I could come up with a million excuses for this being so late, but basically it boils down to life being hectic and little to no motivation. I won't bore you with the details, just know I am so sorry for keeping you guys waiting. Retrograde is finally over, so maybe I can get back on track.

As bittersweet as it is, I realized as I wrote this that this is the end. I thought it best to end on lucky number 13. I wasn't sure how I would end this or when, but this is just how it played out in my head. It came out very much like a movie, so that's the way it went, typical theatrical finale. I definitely used this story to take out all of my frustrations.

Also, on a happier note, I'm excited to inform you all that the sequel to Collision Repair won! If all goes well, it will be posted as soon as I work out the kinks, so keep your eyes peeled for that!

I am still planning on doing a Stockholm syndrome story about Taylor, it's just pushed to the further corners of my mind, for the time being. Stockholm is one of those phenomena that I just cannot wrap my head around. That's exactly why I think it's important that I push myself by trying to write it. When I do, I plan to delve more into what happens in the end of this story.

Shout out to Annabeth's tumblr that inspires so much of the sex in my stories, this chapter included. Demented minds think alike. ;)

Additional love to Alva Starr for her continued support and good vibes. Thanks, babe!

I hope you all aren't disappointed in the ending. Let me know what you think!

In normal Mac story form, typical warnings apply. This story contains graphic material including: foul language, rape, mutilation, murder, and general Mac-ness.

"When you begin a journey of revenge, start by digging two graves: one for your enemy, and one for yourself."
― Jodi Picoult, Nineteen Minutes

As though there was an invisible force field at the door to the shed, the snarling canine stopped inexplicably. He crouched, haunches flared, growling with his teeth bared at the young woman before him. If Cheyenne didn't know any better, she would think that the mutt took a page from his master's handbook and stopped only to taunt her, to heighten her level of fear.

They stood, opposing each other, in silence for what felt like minutes. A shiver of fear tingled its way up from Cheyenne's feet to her brain stem and she realized it was time to react.

The shot gun tucked comfortably in the crook of her arm, she was able to prime the pump in the few seconds she had before the beast struck, leaping at her chest and sending her fragile body sailing backwards onto the hard concrete floor. His teeth broke the skin on her arm and he aggressively shook his head back and forth, breaking skin and ripping her brachioradialis and flexor carpi to shreds. She screamed, the sound more shrill and gritty than she was used to in her distressed and dehydrated state.

Instinctively, she pulled away, making the tears to her lower arm even worse. The shot gun lay, primed and ready, by her side. She reached out with her free hand, grabbing the barrel. With what sanity she had left, she perched the shot gun on her stomach, angling up and working her hand down the stock to the trigger. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, squeezing gently. The shot gun kicked back, sliding across the floor and out of her grasp as the dogs chest imploded with a strangled yelp. Blood and guts sprayed to the wall of the shed, splattering on a dirt bike and a few boxes on the side of the shed as

Cheyenne fought the surging pain in her arm, trying to calm her heart rate as adrenaline pumped its way through her body at a steady pace. She pushed the dog's body up and off of her chest. She was now not only coated in dried blood and scabs encrusted with dirt from her own body, but thoroughly soaked with the sustaining liquid of Mac's rabid attack dog.

The woman struggled to stand, the canine's blood dripping down her legs from the saturated dress. She wiped what she could from her hands onto the sundress and shook her head free from its dangerous thoughts. Taylor. She had to get to Taylor.

She took a panicked look around the shed, setting her gaze on a larger ATV on the farther side of the building. It was big enough for two. She hastily scooped up a handful of keys she had since dropped on the floor and rushed to the four wheeler, testing keys until one fit in the ignition. The engine roared to life for a glorious thirty seconds before sputtering and shutting off completely. Gas. She needed gas.

Her eyes spun around the room, looking for a spare canister, anything. There were shelves along the back wall. She hobbled her way to that wall, pushing items out of the way, hoping to find anything she could use. She saw a buck knife, placing it greedily by the flashlight and shotgun at her feet. She moved boxes, throwing tools and meaningless junk out of the way, tossing it to the floor behind her. She rummaged through more boxes in the corner. There, in the midst of the chaos surrounding her, Cheyenne found a metal jug of liquid. Slowly, carefully, hopefully, she twisted the cap and inhaled the sweet smell of ethanol. Gasoline.

