Escape (Aftermath #2)

6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Mel

T he meeting room is stale and without windows. The artificial light hurts my eyes. I shift in my chair, eyes flicking to the clock. Over an hour in, and we’re still running in circles. Logistics, budgets, local staff, a whole lot of talking. No actual decisions.

I twirl my pen between my fingers, barely listening, until Stephen speaks up.

"I just don’t think we can fully trust them," he says. He leans back in his chair, arms folded, as if he’s just cracked some great truth.

I blink.

Stephen, who has never set foot outside the London office. Stephen, whose biggest risk in the field was a late train to Canary Wharf.

A few nods around the table. Someone mutters about security concerns.

"You never know where their loyalties really lie," Stephen adds, clearly enjoying the limelight his pearls of wisdom brought him.

My grip tightens around my pen.

"Yeah, exactly," Pam, another office veteran who has never been to the field, chimes in. "At the end of the day, they’re looking out for themselves first."

Something hot flares in my chest. My pulse pounds in my ears.

Arif’s face flashes in my mind. His lopsided grin. The way he used to joke about my terrible Russian. The empty look in his eyes when he took his last breath in my arms.

The chair scrapes back before I even realise I’ve stood up.

"Arif looked out for us ," I snap, my voice slicing through the room.

Silence. Stephen’s face goes slack, his mouth half open like he’s just realising he might have said something stupid.

"He gave his life for us," I say, breath shaking. "But yeah, sure. Let’s sit here and talk about how they can’t be trusted."

No one meets my eye. Stephen shifts uncomfortably, looking down at the table like he wishes he could disappear into it.

My hands tremble, anger buzzing under my skin.

"Say his name," I demand, voice rising. "Go on. Say his bloody name! "

Nothing. Just blank stares and a few guilty glances.

Fucking cowards.

My chair nearly topples as I shove it aside. "I’m done with this."

I storm out, the door rattling on its hinges behind me.

I don’t even remember walking back to my desk, but here I am, staring at my screen, the words blurring together. My hands are still shaking. My pulse still too fast.

I shouldn’t have lost it like that.

No. They shouldn’t have said what they did.

Footsteps approach, steady and deliberate. I glance up and see Andrea standing there.

"Got a minute?" she asks gently.

I swallow and nod, pushing my chair back. She gestures towards the small meeting room, and I follow her in. The door clicks shut behind us.

Andrea doesn’t jump straight in. She sits across from me, hands resting on the table, letting a beat of silence pass before she speaks.

"I heard what happened." Her voice is soft, no judgement, just observation.

I tense, bracing myself. "Look, I know I shouldn’t have—"

"I’m not here to lecture you," she says before I can spiral. "I just want to check in. You okay?"

I exhale through my nose, shaking my head. "No, not really."

Andrea nods, like she expected that. "I get it, Mel. I really do." She hesitates, then leans forward slightly. "I know how much Arif meant to you."

My throat tightens. I stare at the table.

"I also know that this job takes a toll," she continues. "What was said in that meeting was out of line. I’ll deal with that. But I need to know that you are okay too. You don’t need to deal with this on your own."

A flash of heat rises in my chest. "I’m not alone," I say quickly. "I have Owen."

The words taste defensive, but as soon as I say his name, something in me twists.

I think about the way I spoke to him this morning. The way I brushed him off when he reached out. There is that guilt again. I shouldn’t have done that. He doesn’t deserve it.

He’s always there, steady and unshakable, no matter how many times I push him away. He knows when to joke, when to let me be, when to pull me back from the edge. I feel safe with him.

So why am I trying so hard to shut him out?

Andrea watches me carefully, like she’s seeing the thoughts race across my face. "He’s a good friend?" she asks.

"The best," I say quietly, swallowing the lump in my throat.

"That’s good. But you have to let people be there for you, Mel. Owen, me, the rest of the team. You can’t lock people out."

I exhale sharply. "I’m not locking people out."

Andrea just gives me a look. The kind that says you know that’s not true .

I shift uncomfortably in my chair.

"You’re one of the best people on this team," she says. "But even the strongest people need a break."

I grip the edge of the table, fingers pressing into the wood. "I don’t need a break," I mumble stubbornly.

She doesn’t argue, just waits.

The silence stretches, pressing down on me. Losing it with Owen is bad enough. Losing it in public ? That’s something else.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second before letting out a slow, controlled breath. "Fine. A couple of days."

"Two weeks." Andrea pushes back and I don't fight her. "I’ll sort it out. And… just think about talking to someone. You don’t have to decide now, just think about it."

I swallow hard and nod.

Andrea pauses by the door. "And, Mel… you can reach out to me, you know. Anytime. It doesn’t have to be work-related."

I glance up at her. Somehow her words make me feel lighter for a brief second.

"I’ll keep that in mind," I say. It’s not a promise, but it’s something.

She gives me a small smile. "And don’t shut Owen out. A best friend is exactly what you need right now."

The door closes behind her, leaving me in silence.

I drop my head into my hands.

I need help.

And maybe it’s time I stop pretending otherwise.

The bass pulses through the club, vibrating up through the soles of my boots and into my chest. Neon lights flash overhead, slicing through the darkness in jagged bursts of colour. Mandy is next to me, sipping something pink and fizzy through a straw, her lips curling into a smile as I spin back toward her with my own drink.

“Busy tonight,” she shouts over the music, glancing at the packed dance floor.

“Perfect,” I reply, leaning in close enough for her to hear. The energy in the room hums in my veins, sharp and electric, and I’m ready to lose myself in it. After the chat with Andrea, I was ready to go home and make it up to Owen. But then all these feelings came barrelling back, and I couldn’t turn down Mandy’s offer to check out the new club in London Bridge.

