Chapter 2
The first man through the door was J.
Six foot four, broad shoulders, scar slicing through his left eyebrow.
His face went white when he saw me.
“Clear the house,” he barked over his shoulder. “Every room. No one touches anything.”
Four men in black tactical gear fanned out past him.
J dropped to his knees beside me, hands hovering like he was scared he’d break me worse.
“Lila. Look at me.”
I tried to focus on his face.
“Hurts,” I whispered.
“I know, baby. I know. I’ve got you.”
He slipped one arm under my knees, the other behind my back, and lifted me like I weighed nothing.
I cried out, the movement tearing at the wounds on my back.
“Sorry,” he said, voice tight. “I’m so sorry.”
He carried me out to the lead SUV, laying me down across the back seat on a stack of soft blankets someone had already pulled out.
A woman in scrubs climbed in right after him, bag open in her lap.
“Sarah’s our medic,” J said, climbing into the front seat and slamming the door. “She’s gonna take care of you. We’re going to a private clinic. No records. No questions.”
Sarah’s hands were gentle as she cut the back of my dress open.
I flinched when the cold air hit my raw skin.
“Deep lacerations,” she said, voice steady. “Some will need stitches. No broken ribs, I think, but we’ll x-ray to be sure.”
She pressed a gauze pad to my back, and I bit down on a leather strap someone handed me.
J didn’t turn around.
But I saw his hands white-knuckling the steering wheel.
“I waited three years,” he said, quiet. “I never stopped watching him. I had men on him 24/7. I just… I waited for you to be ready.”
Tears leaked out the corners of my eyes, soaking the blanket under my cheek.
“I thought if I left,” I said, voice cracking, “he’d cut off my mom’s treatment. I couldn’t let her die.”
J was quiet for a long time.
The SUV moved fast, siren off, lights flashing under the grille.
“I know,” he said finally. “That’s why I didn’t come get you sooner. I knew what he was holding over your head.”
We pulled into the underground garage of a sleek glass building ten minutes later.
Sarah had already given me something for the pain, and the edges of the world were softening.
J carried me inside, past security doors that opened with his fingerprint, up to a private room on the top floor.
They put me in a soft bed, dimmed the lights.
A doctor came in, stitched up the worst of the cuts, gave me antibiotics and stronger pain meds.
“Two weeks of bed rest,” he said, patting my arm. “You’ll have scars. But you’ll heal.”
When he left, J pulled a chair up next to the bed.
He didn’t say anything for a long time.
Just sat there, watching me, like he was scared I’d disappear if he looked away.
“Ethan and Sophia,” I said, voice slurring a little from the drugs. “They’ll come looking.”
J’s jaw tightened.
“Let them,” he said. “They step one foot near you, they’ll regret the day they were born.”
He reached out, brushed a strand of hair off my face.
His hand was warm, calloused.
Safe.
“Sleep, Lila,” he said. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
I closed my eyes.
For the first time in three years, I didn’t lock the bedroom door.
May you like
I didn’t lie awake listening for Ethan’s footsteps.
I slept.
