Haunted by Secrets (Shadowed Souls #3)

Chapter Forty One

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Axel rasps, propped up beside me against the headboard. I raise a brow lazily. “The woman who was supposed to be my mom is dead and I’ve never felt more free, whilst trapped in this shithole room and crying over a dickmunch who left us behind.” He huffs a laugh but there’s no humor in it. I merely nod, looking around the peeling wallpaper with a fresh wave of disgust.

I was hoping, with time, the motel room might appear more sufficient in the daylight or that we’d grow accustomed to the stench of mold creeping into the walls. I was wrong on both counts. Either way, we don’t leave, and not only because we have nowhere to go.

Axel’s sobbing has done a number on his lungs, as Dr. Marcus informed us during yesterday morning’s check-in. Just before he left for good, declaring his disgust at his new surroundings, the Doc put Axel on strict bed rest, which involves cuddling into me while Dax reads us fanfics from his phone—anything to distract us from those who are missing.

Huxley has been stomping in and out, apparently ‘running errands.’ He located food, the greasiest pizza I’ve ever seen or tasted, leered over Thiago’s laptop for hours whilst intimidating the man using it, and ran a few laps around the motel at various times of the day. He says he’s getting a lay of the land and checking for anyone suspicious, but I reckon he doesn’t know what to do with his pent-up frustration. I feel the same, but another body milling around won’t help.

At lunchtime, a pair of uniformed officers pounded on the door. My heart dropped to my feet, the fear that Wyatt and Garrett weren’t coming back slicing through me, but they only wanted to talk about Sharon. Huxley’s SUV, which has now been impounded, had been left at the mansion, and somehow they’d tracked us here. Richard spun a lovely tale of Sharon’s hospitality, looking after her only son in his time of need whilst we terrorized their staff and took over their home. Meanwhile, Axel had to pretend that her death was news to him, and we were subjected to their questions. Our surroundings are incredibly suspicious, but they left within an hour, threatening to be in touch.

Another exhausting day of restless emotion as our lies and secrets catch up with us. Night falls, and Axel nestles down, his head resting on my chest. I stroke his shaved head, becoming lulled by the gentle sound of his breathing. While he was awake, I felt the need to suppress everything I was feeling. Pushing it all down until I wasn’t even sure what it was. Hate, fury, regret.

Now that he’s asleep, I could let it rise to the surface and actually deal with it all. But that sounds exhausting, so I just lie here, stroking his head and focusing on those in this room. Those who need me not to crumble. Dax passes by to kiss my cheek and whispers in my ear that he’s going to attempt a shower. I manage a weak smile, and the mattress at my feet dips where Hux takes over as watchdog.

“There’s room up here, you know,” I mutter down the bed. Hux glances over his shoulder, peering at where the beds have been pushed together, and shakes his head.

“I’m waiting for Thiago to return. I gave him a dinner break around three hours ago.”

“He’s allowed a rest, Hux. This isn’t his fight.” I get a grunt in response.

Still stroking Axel’s head, I close my eyes, allowing myself to go somewhere else in my mind. At first, the darkness behind my eyelids was just that—darkness. But then, it deepens, taking form as I put all my strength into picturing a beach, a smooth rolling of waves against the shore, and my boys sunbathing in a line of gorgeous bodies. It’s a sweet image, yet so far away from our current state .

Somewhere beyond the haze, I know Huxley is still sitting at the foot of the bed, rigid and restless. I can picture him exactly as he is, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, fingers pressed together like he’s about to pray but doesn’t believe in anything enough to bother. The glow of Thiago’s laptop screen is long gone, and with it the occasional clack of keys. The only thing left is the sound of Axel’s breathing and the creaky sighs of the old motel walls settling around us.

It should feel safe. Instead, it feels like the calm before a storm. I let the feeling wash over me, let my thoughts sink into something soft, somewhere in the space between sleep and waking. It reminds me of when I was little, when I’d press my face into my pillow and pretend the world didn’t exist for just a few minutes longer. Back then, I was always waiting for something. Waiting to be wanted. Waiting to be safe.

