn’t happen all at once.
It built.
Voices first.
Then shouting.
Then the unmistakable sound of something breaking upstairs—wood, glass, something—followed by a scream that didn’t belong to anybody calm.
Bill’s men didn’t wait.
One after the other, boots slamming against the concrete steps as they rushed inside, weapons drawn, adrenaline already high before they even reached the second floor.
Harry tracked them with his eyes.
Counted.
One. Two. Three. More behind them.
Too many.
His jaw tightened.
Then—
Click.
The sound cut clean through everything.
He’d already drawn the gun.
Didn’t even remember doing it.
Bill turned his head slightly at the noise, eyes flicking to Harry’s hand, then back toward the building like it didn’t concern him much.
"Don’t even bother wasting your bullets," Bill said casually, bringing a cigarette to his lips.
Harry didn’t lower the gun.
Didn’t raise it either.
Just held it there.
Waiting.
"There’s no point in going up there," Bill went on, lighting the cigarette with a slow flick of his lighter. "Kid’s surrounded. Nowhere to run."
A drag.
Smoke curled out his nose.
"No way he’s getting outta this."
Harry finally looked at him.
Really looked.
Then back at the building.
"People like him don’t die that easily," Harry said.
His voice was calm.
Bill glanced at him again.
"They don’t go down because you send a bunch of guys with guns," Harry continued. "They’re like snakes."
His grip on the gun tightened slightly.
"They wriggle outta shit they’re not supposed to."
Bill huffed a quiet laugh.
"So he’s a tough nut to crack," he said, amused.
Harry didn’t answer.
Bill exhaled another plume of smoke, watching it drift.
"Don’t you think..." he started, pausing just long enough to make it feel like it mattered, "...you’re giving that guy a little more credit than he’s due?"
Harry’s expression shifted.
Barely.
But it did.
For a second—
He wasn’t looking at the building anymore.
He was somewhere else.
Blood.
Concrete.
The sound of his own breathing, too loud in his ears.
Adrian standing there.
I don’t kill kids.
Harry blinked.
Hard.
The present snapped back into place.
"No," he said.
Flat.
Certain.
"No, I’m not."
—
Jackson’s eyes looked like they were already draining out.
Like whatever had been behind them was leaking away, second by second.
I stood there, chest still rising from the fight, staring at him while his body twitched against the floor.
I didn’t even know him.
Not really.
Didn’t know what he liked. Didn’t know what he stood for.
All I knew was that he was the enemy, someone who came at me first.
So why the fuck should I care?
"FUCK—!!!"
Saul’s scream ripped through the room so hard it made something in my chest flinch anyway.
He was on his knees, hands all over Jackson like he didn’t know where to hold him together.
One of his fingers was gone.
Blood poured from the stump, mixing with the blood already soaking Jackson’s shirt, turning everything dark and wet and impossible to separate.
"ILL FUCKING KILL YOU TWO!! ILL FUCKING KILL ALL OF YOU!!!"
His voice cracked halfway through, snapping into something raw.
Ugly.
Real.
Like his throat couldn’t even keep up with what he felt.
He shifted like he wanted to get up—like he was about to throw himself at me again—
But he just couldn’t.
His body folded back in on itself, grief hitting harder than anything I’d done to him.
He clutched Jackson tighter instead, rocking slightly, choking on his own breath.
I wiped the blood from under my eye with the back of my hand.
It smeared, only slightly.
.
I looked at Naomi.
She wasn’t frozen.
She wasn’t panicking.
She was thinking.
Eyes flicking between me...Lila...the door...Saul...
She was picking. Choosing. Even now.
Good.
Then I looked at Cherie.
And—
Yeah.
She was gone.
Hands buried in her hair, fingers gripping like she was trying to rip herself out of what she was seeing.
A choked inhale.
Then another.
Then she broke.
A sound came out of her—small at first—then it grew, cracking open into something louder as her hands dropped to her mouth.
Tears poured.
Ugly crying.
The kind you can’t hide.
The kind that takes your whole body with it.
"Cherie," I said.
My voice didn’t sound like hers. Didn’t shake or crack. Like I was too used to shit like this.
I probably was.
She didn’t even look at me.
Didn’t hear me.
Or maybe she did—and couldn’t.
"Cherie, you coming??"
Nothing.
Jackson coughed.
Wet.
Thick.
I looked at him then, my expression shifting only slightly.
Blood spilled from his mouth, dribbling down his cheek and onto the floor.