Urgently, she opened the tank on the ATV and poured the liquid into the vehicle until the dripping sound stopped and the canister was dry. She had hoped it was enough.

She tried the key again and the engine purred back to life, idling in the shed, waiting for a rider. Cheyenne wasted no time getting on the back of the four wheeler, shot gun, knife, and flashlight in hand as she depressed the rear brake and shifted the gears by her foot. She pressed the throttle by her thumb and sped her way back to Mac's.

Taylor sat nimbly on the edge of Mac's stoop as the ATV pulled to the shack. "He got loose." She said quietly, not meeting her sister's eyes. She seemed unphased by Cheyenne's appearance.

"Don't worry about him." Cheyenne rasped. "Get all your stuff." She instructed, pushing past her sister on the stoop to run in the house and straight to the kitchen. At the faucet, she splashed her face clean before drinking straight from the tap, guzzling the water down until her stomach ached. Behind her, Taylor was packing her baby doll dresses into a small duffel bag she found in the closet. She came to the kitchen and quietly handed her sister a hand towel. "Thanks."

"Is that master's?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Cheyenne didn't have to ask. She knew she meant the blood. "No, sweetie. It's not master's."

She nodded quietly as Cheyenne wiped some dust and blood off of her face, chest and arms. She didn't bother going further down, it didn't make any sense to waste more time. She grabbed Taylor's wrist and drug her through the house and to the four wheeler outside. The sun had begun setting already and they were running out of time. "Put these in there." Cheyenne handed her little sister the flashlight and knife, choosing to keep the gun across the handle bars of the ATV, just in case. She only had two rounds left and had to make them count.

"Do you know where we're going?" Cheyenne asked, feeling stupid immediately afterwards. Taylor shook her head no. Of course she didn't have any sense of direction.

The only good thing about this barren wasteland was that you could clearly see for miles. They would be able to spot Mac's truck in the desert. Unfortunately, Cheyenne didn't think the four wheeler would be able to out run Mac. The Matthews sisters mounted the ATV, the younger behind her older counter part. She held onto the mounting bars just behind her.

They chose to drive in the opposite direction of the house she had just raided. It didn't seem like anything else was in that direction. Anything was better than staying here, even if it lead them right to the monster.

It was dark. The desert air became painfully cold. The thought crossed Cheyenne's mind that Mac knew exactly what he was doing, leaving the girls with no shoes and only baby doll dresses to cover their bodies.

For what felt like hours, Cheyenne and Taylor had been spinning in circles. Each canyon, hill, and plateau looked the same. The rock formations surrounding them all looked like duplicates of each other.

The chill in the air was beginning to be too much. Cheyenne felt Taylor shiver behind her. They were running out of options.

She spotted the cow pasture to her left. She actually recognized where she was! The cavern Mac had held her in was just beyond that shaky fence, maybe a mile away. She spotted his truck just outside of the door. A shiver, not from the cold, trailed up her spine and she pressed the throttle harder, lurching past the cave in the distance.

She rounded another plateau, using it to cut through the desert. The four wheeler slowed before sputtering to a stop. They were out of gas.

"What are you doing?" Taylor whispered. She hadn't stopped looking over her shoulder the whole time. "He's coming, you have to go!" She urged, hitting her sister's shoulder.

"We can't go any farther. There's no more gas." Cheyenne said, her voice harsh with reason.

Taylor pushed herself back, falling off the vehicle and kicking herself away. "We're gonna die out here." Her voice broke in her distress.

"No, stop it! We're not!" Cheyenne warned. She got herself off the ATV and paced back and forth. "Mac still doesn't know we're gone. Even when he finds out, it would take him at least a few hours to find us out here." She thought, aloud.

"Master's smart. He'll find me."

"No, Taylor. Please!" She tried to calm her crying sister, her natural instincts outweighing her fear. "We have to ditch the bike." She said, assuredly. As much as it pained her swollen, bleeding feet, she needed to make it out of this.

They walked what felt like miles. In actuality, they only made it about half a mile to the end of the plateau. There was a cluster of rocks to their right that they were now clutching each other in. They found no solace, no warmth. Only each other.

In the distance, clear as the dark desert sky, they heard a blasting boom. An explosion.