We’re at the edge of the dancefloor when they approach—two guys, mid-thirties, confident smiles that border on cocky. The taller one zeroes in on Mandy, his sandy blond hair artfully tousled, while the other, a dark-haired bloke with broad shoulders and a wolfish grin, locks eyes with me.

“Ladies,” he says, leaning in slightly, his voice cutting through the music.

“Hi,” Mandy replies, her tone polite but distant. I know that tone. She’s not interested, but she’ll play nice.

I, on the other hand, feel a smirk tug at my lips as Mr Broad Shoulders steps closer, his confidence bordering on charm.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, his grin widening.

“Why not?” I reply, holding up my almost-empty glass. “Vodka tonic.”

He signals to the bartender, and a few minutes later, I’m holding a fresh drink, his hand brushing against mine as he passes it over.

“So, do you have a name, or should I keep calling you ‘Vodka Tonic’?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Mel,” I say, my smirk widening. “And you?”

“Steve,” he replies, leaning in slightly. His cologne is strong, musky, but not unpleasant. “So, Mel, what brings you here tonight?”

I shrug, taking a sip of my drink. “The usual. Drinks, dancing, terrible chat-up lines.”

He laughs, the sound low and easy. “Guilty as charged.”

Beside me, Mandy is subtly edging away from the blond guy, who hasn’t quite caught on that she’s not interested. She glances at me and mouths, Help.

“Steve,” I say, nudging his arm with mine. “Your mate’s barking up the wrong tree. Mandy’s taken.”

Steve turns, sizing up the situation with a quick glance. He claps his friend on the shoulder, steering him away from us with a grin. “Better luck next time, mate.”

Mandy gives me a grateful look before leaning in. “I’m heading out,” she says, her voice low. “You good?”

I nod, gesturing toward Steve, who’s already making his way back. “Yeah, I’m fine, go.”

Mandy hesitates for a moment, her eyes flicking between me and Steve, but then she shrugs and heads toward the exit.

Steve’s grin is back by the time he reaches me. “So, just us now?”

“Looks that way,” I reply, finishing my drink and setting the glass down on the bar.

He steps closer, his hand brushing against my waist, and I let him. The music pounds around us, the air thick with heat and sweat, and before I know it, his lips are on mine.

It’s a good kiss—skilled but not desperate—and I lean into it, my hands resting lightly on his chest.

“Your place or mine?” I murmur against his lips.

His grin widens like he just won the lottery. “Yours.”

For a moment, Owen’s voice flits through my head. Be careful, he’d said. I should just ditch this guy, go home to Owen and curl up in his arms and—

I shove the thought away, pulling back just enough to look Steve in the eye. “Let’s go.”

What the hell, right?

The flat door slams shut behind us, and Steve’s on me before I’ve even had a chance to kick off my boots. His hands are rough, gripping my waist as he pushes me back against the wall, his breath hot against my neck.

“Steve,” I mutter, trying to keep my tone light as I press a hand against his chest. “Chill out a bit, yeah?”

He chuckles, low and rumbling, but doesn’t stop. His hands slide to my hips, gripping tighter as he leans in to kiss me again.

“I mean it,” I say, firmer this time, turning my head away. “Slow down.”

But he doesn’t seem to hear me. Or worse—he doesn’t care.

His hands move to my shoulders, shoving me back against the wall hard enough to make me wince. “Come on, don’t play hard to get,” he says, his voice dripping with mockery.

A cold knot forms in my stomach. My hands come up, pushing against him harder. “Steve, I said no.”

He pauses for half a second, his eyes narrowing. Then he laughs, a harsh, dismissive sound. “Relax. It’s just a bit of fun.”

Before I can react, he’s leaning in again, his grip on me like iron. Panic rises in my chest, cold and sharp, and I shove at him with everything I’ve got.

“Get off—”

And then he’s gone.

It happens so fast I don’t even process it at first. One moment Steve’s in my face, and the next, he’s being yanked back, stumbling away from me with a startled grunt.

Owen’s there, his hand gripping the back of Steve’s collar like a leash. His face is a mask of controlled fury, his jaw tight and his eyes blazing.

“She said no,” Owen hisses.

Steve stumbles, trying to twist out of Owen’s grip. “Mate, what the hell—”

Owen doesn’t let go. He pulls Steve back further, his grip tightening as he leans in, his voice a quiet, dangerous growl. “Get. Out.”

Steve’s bravado crumbles under the weight of Owen’s glare. He jerks free, straightening his jacket with a sneer. “Fine. Whatever.” He turns to me, his expression hard and full of venom. “I didn’t know that this piece of chocolate is already taken.”

Before I can even register what he meant with his words, Owen is already on him. He pushes him hard against the wall.

“Get the fuck out of here before I show you the way out,” he hisses. This is a side of Owen I have never seen.

Steve mutters something under his breath as he storms to the door, slamming it behind him hard enough to rattle the walls.

The silence that follows is deafening.

Owen turns to me, his expression softening, though the tension in his shoulders hasn’t eased. “You okay?”

I nod, but my hands are still trembling, my breath coming too fast.

He steps closer, his voice gentle now. “Mel.”

I nod again, harder this time, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yeah,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

His eyes search mine, and for a moment, I think he’s going to say something else. But instead, he just nods, stepping back to give me space.

“Do you want some water or...?” he starts, but I shake my head.

“No. I’m okay. Just... I need a minute.”

He hesitates, then nods again, his hands dropping to his sides.

I slide down the wall, sitting on the floor as I try to catch my breath. Owen lingers nearby, silent but steady, and for once, I wish I could tell him that I am not okay.