So he wasn’t dead.
Saul let out a broken noise. I wasn’t sure if it had been a laugh or a sob, as he pressed his forehead against Jackson’s shoulder.
He couldn’t even look at Cherie.
Couldn’t look at anything but him.
The footsteps hit the hallway.
They were fast. Heavy. Too many for us to handle.
They weren’t trying to be quiet, either.
"Shit..." Lila muttered.
She was already moving, already pulling slightly at my hand.
"Adrian—we have to go. Now."
I didn’t move.
Not yet.
"Cherie!!!" I snapped, louder this time. "Are you fucking coming or what?!"
Her shoulders shook harder, her hands pressed tighter against her mouth.
But still, she didn’t move.
Didn’t answer answer me.
Didn’t choose.
"Adrian!!!" Naomi’s voice cut in, sharp. "There’s no fucking time!"
The footsteps were right outside now.
Voices overlapping.
Shouting.
A hand slammed against the door.
Once.
Twice.
I exhaled heavily, annoyed for reasons I couldn’t even explain in my scrambled head.
She really wanted to take sides with these people...?
Over me?
...so much for always having my back.
"Fine."
I turned then, fast. Lila was already at my side.
Naomi hesitated for a split second—
Then followed.
We moved for the back exit
My hand hit the door, pushing it open just enough to slip through—
But I stopped.
Just for a second.
I looked back.
Cherie was still there.
Collapsed in on herself.
Crying like the world had just ended.
Saul hunched over Jackson’s body, shaking, whispering something I couldn’t even make out.
Blood everywhere.
Too much of it.
Too loud.
Too real.
I stared at it.
At all of it.
Then I exhaled again.
And looked away.
"...your choice," I muttered under my breath.
Then I stepped through.
—
Silence didn’t last long.
A beat.
Two.
Saul’s breathing filled the room.
Cherie’s sobs came quieter now, but deeper. Hitting somewhere worse.
Saul finally looked up.
Eyes red.
Face streaked with tears and blood.
He looked at her then, a look flickering through his expression.
Something Cherie wasn’t able to pinpoint, but she knew how it made her feel.
"I didn’t know—....i didnt—"
"Some friends you got..." he said hoarsely.
Cherie flinched like she’d been hit.
"I’m sorry..." she choked out. "I’m so—I never meant for any...—I—"
The door exploded inward.
Wood splintered.
Boots flooded the room.
Guns had been raised up, too many to even count.
Voices were sharp and commanding, already overlapping with each other, leaving Cherie to shrink even further.
"Clear it—!" One of the said.
"That ain’t our guy—!" Another said.
"Who the hell is she?!"
"Check her—!"
The room filled fast.
Too fast.
Cherie threw her hands up instinctively, slowly, breath hitching as she tried to steady herself.
She didn’t fight it.
Didn’t even wipe her tears.
Rough hands grabbed her, patting her down, checking pockets, arms, waist.
"...wait—" one of the men said, stepping closer to the bodies.
"Is that Saul?"
Another voice—
"...and Jackson—?"
Everything shifted again.
Tone.
Energy.
People moved faster now, dropping to their knees beside Jackson.
"Get pressure on that—!"
"Stay with me—hey—stay with me!"
Hands pressed against wounds.
Voices urgent.
Panicked.
But controlled.
Among them—
Harry stepped in.
He stopped.
Dead.
For a second, the world narrowed.
Saul looked up.
Saw him.
And something in his face cracked open.
He blinked once.
"....Harry."
Harry dropped the gun.
Didn’t even realize it.
It hit the floor with a dull thud as he rushed forward, slamming into Saul, wrapping his arms around him tight.
Hard enough to knock the breath out of him.
Saul let out a broken laugh into his shoulder.
Wet.
Disbelieving.
"Guess he was right..." Saul muttered, voice shaking. "You were alive...all along...all this fucking time you were—...."
Harry didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
His eyes had already moved.
Past Saul.
To Jackson.
Lying there.
Barely breathing.
Blood still coming.
Hands trying to keep him here.
Trying.
Failing.
Harry’s chest tightened.
Something twisted deep.
Ugly.
Heavy.
Then—
His gaze shifted again, slow and deliberate, to the back door.
Slightly open.
Just enough.
A thin line of darkness beyond it.
Adrian.
Harry’s jaw clenched.
His breathing steadied.
But his eyes—
His eyes burned.
And this time—
There was no hesitation left in them.