Chapter 151: Everyone hates Adrian

“At least gonna let me finish pissing, dipshit?”

My voice came out steady, with just enough bite to test him. I let a small edge of humor sit under it, the kind that could either ease tension or make things worse. Out here, it usually did the latter.

“Turn around.”

The voice behind me didn’t shake. Young, but trying hard not to sound it. There was tension in it, though. Tight. Controlled. Like he was holding something back.

“Nice and slow,” he added.

I glanced down once, more out of habit than anything, then closed my eyes for half a second. My tongue pressed into the inside of my cheek as I let out a quiet breath through my nose. I could feel the weight of the gun behind me without seeing it. The angle. The distance. Close enough that if he pulled the trigger, there wouldn’t be time to do anything about it.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

The silence stretched. It pressed in from all sides. Even the river behind me felt quieter now, like it had stepped back to watch.

I turned.

Slowly. Hands still raised.

The first thing I noticed was his stance. Slightly off balance, like he wasn’t used to holding someone at gunpoint for long periods. His arms were stiff, locked in place more by effort than control.

Then his face came into focus.

Familiar.

Not in a clear way. Not like seeing someone you knew. It was buried deeper than that, under layers of other memories. Too much had happened. Too many faces. Too many moments my brain had shoved aside just to keep moving.

But there was something there.

And he saw it.

His eyes locked onto mine, searching hard. Desperate, almost. Like he needed something from me. Recognition. Fear. Anything.

I gave him nothing.

His jaw tightened. The muscles along his cheek twitched once, then settled into something darker.

He stepped forward.

The gun never left me as his free hand moved fast, rough, patting me down. He wasn’t clean about it. Fingers digging into pockets, tugging at my jacket, checking my waistband.

I didn’t move.

“This is a mistake you’re making,” I said.

He didn’t even hesitate.

“No. No it’s not.”

He pulled my gun free from my waist, along with whatever else he could grab. I felt the absence immediately, like a limb had gone numb.

Then he stepped behind me.

Rough hands grabbed my wrists, yanking them back. Something thin and tight bit into my skin as he tied them together. Not clean knots. Quick. Desperate. It still held.

“Move.”

He shoved me forward.

I stumbled a step, caught myself, then started walking.

He stayed close. Too close. I could feel his breath at times, uneven. Fast. There was something off about him. Not just anger. Something deeper, more personal.

“You should start praying,” he said behind me.

His voice came out sharper this time. Less controlled.

“Because I ain’t here to rob you. I’m here to make sure you don’t walk away from this.”

I frowned slightly, turning my head just enough to try and catch him in my peripheral.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he snapped.

Yeah. I really needed to stop making enemies.

We didn’t get far.

The crack of a gunshot split the air.

It came fast and clean. Close enough that I felt it in my chest before my ears caught up.

The kid reacted instantly. His hand shoved me hard, throwing me off balance as he dove the other way. The world tilted, and I hit the ground shoulder first, rolling onto my back.

Pain shot up my arm where my hands were tied behind me.

I twisted, eyes snapping toward the source.

Naomi stood a few meters out, rifle braced against her shoulder. Smoke curled from the barrel as she adjusted her stance, already lining up another shot.

Her face was tight. Focused. Angry.

“Stop—!” I yelled.

She flinched, just barely, her aim shifting for a fraction of a second as she looked at me.

“Save your bullets for later,” I said. “Let me handle this.”

The kid was already getting back to his feet. His chest rose and fell hard, eyes locked onto me now.

Not Naomi.

Me.

Something in his expression shifted. The anger sharpened. Focused.

I raised my tied hands slightly, stepping forward just enough to make it clear.

Come on.

He didn’t hesitate.

His hand dipped into his pocket and came back out with a knife. The blade caught the light for a second before he lunged.

Fast.

Too fast for someone that untrained should’ve been.

I twisted, the blade slicing past my side close enough that I felt the air move. He came again immediately, swinging harder this time, less controlled.

I stepped back, boots digging into the dirt, trying to create space. My hands were still bound, throwing off my balance, limiting everything I could do.

The lattice flickered at the edge of my awareness, trying to keep up, feeding me half-formed predictions that came a fraction too late.

He swung again.

I brought my arms up, taking the hit across my forearms instead of my chest. The blade scraped against bone, tearing fabric, biting just enough to sting.

I gritted my teeth and stepped in.

Closed the distance.

My shoulder slammed into his chest, knocking the wind out of him for a second. Not enough.

He snarled, driving the knife forward blindly. It grazed my side this time, shallow but burning.

We stumbled together.

The ground rushed up.

We hit hard.

