Chapter 8
Miami, Florida
The air is thick with summer, the heat suffocating. The sun had finally slipped below the horizon, bleeding pink and gold across the sky, too beautiful for a night like this. Too soft for the nightmare we live in.
It’s late, Zeke and I are sitting in my room talking as a scream tears through the house. High. Sharp. Terrified.
“Dylan,” I gasp, already on my feet.
Zeke moves faster than I’ve ever seen, ripping open my bedroom door, sprinting down the hall. I’m right behind him, heart racing, lungs already burning.
We hit Dylan’s room at the same time.
He’s cornered. Pressed against the wall, eyes wide and bloodshot, body trembling like a leaf in a hurricane.
His little hands are clenched into fists, but he’s too small.
Too frozen. And behind him, looming and smirking, is Vince.
I’ve seen him around the house before. That piece of shit.
He is too close. His hands too low. His eyes gleaming with something vile.
“Back the fuck off him!” Zeke roars, voice tearing through the air.
Dylan whimpers.
I scream.
Zeke launches.
He hits Vince like a wrecking ball, fists flying with years of rage behind them. They crash to the floor, Zeke on top, punching, snarling, wild with fury. Blood spraying with every hit, Vince trying to cover his face, but Zeke isn’t letting up.
I don’t wait to see more. I bolt forward, grab Dylan’s arm, and pull him into motion. He’s shaking so hard he can barely walk, legs stumbling under him, but I get him down the hall and into my room. I slam the door shut behind us and turn to face him.
“Dylan listen to me.” I grip his shoulders, trying to get him to focus. “I need you to stay here. Don’t leave my room, no matter what.”
His chest is heaving, eyes still wide and wet. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know yet,” I say, trying to stay calm even as panic claws at my throat. “But I’m going to go get Zeke, and then we’re getting the hell out of here. Do you understand?”
He nods fast and terrified.
“You’re safe here in my room,” I say, brushing a curl off his forehead. “I’ll be right back. Just stay here, Dylan.”
Then I slam the door shut and run. When I get back to Dylan’s room, Zeke is still on Vince, covered in blood, face twisted in a rage. Vince is coughing, groaning, his arms limp. Zeke’s knuckles are raw, one eye swollen shut.
“Zeke, stop!” I scream. “You’ll kill him!”
He doesn’t even hear me.
Carlos bursts in “What the fuck is going on in here?!”
Zeke’s fist slam down one more time right as Carlos lunges. He grabs him by the shoulders, yanking him off Vince like he weighs nothing. “Get off him, goddamn it!”
Zeke struggles, but Carlos shoves him hard. Zeke hits the wall, panting, fists bloody. I rush in and grab him, pulling him back into the hallway.
“Zeke, it’s okay. I got him. We need to go, now!” I’m rambling, breathless, trembling.
A gunshot.
For a second, the house goes silent. Like even the walls couldn’t believe it.
Then Mariela screams.
Zeke and I run toward the screaming. We get to the master bedroom and Dylan’s on the floor.
Small.
Still.
Blood spread beneath him, a dark halo against the cream carpet. The gun still clutched in his little hand. Too big. Too heavy.
Mariela is sobbing in Spanish, collapsed against the wall, hands over her face. Zeke lets out a noise I’ve never heard before—part gasp, part growl, part broken plea—and drops to his knees.
“No,” I whisper, stumbling forward. “No, no, no, no.”
But I know. Even before I touch him, I know. His eyes are open. Empty. His chest doesn’t rise.
My hands hover over his body. I don’t know what to do. What to fix. What to scream. Zeke presses his forehead to the floor beside Dylan’s body, his bloodied fists balled so tight they shake.
“I hid him,” I choke out. “I told him to hide. I told him we were going to get out. Zeke why would he—”
“Because he was fuckin’ terrified,” Zeke rasps. “And he thought that was all he had left.”
Tears blur everything. I can feel the numbness setting in. He’d taken the gun. He’d taken the choice. Because we hadn’t made it back fast enough.