Cheyenne pulled herself from Taylor's grip, peaking out of the rock formation enough to spot a blazing fire in the near distance. The ATV had blown up.

"He's here." Taylor whispered.

Cheyenne had almost convinced herself that the four wheeler had somehow spontaneously combusted when she was pulled by her hair over the rocks and thrust on the hard ground of the plateau. "Think yer so fuckin' smart, huh?" Mac spat. Cheyenne's hand came up to her hair, feeling where a sizeable clump used to be attached at the roots to her scalp. "Think ye got one over on ol' Mac?" His boot connected with her ribs again.

She was sure they were broken now. She coughed out a burst of air and used what little strength she had left to try and crawl away. Her eyes connected with Taylor's through the rock formations behind Mac's looming form. The younger Matthews girl quickly looked away, releasing a slight keening noise that Mac's keen ears did not miss. "Really think ye could take 'er away?" He growled. Cheyenne perched on her upper arms, trying to will herself up but the back of Mac's hand connected painfully with her cheek and sent her spiraling back down to the red clay beneath them. "Think this bitch needs ta be put back in 'er place, right pet?" He cast a glance towards Taylor. The girl cowered beneath the rocks and was lost to them both. "Knees, bitch!" He smacked her again before dropped to his knees and pinning her hips in place.

He bent her battered, broken body to his liking, sending her to her knees and pushing her head into the dirt. She kneeled before him like a repentant whore in church. He pushed her nose into the dirt with one hand while working her sundress up with his other, baring her bare ass and back for him. "Gonna fuck y'into place, bitch. Let ye know who's boss out 'ere." He growled. She heard the buttons of his coveralls pop just before she felt the head of his cock push against her ass cheeks. All she could do was cower and cry. He body was too tired and worn to put up any more fight while his large hand clamped around her dainty neck.

His legs spread apart as far as they could in his coveralls, dick erect and nudging her folds apart as he plunged himself into her, hitting her inner confines with force and purpose. "Still so fuckin' wet. Gonna bust ye wide open. So fuckin' nasty." Mac kept muttering to himself as he pumped himself into her wet, warm channel.

There was a sudden slight gurgling followed by a spray of warm, now familiar liquid across Cheyenne's bare back as the hand on her throat softened at all movement stopped. Cheyenne chanced a look over her shoulder as Mac took his last breaths, choking on his own blood as it bubbled in his throat. Behind him, Taylor held the buck knife in her bloody hands.

Cheyenne kicked herself away just before Mac fell over, using his last bit of strength to reach out and grasp at her again.

"I had to. I had to do it. I'm sorry. I had to." Taylor kept murmuring. She threw the knife at her feet and began staring at her hands. "Oh God, oh God!" She screamed, blood curdling and shrill. "I had to do it." She smeared the blood on her dress and never stopped crying.

"Taylor! Taylor!" Her sister yelled. "You did the right thing!"

The girl nodded slowly. "I can't leave him! I won't leave!"

"Taylor! You did the right thing! We have to get away! We can't stay!" She grabbed her bloody hand and drug her from the plateau, searching the desert for Mac's truck.

Walter woke early to clean the public restrooms before lunch prep at the Luna Mesa. His ears perked up when he heard the sound of that worthless son of his. His truck creaked to a stop outside of the garage and flung into park. He could see everything from the open door as he stood on the porch.

The girl's exited the truck. They were drenched in blood. He cruelly thought that it was undoubtedly Mac's blood. Arlene's fucking useless brat finally got what was coming to him.

They opened the door to the garage and disappeared inside. Beyond the doors they found Cheyenne's SUV with the busted radiator on the ground beside it. In the backseat were all of the Cheyenne's possessions. The hood on the car was raised. She peered in and was surprised to see the new radiator had been installed. Mac had probably been planning on driving her SUV somewhere to get rid of the evidence.

They found the keys on Mac's messy desk. Cheyenne climbed in the driver's seat, starting the engine. She looked to her younger sister and nodded for her to join in the passenger's seat. Slowly, quietly, Taylor got into the car.

As soon as they shut their doors, Cheyenne put the truck in reverse and headed out of the garage, turning around in the parking lot and passing the Luna Mesa on the way to the highway, her middle finger raised out the window at the old bandito on the porch.

As quick as they could, they got out of Cainville. Together, the Matthews sisters escaped.