EMMA

When I first opened my eyes, the world was tilting.

The ceiling spun in slow, lazy circles, the yellow light above me humming like an insect that refused to die.

Then the shouting hit me, sharp and splintering, like someone driving daggers into my already aching skull.

I blinked hard and turned my head. Adam was pacing near the door, phone pressed to his ear.

"No, you listen to me," he snapped. "You find me something else tonight. I don't care how. I don't care who you have to pay. You understand me? Tonight."

Each word dragged me further into awareness. My head throbbed; my throat felt scraped raw. Dim light leaked through the blinds, catching on the dust hanging in the air. The room smelled of cigarette smoke and cheap disinfectant. A neon sign outside pulsed through the cracks—red, blue, then red again—painting the walls with flickering color.

We were at a motel. I remembered nothing about getting here.

The last thing I remembered was the gunshot, that deafening crack that split the air and something inside me, and the man who had only tried to help collapsing to the ground, gasping, his hands pressed to his chest as blood poured through his fingers.

My heartbeat spiked all over again. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to shove the image back. I needed to focus. I couldn't let myself be easy prey.

I forced myself to think, to drag the memories back through the fog. Everything felt hazy, like the gunshot had wrapped my mind in thick smoke. Maybe I had gone into shock. Or maybe I had just... broke.

Yet, I must've kept moving somehow, running on autopilot, letting myself be dragged deeper into the nightmare I had been trapped in since they drugged me in the infirmary.

But there were flashes—Adam shoving me into the car, the door slamming, the engine roaring. The glint of water when we reached the harbor.

Then the ground began to rock beneath me, the smell of diesel and salt overwhelming everything, and Adam telling someone to "keep the damn motor running."

And then... darkness. I must've blacked out.

Now I was here. And the nightmare was still staring me straight in the face.

Adam ended the call and turned toward me with an expression I had never seen on him before. He wasn't just angry. He looked feral.

"Do you have any idea what you've just cost me?" he hissed. His pupils were blown wide, his jaw tight enough to split bone.

He started pacing again, dragging a hand through his hair. It was damp, sticking up at jagged angles.

"Linden Airport has been shut down. Every bloody airstrip is crawling with feds now. All because of you..." He stopped, stabbing a finger in my direction. "Because you thought you were clever enough to run."

"When I told you," he said between clenched teeth, "there was no way away from me."

I didn't respond. I just swallowed, my throat burning, and then met his eyes without flinching.

He took a step closer, and this time, I couldn't control my reaction. My body moved before my mind did, shrinking back, folding in on itself. Pain flared up in my thigh.

The movement only made him smile, a crooked, animalistic curve of his lips.

"Tell me, love," he said, his voice calm now, as if we were having a conversation. "What was your plan exactly? You'd just turn yourself in, yeah? Be the obedient little prisoner again? Let yourself be the scapegoat while your brother sleeps soundly and enjoys his pathetic little company, knowing you locked yourself away to protect him."

A laugh escaped him, as if he had told a funny joke. It made my stomach twist. Then his eyes sharpened; the gold in them caught the light, looking like those of a snake.

"Did you think they'd just forgive you? Hand you your old cell back and call it a day?" He braced one hand on the bed and crouched until he was at my eye level. "Newsflash, love, you're one of us now. A murderer."

He was close enough that his breath brushed my face. I held mine, swallowing the urge to throw up.

He straightened, spreading his arms like a showman. "You know the feds still do capital punishment, right? Maybe your knight in shining armor can hold your hand while they pump your veins full of poison."

The words hit like a slap, but I stayed silent. Silence was the only weapon I had left. And I knew he fed on my vulnerabilities.

He tilted his head, waiting for a reaction. When I gave him none, his mouth twitched into something darker. He turned, snatched the nearest object—a half-empty glass that was on the nightstand—and hurled it across the room.

It hit the mirror above the dresser and shattered. Shards rained onto the floor, catching the faint light bleeding through the blinds like glittering shrapnel. I stared at them, refusing to blink. Blinking meant reacting. But a quiet, shaky breath still slipped out of me.

Then, just as suddenly as it came, the rage evaporated. He let out a low chuckle, the kind that forced my head to turn toward him even though I wished I didn't.

He shook his head once, licking his lips before looking back at me. His face was eerily calm now, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

It terrified me more than the shouting.

