Shattered In Darkness

1. Lola

LOLA

The air is too quiet, even for a house full of grief.

I sit on the edge of my bed, knees pulled to my chest, staring at the wall. The scent of the mountains still lingers on my skin. I haven’t been able to wash it out.

Mom’s gone. Just like that. One slip on the trail, one scream echoing off the rocks, one day that split my life into before and after.

The ache is all-consuming. There is an emptiness spreading inside of me, and I fear that it won’t ever go away.

It’s like a black hole is swallowing me, pulling me into the depth of the abyss.

Brody’s here, next to me. He doesn’t touch me at first, just sits close enough that I can feel his heat, like a shield against the cold that’s wormed into my bones.

Every time I start to shake, he nudges a little closer.

Eventually, he takes my hand and holds it in his lap, his thumb tracing slow, steady circles over my skin.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, voice quiet. “I wish I could’ve done something. I wish I’d been there.”

I’m tired of being the girl whose mother died on the mountain while she watched. I’m tired of this endless sorrow.

“I just can’t believe she’s gone. Just like that. It was horrible, Brody. Terrible. All that blood. She barely screamed, because she was gone so fast. In seconds.”

I lean my head on his shoulder. Brody caresses my head and kisses the top of my hair. He is always there for me. He is like my security blanket. He’s the one good thing in my life that I have left.

Please don’t go too.

Footsteps move down the hall. Brody’s grip hardens.

Marcus appears in the doorway. He doesn’t knock, he never does. His eyes flick over me, then Brody. There’s something strange in them.

His voice is smooth, too gentle, like a man making a speech at a funeral he doesn’t care about. “You’re still in here, Lola? People are waiting to see you.” He glances at Brody with a thin, polite smile. “You too, son.”

I press my nails into my palm. “I just needed a minute,” I mumble.

Marcus walks into the room, not even pretending to respect the space between us.

He stands close, his hand landing on my shoulder.

It’s meant to be comforting, but it makes my body seize with terror.

His grip tightens, almost possessive. “You know, your mother always was careless,” he says, voice soft but with a cold edge that makes Brody tense beside me.

“Some people just don’t understand how dangerous the world can be.

She left you behind, but I won’t. I’ll take care of you now. You’ll see.”

His thumb strokes my collarbone, too familiar.

Brody shifts, bristling. “She needs space,” he says, jaw clenched.

Marcus looks at Brody, and for a second, the mask drops. There’s a warning in his eyes. “Family doesn’t leave each other alone in times like this. Lola needs someone who knows how to keep her safe. Someone who won’t disappear when things get hard.”

I want to shrink away, but Marcus’s hand stays heavy on my shoulder. Something in his touch has changed. He lingers, his gaze too intent, as if seeing me as something other than his step-daughter.

There were some uncomfortable moments before, but he never got close like this.

“I’m here now, sweetheart,” Marcus says, eyes never leaving mine. “I’ll always be here. You belong right where you are.”

I can feel Brody’s anger beside me, simmering. I want to reach for him, but Marcus’s grip pins me in place. The room feels smaller, the world outside feels impossible. All I can do is sit there, trapped between the boy who makes me feel safe and the man who just claimed me as his own.

The ache in my chest grows. I realize, in that moment, that my mother’s death didn’t just leave me alone.

It left me exposed.

“Well, she’s fine for now. She has me, and I’m more than capable of making her feel better.

You’re just her step-father; I’m her forever.

” Brody’s voice rises, and I stiffen next to him.

I know where this is heading. Brody can be very possessive of me at times, and I silently plead for him not to do this right now. “She belongs to me,” Brody says.

Marcus doesn’t budge. He squeezes my shoulder until my spine aches. “You don’t decide that, boy.”

My chest shrinks, oxygen going thin. I can’t fucking move as they stare each other down, wolves circling, muscles bunching for the next bite.

I wonder if they might kill each other right here, on my bed, with my tears still wet on the sheets.

I want to disappear. I want to sink into the carpet. Turn into a shadow crack.

Marcus tightens his grip, and for a second there’s nothing in those gray eyes. Flat. Like pond water. “Why don’t you go home, Brody? Let Lola grieve with her family.”

Brody’s jaw ticks. His knuckles turn white around my wrist. “Your house isn’t her home.”

“Funny,” Marcus murmurs. “You’re not her family. You’re just a distraction she’ll forget in a year.”