Raised voices echo down the hall. Carlos and Vince screaming at each other. Something crashes. A door slams. Loud. Violent. Then silence.
The bedroom door bursts open. Carlos storms in like a loaded weapon, all twitching fury and barely leashed violence. His shirt is unbuttoned, stained with sweat and alcohol.
He looks into the room, his eyes land on Dylan’s body and widen. A beat of shock. Then… nothing. No sadness. No grief. Just cold calculation.
He turns to Zeke. Picks up the gun and points it at him. Mariela cries out. I scream. Zeke doesn’t move.
“You just cost me the biggest sale of my fucking life, boy,” Carlos hisses, voice slurring around the stench of whiskey. “Lost me a real important ally. Vince was a major customer. A major connection.”
He stalks forward, pistol still aimed at Zeke’s chest. “If I can’t fix things with Vince,” he says, lips curling back, “it’ll be you sitting in a pool of blood next time. You understand?”
Zeke stays still. Carlos tilts his head. Smiles a grotesque, slow thing.
“And once you’re gone,” his eyes slide to me. “There won’t be anyone left to keep me from that sweet little ass of a sister you’ve been playing bodyguard for.”
He laughs, once. Low. Dead inside. “No more protector. No more rules. Just me… and Isabella.”
Zeke moves so fast I barely see it. One second, he’s frozen in shock, the next he lunges and cracks his fist across Carlos’s face. The sickening crunch echos through the room as Carlos stumbles back, blood spraying from his nose.
“You slimy, twisted piece of shit,” Zeke snarls, breath hitching with rage. “Say her name like that one more time, go ahead. I’ll shove your teeth so far down your throat, you’ll be choking on ‘em.”
Carlos raises the gun to Zeke’s face. Zeke freezes.
“Brave now, aren’t you, boy?” Carlos sneers, blood running down his lip. “You think you’re some little hero?”
He steps closer. “You’re not a man. You’re not even a real threat. Just another mouth I’m legally required to feed. And trust me, the clock’s ticking.”
Zeke just stares him down. Face as cold as ice.
“I should put you down like the stray mutt you are,” Carlos hisses, pressing the barrel forward, his finger ghosting the trigger.
“Next time you swing, boy.” He laughs, wiping his lip. “You better make it count. Because I will shoot back and I don’t miss.”
He holds Zeke’s gaze for one blistering second, finger still brushing the trigger, before lowering the gun like he’s not even worth the bullet.
“The two of you get the fuck out of my sight. You’ve cost me enough for one day. Mariela, call the cleaner. Let’s get this shit cleaned up.”
Zeke stands there, shaking. His fist still curled, blood drying on his knuckles. Rage rippling through him like heat off asphalt. He turns, grabs my hand, and leads me to my room without a word.
I sink onto the bed, clutching my mother’s locket so tight it cuts into my palm. I curl inward, knees to my chest just trying to disappear.
Zeke doesn’t speak at first. He just crosses the room, yanks the velvet chair from the corner, and jams it under the doorknob. Then he drops down in front of it, arms crossed, dark eyes locked on mine.
“I’m not leavin’ you,” he chokes out, voice raw and shaking. “I’m moving’ into this goddamn room. You hear me?”
His chest rises hard and fast, like he can’t breathe.
“You’re not alone. You’ll never be alone again. I swear it on Dylan’s fuckin’ name,” he says, tears cutting down his face. “He took Dylan. But he won’t get to take you too. I won’t let that happen. I won’t.”
I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him so badly it hurts.
He leans back against the door. “I should’ve gotten to him faster,” he whispers, his voice barely holding. “Should’ve seen it. Should’ve known—”
His words break, breath catching in his chest. “But I’ll die before I let that bastard lay even a finger on you, Bells. That’s a promise.”
And in that moment, drowning in grief and fury and heartbreak, I believe him.
Because he’s not just promising me safety.
He’s promising me a war.
And Zeke? Zeke doesn’t lose twice.