"You're lucky, you know that, right?" he said softly, almost tenderly. "Because I'm still feeling forgiving today."

He didn't spare the shattered mirror a single glance. It was as if the wreckage didn't exist, or as if he preferred it that way. He even stepped on a shard deliberately, grinding it beneath his shoe as he crossed the room to the chair in the corner, where a folded pile of clothes waited.

He lifted them and dropped them on the bed beside me. "Get changed," he said flatly. "And this time, you'll do as I tell you."

I hesitated, then nodded once.

He watched me for a moment, then stepped closer until his shadow swallowed the thin strip of light between us. His hand came up, brushing through my hair with a slow, deliberate motion, as if he were petting a dog. It made my skin crawl.

Then, his fingers caught on a knot, and he grimaced.

"You could use a shower," he said. "And clean that wound while you're at it. Wouldn't do either of us any good if it got infected. Wouldn't want you passing out on me again and missing the finale."

Finale?

What was he talking about?

I didn't dare ask. I swallowed hard and forced out a single word. "Okay."

He smiled faintly, as though amused by my compliance. "That's my girl."

I swung my legs off the bed, wincing when my feet met the cold floor. My injured leg screamed in protest, the pain sharp enough to blur my vision for a second.

The clothes slipped from my lap as I tried to stand, and the ground rushed up to meet me. I hit my knees hard, catching myself with my palms and landing right onto a piece of glass.

A small sound escaped me. My hand throbbed. I lifted it instinctively, plucking out the shard now stained with my blood.

For a second, the room sharpened around me—the pain, the glass, the way it caught the light, and then I forced myself to breathe, to move. I gathered the clothes again and tried to push to my feet, but Adam caught my arm before I could, hauling me up like I weighed nothing.

"Look at you," he said. "You can't even stand up straight. But then again, you did that to yourself."

I kept my gaze down, breath shaking. "Sorry," I whispered.

He exhaled sharply, more annoyed than angry. "Just... watch where you're stepping." His hand lingered on my arm for a moment too long.

When I glanced up, he raised an eyebrow, waiting.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced out the word I knew he wanted. "Thanks."

It hurt more than the glass specks in my hand.

He smiled. "Go on then. And don't close the door."

I nodded and moved toward the bathroom. My right hand trembled at my side, but I kept it angled away from him. My fingers curled inward, instinctively protecting the cut, protecting what I hadn't dropped.

Then I stepped inside and kept the door open.

The bathroom smelled faintly of bleach and mildew. I caught my reflection in the mirror and nearly recoiled. My eyes were sunken, looking almost bruised underneath; my lips were cracked, streaked with dried blood; and my hair looked like I had been dragged backward through a windpipe.

I tore my gaze away and turned on the water, letting the rush of it fill the silence. Steam rose slowly, curling into the flickering light overhead.

I hesitated before peeling off my clothes, glancing over my shoulder. Adam was out there. Pacing. Listening. Probably watching the blurred outline of my body through the half-open door.

I let out a slow breath and undressed, piece by piece. I grimaced. The fabric clung to me with sweat, dirt, and dried blood.

Finally, I stepped under the water. The first droplets hit my skin sharply, almost shocking. Then, the warmth bled through me, washing the filth away, but not the heaviness sitting in my chest or the questions spinning in my head like loose wires.

What now?

I didn't know. Adam wasn't letting me out of his sight again. And even if I escaped... then what? My life felt like it had slammed into a dead end.

A quiet sob escaped me. I shook my head. The only choice left was to play along until I found another way out because I didn't know how many chances I had left with Adam... or whether the next time he reached for his gun, he would aim it at me.

I forced myself to focus on what I could control. The water turned faintly pink where it hit my leg. I crouched, cleaning the wound with slow, careful motions. It wasn't deep, but it stung like hell.

I found a small first-aid kit in the cabinet, still half-stocked. The antiseptic burned, sharp enough to make my eyes water. I bit my lip to keep from making another sound.

I finished bandaging it and put another one on the cut on my balm, then I pulled on the sweater and jeans. I paused, looking toward the door. No sign of Adam. Maybe he was sitting on the bed, or back on the phone again.

I adjusted my clothes and looked at the mirror one last time, nodding to myself. Whatever happened, he wasn't turning me into a puppet. And I wasn't dying here. Not by him.

I wasn't done fighting.

When I stepped out, Adam was waiting near the door, head tilted, eyes dragging over me from head to toe.