The impact knocked the air from my lungs. Dirt filled my mouth as I rolled, trying to get on top of him, but he fought like an animal. No technique. No restraint.

Just rage.

The knife came down again.

I caught his wrist this time, both hands straining against the binding as I forced it away from my face. His other hand slammed into my jaw. My head snapped to the side, stars bursting behind my eyes.

He hit me again.

And again.

Warm blood started to run from my nose as his fists crashed into my arms, my shoulders, anywhere he could reach while I blocked my face.

“Stay still!” he spat. “Just fucking stay still!”

I grabbed his wrist tighter, twisting it. The knife shifted. Slipped.

Then suddenly—

The pressure on my wrists gave.

The binding snapped.

For half a second, neither of us reacted.

Then I moved.

I drove my elbow into his throat. Not clean, but enough to make him choke. His grip loosened. I wrenched his arm aside and shoved him over, flipping our positions.

Now I was on top.

I didn’t think. I just hit him.

Once.

Twice.

My knuckles split against his face, but I kept going. Blood smeared across my hands as he tried to claw at me, fingers digging into my neck, pulling, scratching.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t even try to defend properly.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you…” he forced out, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth.

I froze for a split second.

His eyes.

There was nothing normal there. No hesitation. No fear.

Just pure, focused hatred.

Who the hell was this kid?

“Jesus—” Naomi muttered somewhere behind us. I could hear her shifting, trying to line up a shot. “Stay still, you idiots…”

We didn’t.

He bucked hard, throwing me off balance. We rolled again, trading positions in the dirt, both of us gasping, slipping on blood and sweat.

I hesitated.

Just for a second.

He didn’t.

His hand found the knife again.

He swung.

I jerked back, but not fast enough.

The blade cut across my arm, shallow but sharp.

And then—

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

The voice hit like a gunshot.

My stomach dropped.

Lila.

I looked up.

She moved fast. Too fast. One second Naomi had the rifle, the next it was gone, ripped from her hands like it weighed nothing.

Naomi swore, reaching for it, but Lila was already stepping forward, raising the gun.

Her eyes locked onto us.

No hesitation.

No calculation.

Just decision.

“Lila, NO—!” I shouted.

She pulled the trigger.

—

“He must’ve cut through here.”

The man crouched low, fingers pressing into the mud beside a half-formed footprint. The rain from earlier had softened everything, but the shape was still there. Fresh enough to matter.

Behind him, the others stood spread out in a loose line. Two rifles, a shotgun, and a couple of knives that looked like they’d been sharpened more times than they’d been cleaned. Nobody spoke much anymore unless it was necessary. Out here, talking felt like volunteering for trouble.

“I still think this is bullshit,” one of them said.

The man stayed crouched a second longer, then slowly straightened up. His knees cracked as he stood. He turned his head toward the voice without rushing it.

“Yeah?” he asked.

The guy who spoke shifted his weight. He didn’t lower his gun, but his grip tightened. “Kid runs off in the middle of all this, leaves camp like it’s nothing, and we’re supposed to go drag him back like he’s some kind of priority? He’s reckless. He’s gonna get himself killed anyway.”

The man took a step closer.

Then another.

He didn’t look like he was trying to intimidate him. That was the problem. He looked calm. Like this was just another conversation he had already had too many times.

By the time he stopped, he was close enough that the man could see the dirt stuck in the lines of his face and the dried blood near his knuckles.

Bill scratched the side of his nose, slow and deliberate, then looked off into the trees like he was thinking. When he spoke, his voice was flat.

“You watch that mouth of yours.”

The other man blinked once. “Bill, seriously? You were the one who said—”

“I mean it.”

The interruption was quiet, but it landed heavy. Bill didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. His eyes did the work for him.

A few seconds passed.

The forest filled the gap. Wind moving through branches. Something far off that might’ve been an animal or might’ve been worse.

Bill turned his head slightly, looking past the man now, addressing the group instead.

“We made a promise to Sheryl,” he said. “That no matter what, we find her son.”

Nobody moved. Nobody argued right away. Even the guy who had been talking earlier just stared at the ground like it suddenly got interesting.

Bill continued.

“So that’s what we’re doing. We’re not debating it. We’re not second guessing it. We find him. Clear?”

A few hesitant nods came after a beat. Not enthusiastic. Just acknowledgment. The kind you gave when you knew the conversation wasn’t really optional.

“Clear,” someone muttered.

Bill exhaled through his nose and turned away, already done with it. He spat into the dirt, like the taste of the conversation stuck on his tongue.

Then he looked down at the trail again, at the faint impressions in the mud.

“Kid’s been moving fast,” he said, more to himself now.

He adjusted the rifle on his shoulder and started forward without waiting to see if the others followed.

They did.

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