Now, I’m waiting for Wyatt and Garrett. I wish I could feel hopeful, that they’re going to find Meg and finally bring her home to me, but everything feels wrong. Once again, Wyatt has led a crusade to fight my battles for me, whilst I sit around imagining the worst. A cold prickle crawls up my spine. The distant hum of Dax’s shower fades, replaced by a rhythmic sound muffled like footsteps on carpet.

A moment later, a damp and delightfully naked Dax rolls into my side. His fingers paint patterns around my arm, mouth pressed against my cheek. He doesn’t leave an inch of space between us, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. The longer I spend with Dax, the more clingy I’m becoming. The infatuation between us isn’t lessening; it’s entwining into something frantic and unhealthy, yet I love it. I lean into his chest, breathing in the smell of cheap shower gel and something uniquely him.

“Dax,” I twist my head to breathe in his ear. For one moment, I crave some privacy for my confession. “You can’t ever leave me behind.” My voice cracks, the admission bursting open the dam I’d shut down over my emotions. Dax dislodges Axel’s head, gently shifting him onto my shoulder so that he can drape himself over my body.

“I wouldn’t even consider it,” he replies breathily. The tears I’ve been holding back start to fall, silent at first but they won’t be wrangled into submission. Huge wracking sobs burn my throat, and I know that my jerking is hurting Axel but I can’t stop. My lungs won’t expand, my chest clamping down on itself. Axel’s arm wraps around my middle tightly whilst Dax holds my face, our foreheads touching. He doesn’t let an inch of space between us, absorbing my misery as his own. Hux still doesn’t move up the bed, but a hand wraps around my ankle.

Suddenly, a knock raps on the door and the dip in the mattress is gone, Huxley rushing forward to whip it open. He’s already cursing out Thiago when he cuts himself off and grows strangely silent. I wipe my cheeks and eyes harshly, irritated with myself for holding everything in for so long, only to burst open like that.

Pushing up onto my elbows, I slowly adjust to the dim light as Garrett steps in first. He moves like he owns the place, like he always does, like the entire world is his to bend and break as he pleases. But I feel like by now, I know him better than that. He’s masking something.

Wyatt follows close behind. His jaw is tight, and his green eyes are sharp in a way that makes my breath catch. He looks wired, his expression completely closed off, and his shoulders stiff. I try not to jolt Axel, but he wakes anyway, groaning as he pushes himself up to sit. I support him as best I can, moving us to lean against the headboard with his arm pressed into mine.

“You fuckers,” Hux slams the door closed. He stands in front of it, his arms crossed as if Wyatt and Garrett might change their minds and run back out of it. Dax shimmies off the bed, shedding the towel around his waist and dragging on some sweatpants.

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon,” Dax mutters, not as harshly. Perhaps he is too relieved to see them back safe to stare murderously like Huxley is. Completely oblivious, Garrett peels off his jacket and tosses it onto the chair by the window. He moves to the bathroom, leaning over the small sink in the corner to wash his hands with a little too much force. In my peripheral, Wyatt steps towards the bed, raking a hand through his hair.

“Angel,” Wyatt speaks directly to me. I scoff, avoiding his eyes. “Can we talk?”

“I don’t know, can we? Or do you want to write it down in another letter?” I snap back. I finally look at him, and as I knew it would, all of the anger I’ve been holding onto rushes to the surface. He was expecting my reaction, his head slightly bowed. His T-shirt is crumpled and sweaty, a smudge of something dark across his front.

“I deserved that,” he unclenches his fists at his sides. “But I really think it would be best if we stepped outside.” My narrowed eyes bore a hole in his face, and Hux widens his stance in front of the door. Wyatt isn’t taking me anywhere.

“Whatever it is, just say it, Wyatt,” Axel grounds out. His hand rests against his chest, pressing down to keep his breathing even. My fingers tangle in the fabric of his T-shirt, an attempt to ground us both.

“Fredrick is dead,” Garrett announces, striding back in with a small hand towel drying his hands. He lets out a humorless laugh and tosses it against the wall. “Someone put a bullet in his head before we even got there.”