A grin tugged at his scar. "Now," he said, "you almost look like the Emma I remember."

I didn't respond. I let him stare, let him fill the silence with whatever he liked.

He grabbed his coat from the chair and headed for the door. "Come on, love. We've got places to be."

Outside, the evening had deepened into a washed-out gray. The parking lot was mostly empty; just a few cars and one truck. Adam scanned them quickly, then led me toward an old sedan parked behind the motel. The paint was chipped, and the plates were half rusted.

He slipped a thin tool from his pocket, slid it between the window and the door, and popped the lock in under five seconds.

"Get in," he told me.

I climbed in, careful not to let the limp show too much. My hands folded in my lap, cold, my fingers trembling despite how tightly I pressed them together.

Adam slid into the driver's seat, pried open the steering column, twisted a few wires, and the engine came to life with a rough growl.

"See?" he said, almost proud. "Still got it."

I said nothing, just stared out the window as we drove. The streets were quiet, the last streaks of daylight fading behind low industrial buildings. Somewhere along the way, I caught a sign, Elizabeth, New Jersey.

He had mentioned Linden.

He had said his getaway was there, and now it was locked down tight. My thoughts jumped to the phone call I had made to Jake. Was that why? Had he figured it out? Was he closing in on Adam now?
Did he know I wasn't working with him?

I didn't dare let myself believe it. I just kept staring out the window, letting the shadows swallow whatever hope tried to rise.

Adam finally turned through a maze of warehouses and storage yards, most of them half-abandoned. The kind of place where screams wouldn't echo far enough to matter.

He pulled up beside a row of corrugated industrial units and killed the engine.

"Out," he said.

My body moved before my mind could argue. I stepped out, wincing as pain shot up my leg the moment my feet hit the concrete.

Adam walked to one of the units, rolled up the metal door with a grunt, and flicked on a single hanging light.

"After you," he said, gesturing with a mock bow.

I hesitated for a heartbeat, then drew in a breath and stepped inside. The air smelled of dust, oil, and old wood. A lone chair sat in the center of the floor, nothing else around it.

My chest tightened. Instinctively, I shifted toward the exit again, but Adam's hand snapped up, fingers clamping around my arm, stopping me cold.

"Sit," he said.

I pulled back once. But it was pointless. The moment my legs hit the chair, he was already looping the rope around my wrists, pulling them behind me.

"Adam, please—"

"Shh." His voice was almost gentle again, and that made it worse. "You're hurt. You need rest. You'll thank me later."

The rope bit into my skin as he tied the knots. I tried to twist free, but my muscles were shaking, my energy long gone.

When he finished, he crouched in front of me, his face level with mine.

"See? You fight, you bleed, and then you still end up right where I want you," he said softly. "You were never meant to run from me, Emma."

A few tears ran down my cheek. I let them. "What do you want, you psycho?" I hissed. "Just kill me and get it over with."

His smile widened. He reached out and stroked my cheek with the back of his fingers. I nearly lunged to bite them off.

"I told you fear makes people do stupid things." He wiped the tears from my cheek. "And I get it, I do. You were scared. You ran. You made a mess of things."

He smiled again, a smile no human being should be capable of. "But see, actions have consequences."

My throat went dry. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My whole body went still, frozen in dread.

Then his eyes narrowed, his expression twisting into something even crueler.

"I'm not going to kill you, Emma. Where's the fun in that?" he said, each word coated in venom. "But your fed lover? Well... let's just say he'll pay for your mistake... with his life."

The air left my lungs so fast it burned.

"No..." It was barely a breath of sound. My head was already shaking, frantic and helpless, before my mind could even catch up.

He leaned closer, his hand snapping around my chin, forcing my face still.

"Maybe I'll bring you a souvenir when I'm done with him," he murmured. "His badge, maybe. A little keepsake. Something to remind you what happens when you betray me."

Tears blurred my vision before I could stop them. I tried to shake my head again, but his grip was too strong.

"Please... don't," I managed.

His fingers loosened, sliding down my jaw. "Oh, don't cry, love." His tone softened again, mock-gentle, almost pitying. "It'll all be over soon."

He stood, dusted his hands on his jeans, and straightened. "And after that... you and I can finally live happily ever after."

Then he turned and walked toward the door. A second later, it shut with a hollow thud.

The lock clicked.

And the world went very, very still.