It hurts. Worse than I expect. Like he’s already dumping dirt on the coffin. Like I’m the dead one. I don’t move. I don’t breathe.

Brody stands. The energy in him is violent, caged, like a dog waiting to snap the collar. I hold my breath, fearing he’s going to hit Marcus. Right here. Right now.

Instead, he releases my hand and steps back.

“If you ever hurt her.” Brody’s voice shakes, not with fear, but with something wrecked. “If you touch her, if you make her cry, you’ll pay for it. I don’t care if you’re her fucking step-dad. I don’t care what you are.”

“We’ll see about that.”

All the warmth leaks out of the room.

Marcus makes me stand, his hand never leaving my skin. Like a leash. Like everyone should see who owns the prize. “Come along, sweetheart. Let’s say goodbye to your mother properly.”

I do as I’m told because obedience is all I have left. I follow Marcus, and Brody stalks behind us. I don’t look back. I don’t want to see the look in his eyes. I’m afraid it would ruin me for good.

The funeral is a blur. Cold wind slithers around me. Wet leaves clinging to my shoes. Women hugging me with nails that dig into my spine. Marcus with his hand on the small of my back, anchoring me for all the world to see.

Brody stands across the dirt, staring, his eyes fixed on me and nothing else. I want to run to him, jump into his arms, and let the sadness fall out of my body and never touch the ground.

I stay rooted to the fake grass. Damp leaves cling to my ankles. All these stares. All these greedy hands, waiting to claim whatever’s left of me. The little girl whose mother screamed and then disappeared.

Marcus fills up my world. He stands behind me, a hand pressed to my back, heavy and false-gentle, squeezing until my bones flex. His mouth is next to my ear. His mask is for the crowd, swooping and sad; only I can feel the knife twisting underneath.

Only I can see his empty eyes. There’s nothing behind his expression. No soul. No life. Only a darkness that engulfs me.

He whispers that I’m brave. He calls me darling, sweetheart, little bug. The eyes of distant family, neighbors, men from Marcus’s business look through me.

They don’t see the truth: I am a void wearing a pretty dress, painted up to look alive for strangers.

My breath keeps getting stuck. My arms and legs are stuffed with cement.

Brody stands at the fringe, watching everything.

I want to run to him. I want to bury myself in him and never come out.

But that would be weak, and weak girls get eaten alive.So I look at the coffin.

Cool, perfect wood. It doesn’t look anything like my mom.

It doesn’t look like anything except maybe a warning.

I clench my fists. All I want is out.

They shovel dirt on her before the sun even starts to set, each thud is louder than the last. Everything in my chest caves in, over and over, until I’m sure there’s nothing left.

Come back, come back, come back.

Marcus holds me tighter through the whole thing. His grip leaves marks. Just on the inside, where no one can see.

Afterward, when the last mourner sniffs off to the cars, Marcus guides me to the car to bring me home, his hand never letting go. Not once. Not even when Brody tries to block his path and demands to take me himself, just this once, just for tonight.

Marcus says, “That wouldn’t be appropriate.”

He pushes the front door open once we arrive, shoves me through, and locks it behind us.

“Don’t look back, Lola,” he says, his voice is soft.

At home, Marcus makes me sit at the kitchen table. He pours me a glass of something strong and sits across from me, legs splayed, watching so close it pricks my skin. He pats my hand. “We have to stick together now. The world is full of users, liars, little monsters.”

Like I don’t know that already. Like I don’t live with one.

His thumb rolls over my wrist. I stare at his hands. I don’t want them anywhere near me.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says. “You have no idea the trouble that brings, do you?”

I do.

I do.

He tells me I’m his world now. He tells me I belong to him, always.

I’m so fucking tired. Numb everywhere, even where it hurts. The darkness in the kitchen feels more real than the light. Muffled, underwater. My mother’s favorite mug glares at me from the sink.

Marcus holds a whiskey in one hand, the other hand loose on the table as he stares at me with hungry eyes.

Starving. There is nothing left of him except want.

He says he’s never wanted anything the way he wants me.

Even my mother, in the coffin. He talks about her like she’s an afterthought. A mistake.

His hand drifts over my hair and my cheek.

I don’t breathe. I don’t blink.

He likes that.

He pours another glass of liquor and slides it across the table. “Drink.”

I swallow. It tastes like gasoline, burning all the way down.

He watches every swallow. He talks about the future. How we’re going to run the network now. The family business. How nobody will ever be able to hurt me, not so long as he owns me. Every word is a shackle.