I freeze, forgetting how to react. Dead . The man who ruined my childhood, haunted my dreams and then returned to do it all over again. The monster I had to survive twice. Dead . I’ve wished to hear those words so many times, wanting to close the door on my past and no longer let it bleed into my future. I return my gaze to Wyatt, watching his throat bob as he swallows.

“And Meg?” I ask tentatively. I know the answer because she’s not here. They didn’t bring her back, but I need the confirmation.

“We searched everywhere,” Wyatt sighs. “There was no sign of her beyond the mess of a struggle.”

Silence spreads like a stain across the room. The air feels thick, pressing down on my chest like Axel's, making it harder to breathe. My fingers tighten in his T-shirt, but I barely feel the fabric beneath my grip. Fredrick has left this world with answers I will never retrieve, snatching my closure in one final act of cruelty. My heartbeat pulses in my ears, louder than the creak of the motel walls, louder than the sharp exhale Wyatt lets out.

I was hoping Wyatt’s dramatic exit was for a reason. That his written apology was a placeholder for the real one, in which he marched Meg through the door and said, ‘ ta da’' . I don’t blame him directly. If she wasn’t there, then there was nothing he could do. But I can’t help the betrayal that cuts me so deeply as if Wyatt himself has deceived me.

My mouth feels dry, as if I’ve swallowed dust. I want to ask a hundred questions. Who else was there? How bad was the struggle? Was there blood? But I can’t seem to form the words.

I glance at Garrett, at the set of his jaw, the way his nostrils flare slightly as he leans against the wall with the forced casualness he wears like armor. He won’t meet my eyes, and that tells me enough. It was bad.

Huxley speaks first, a prolonged growl from the front of the room.

“And you just left?!” The veins in his arms clench, tracing lines across his forearms. Garrett lifts his head, his expression blank.

“No, Hux. We stayed and had a fucking tea party with his corpse.”

“ Asshole ,” Huxley spits, that nervous energy coming back. Flinging his arms down, Hux spins and throws the door open, declaring he’s going to find Thiago. I feel bad for the Brazilian who’s about to be on the receiving end of his frustration, and apparently, so does his cousin. Dax exhales, raking a hand through his damp curls.

“I’d better make sure Hux’s fists only fly at the walls,” he grumbles and exits a moment later. Wyatt doesn’t move at all. He watches me closely, his eyes dark and his jaw locked so tight, I half expect his teeth to shatter.

“I would really like a moment alone with you if you don’t mind,” Wyatt tries to ask me again. I resolutely look to the ceiling, huffing through my nose. A rejection is on my tongue when Axel nudges my arm, his voice a low croak.

“Go. I need to say a few choice words to Garrett anyway.” Axel’s breathing is ragged, his whole body shaking with unspent rage, but after a beat, he lets go. His hand drops to his side, his shoulders heaving in an effort to stay calm. I don’t feel comfortable leaving him, but Wyatt takes his cue to hold out his hand. I wriggle forward and accept it with a rough squeeze meant to hurt, but I know it won’t even phase him.

“You’d better grovel properly,” I glare at Garrett. A devilish smirk crosses his face that he has no business letting loose.

“I’ll be on my knees and begging for forgiveness, Peach.” I roll my eyes but let Wyatt accompany me into the night air. It’s a fresh balm after a day cooped up and hardly moving. I’m guided along the motel building, passing door after door and turning at the end corner. The streetlamp doesn’t quite reach this patch of grass, a bush creating a dead end. Once we’re out of sight, I wrench my hand out of Wyatt’s and spin on him.

“What? What could you possibly have to say to me?” He steps into my space, and I shove at his chest. Wyatt continues to advance, effectively backing me into a corner. My shove might as well be a whisper against the steeliness of his chest. Sharp breaths slice through the thick air between us, and even though I can’t see them, I can feel his eyes are on me. Wild, burning green, containing everything he felt unable to say in front of an audience.

