I Told You To Run But You Didn't (Georgia) novel Chapter 38

Chapter 38

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Finished

Georgia’s POV

I took a deep breath, my world narrowed to the two guns and the impossible choice in front of me. But in that split second, the sound of tires screeching on grave filled the air. Estevan’s men were arriving.

Zane’s eyes darted toward the sound. He made his decision. With a sudden, powerful move, he shoved me backward, sending me stumbling directly into Estevan’s relentless arms.

Before I could regain my balance, he was already gone. In a blur of motion, he vaulted over the high iron fence with the grace of a predator and disappeared into the darkness.

A moment later, the sound of a pickup truck’s engine roared to life and then faded into the night.

I scrambled out of Estevan’s steadying grip and ran to the gate, staring into the empty, mocking darkness.

“ZANE!” I screamed, the name tearing from my throat, raw sound of loss and despair.

“So, that’s your brother,” Estevan said, his voice a low murmur from behind me. “He’s changed.”

I spun on him, my eyes wild with grief and a thousand new, terrifying questions. “What did he mean?” I demanded, my voice shaking. “The reason our family is gone’? What did you do, Estevan?!”

His face was a mask of indistinct features in the dim light. “We are exposed,” he said, his voice calm but firm, ignoring my question completely. “This is not the time or the place for this discussion.” He took my arm, his grip gentle but inescapable, and began leading me away from the gate as his men swarmed the area. “Let’s get you inside.”

He walked me in silence back to the bungalow, the short distance feeling like a mile. I entered without a word, shutting the door behind me, the lock clicking into place with a sound of utter finality.

The moment I was alone, my strength shattered. I slid down the hard wood of the door, my face in my hands, and the sobs I had been holding back for seven long years finally broke free.

They were not quiet tears; they were harsh, ragged, agonizing sounds of a sister who had found her brothe only to lose him all over again.

Outside, Estevan stood with his back to my door. He heard the first choked sob and hesitated, his hand half- raised as if to knock. He let it fall, listening for a long moment to the sounds of my heart breaking.

Finally, he spoke, his voice just loud enough through the wood.

“Get some rest, Georgia.” He paused. “Tomorrow, we start finding answers,”

And then he turned and walked away into the night.

***

I woke to a series of deep, concussive booms that rattled the windows of the bungalow. It was too rhythmic for thunder, I was exhausted, but my mind was already acing, demanding answers.

As I entered the main house, the atmosphere was thick with fear. The staff moved with a hushed, nervous energy. One of the maids saw me and rushed over, her lands twisting in her apron.

“Ms. Sinclair, please be careful,” she whispered. “The Bos… he’s been out there since sunrise. He hasn’t had

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11:44 Sat, Mar 7 AM D

Chapter 38

his breakfast. Just… shooting.”

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Finished

I followed her terrified gaze to the back terrace. The scene was surreal. A professional clay pigeon range was set up on the vast, manicured lawn.

Estevan stood in the center, dressed in a simple black T-shirt and cargo pants. He was holding a shotgun, the picture of lethal focus.

A bright orange disk launched into the air. He didn’t seem to aim; he just moved, a fluid pivot of pure, violent grace. The BOOM of the shotgun ripped through the morning quiet, and the clay disk vaporized into a puff of black dust.

Another disk flew. Another deafening blast. He wasn’t just hitting the targets; he was annihilating them, channeling a cold, silent madness into every shot.

He broke the shotgun open to reload, his movements sharp and angry. As he snapped it shut, his eyes swept the area and finally landed on me, standing on the terrace.

He froze.

The change was instantaneous and profound. The hard, murderous line of his jaw softened.

The tension that had coiled his powerful shoulders and arms seemed to drain away.

The cold, destructive fire in his eyes was banked, replaced by a quiet, focused intensity that was aimed entirely at me.

He slowly lowered the barrel of the shotgun until it pointed at the ground.

From an upstairs balcony, his three half-brothers watched, their mouths hanging open in stunned disbelief.

They exchanged looks of pure astonishment, having just witnessed a monster being soothed by a glance.

I walked toward him, the smell of gunpowder sharp in the air.

“Bad morning?” I asked, my voice calm.

He watched me approach, his eyes never leaving my face. He rested the shotgun against a sta better,” he said, his voice a low rasp.

He nodded toward the wreckage of the clay pigeons. “I was just thinking about the new terms of partnership with your ex-husband.”

The message was clear; his rage had been aimed at Lucas. He then turned his full attention to me, the fu completely gone,

“Did I wake you?”

I took a deep breath and walked out onto the lawn, the scent of gunpowder sharp in the cool morning air.

He was reloading the shotgun, his movements precise and economical, I stopped a few feet away from him.

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