He should be apologizing, telling me that he meant to take me with him to Fredrick’s house, but he has a valid reason for leaving me behind. Instead, he moves faster than I expect, closing the distance between us with one step. One movement, one decision, and then his hands are on me.

His fingers dig into my jaw, tipping my face up, and before I can snarl another word, his mouth crashes down on mine. He steals my kiss, his thumbs prying my mouth open and his tongue sweeping inside. Wyatt avoids my teeth as I try to bite back, his lips crushing against mine without permission.

It’s not soft. It’s not an apology. It’s raw and desperate, but I won’t let him take my forgiveness so easily this time. I’m done with showing Wyatt mercy.

I shove at him again, harder this time. My fists find his shoulders and rain down blows, but he doesn’t move. He simply tightens his grip on my face and pins me against the brick wall. I’m forced to feel him, to taste his anger, his regret, and his obsession. My nails bite into his arms, dragging deep enough to sting. For a moment, it almost works. His breath stutters over my face, his lips parted, but he still doesn’t let me go. I hit him again, trying to twist myself free.

“You don’t get to do this, Wyatt,” I half-heartedly snarl. My words lose their edge coming from bruised lips. His forehead presses against mine, his fingers trembling where they cup my jaw and shift to my hair and nape.

“I have to,” he murmurs roughly. “You won’t listen to me otherwise.”

A sharp laugh rips out of me, the shift of my chest momentarily dislodging his. I try to step aside because Wyatt still has me where he wants me, and one carefully placed leg blocks my exit. There’s no space to move, so I settle for speaking my mind instead.

“You think this is how you get me to listen? By trapping me against a wall in the dark because you’re too much of a coward to talk to me with others around?” Wyatt stiffens. His jaw clenches so tightly I hear his teeth grind together. “What was it you couldn’t face, your boys thinking you’d gone soft? Or was it apologizing in general?”

“I love you,” he says like a gunshot to the dark. I go still. We’ve danced around the knowledge of how Wyatt feels for a while now, but he’s yet to say those three words out loud. He doesn’t give me time to recover, process, or react. His hands slide down my arms, wrapping around my wrists and trapping them between us.

“I love you, Angel. I’ve loved you since I was too young to know what it meant. I loved you even when I hated myself for it.” His voice drops to a hoarse whisper. “I loved you even when I hurt you.” His honesty slams into me, a juxtaposition of responses filtering through my mind. My throat tightens, and the part of my brain that cares for Wyatt fires back up. His lips touch my cheek, dragging a slow path to my ear.

“That’s what I couldn’t say in front of the others. Not… not for the first time at least, but it’s all I’ve been thinking since I left your bed two nights ago.” A shudder passes between Wyatt’s shoulder blades, almost as if he’s fighting with himself to keep going. To force out the confessions he never thought he’d admit.

“And yeah, I may be a coward, but I also know apologizing is useless. Because I can’t promise I won’t leave again. You’ve known this for a while now that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, Angel. If that means walking away, I’ll walk. If that means becoming a monster, I’ll become one.” Returning his mouth to hover over mine, Wyatt ghosts my lips with a tender touch. “But I will never stop loving you.”

I shake my head, weakly trying to break away, but he doesn’t let me. His fingers tighten around my wrists, his grip firm but not cruel. My heart wars with my mind, my emotions and logic clashing. For my own sanity, I can’t keep letting Wyatt make decisions on my behalf, keeping me in the dark, and then offering me snippets of his love in return. But at the same time, I can’t change him. Wyatt has built up his defenses for a reason. He struggles to trust and finds it impossible to admit his feelings. This is why, when I tried to maintain my protests, they sound more like a whimper.

“You don’t get to say that and expect me to accept it.”

“I don’t expect you to accept it,” he says. “I expect you to fight me every step of the way.” And then he kisses me again, slower this time but just as passionate. A gentle coaxing of my lips, a light teasing of my tongue. As if he’s trying to brand himself into my skin. As if he knows I’ll hate him every time he makes snap judgments for me. And maybe I will, but I kiss him back anyway.