13. Home
13
Home
A s I step in through the doors, I am greeted by Raph in the kitchen, pacing back and forth nervously. His brow is furrowed, and he seems lost in thought, his movements restless and agitated. Seeing him like this sends a shiver down my spine, and I can feel the tension in the air, thick and almost palpable.
“Raph, what’s going on?” I ask, my voice trembling and barely audible over the deafening pounding of my own heartbeat.
He startles as if he hadn’t noticed me standing there, as if my presence is as ghostly and intangible as the tension that seems to suffocate the very air in the room.
His eyes, wide and dark, lock onto mine, and at that moment, a storm of emotions swirls within them—worry guilt, and something sharper, rawer. Fear.
It’s a fear so palpable that it sends a chill down my spine, making the room feel even colder. The silence stretches between us, heavy and oppressive, as I wait for him to speak, to explain the turmoil that has gripped him so fiercely.
“It’s…” he starts, but his voice falters, the words dying before they reach me.
He looks away, and the weight of his silence presses down on me. My chest tightens. My blood begins to boil. Not one goddamn person has said a word to me about what’s happening.
I step closer, leaning heavily on my cane, gripping it until my knuckles ache. The dull ache in my leg is nothing compared to the searing frustration burning through me.
“Stop playing these goddamn games, Raph. What the fuck is going on?” My voice rises, shaking with rage, and the impact is immediate.
Sasha bursts into tears; the sound is piercing and desperate.
I freeze, stunned. Sasha, who has always been the steady one, the calm in the storm, is unraveling before my eyes. She’s sobbing so hard her entire body shakes, her words tumbling out in uneven gasps.
“I’m sorry…” she cries, her voice breaking into shards that cut through the room.
My head snaps toward her, my breath coming fast and shallow. Raph’s panic, Sasha’s tears—it’s all too much. My palms are damp with sweat. My heart is pounding in a frantic rhythm. Something’s wrong. Something’s terribly wrong.
And then it hits me. A glaring absence that sends ice down my spine.
“Where is Esmé?” My voice is sharp, each word dripping with venom.
Raph flinches, his shoulders sagging under the weight of whatever he’s hiding. He runs a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the strain.
“G, listen—just calm down, okay? I wanted to tell you sooner, but…” He hesitates, his voice cracking. “Fuck, man, the condition you were in—we were all a mess. We just wanted you to get better.”
“Better?” I snap, the word tasting bitter on my tongue.
“Better while you kept me in the dark? While Esmé—”
My voice breaks, and I can feel the ground slipping away beneath me.
“Where is she, Raph?” I demand, my throat tightening, the edges of my vision blurring. He doesn’t answer, and in the silence, my worst fears claw their way to the surface.
Raph’s silence is deafening, a chasm growing between us with every second he refuses to speak. I lunge forward, gripping the front of his shirt, my cane clattering to the floor. The pain in my leg is nothing compared to the fury consuming me.
“Where is she?” I snarl, my voice cracking with desperation.
He swallows hard, his gaze darting to Sasha, who’s still sobbing uncontrollably. Finally, he looks back at me, his face pale, his lips trembling as he forces the words out.
“Marklov has her.”
My world stops. My grip on his shirt slackens as the words crash into me like a freight train.
“What did you just say?” My voice is barely a whisper, trembling with disbelief.
“She went to a friend’s house,” Raph says, his words quick, stumbling, like he’s trying to rip off a Band-Aid.
“She wasn’t supposed to stay long, just an hour or two. But Marklov’s men were waiting. They—” He stops, his voice breaking. “They took her, G.”
My knees threaten to give out, but I grab the back of a chair, steadying myself as the room tilts around me.
“How long?” I manage, my voice a strangled rasp. “How long ago?”
“Four days,” Raph says, his voice barely audible.
“Four days?” The words erupt from me like a roar, my chest heaving as the rage and betrayal burn through my veins.
“You knew for four fucking days and didn’t tell me?!”
“We couldn’t!” Sasha chokes out, her tear-streaked face lifting to meet mine. “You were still recovering—barely able to stand. We didn’t know if you’d survive another blow!”
“Another blow?” I laugh bitterly, the sound hollow and broken. “She’s out there, alone, and you thought I couldn’t handle knowing?!”
“She’s not alone,” Raph says quickly as if the words will somehow soften the blow. “We’ve been trying to track her. Marklov doesn’t know we’re onto him yet, and that gives us an edge.”
“An edge?” I sneer, shoving him back. He stumbles, catching himself against the wall. “You think you have an edge while Esmé is at the mercy of that psychopath?”
“G…” Raph starts, but I hold up a hand, silencing him. My vision blurs with rage and tears I refuse to shed.
“I’m going after her,” I say, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me.
“You can’t!” Sasha cries, panic flashing in her eyes. “He’ll kill you, G! You’re not strong enough—”
“I don’t care,” I snap, cutting her off. “I’m not sitting here while she’s out there. Not for another goddamn second.”
Raph steps forward, his expression pleading. “We have a plan—”
“Your plan is four days too late,” I growl, snatching my cane from the floor. “You can either help me, or you can stay the hell out of my way.”
The room falls into tense silence, the weight of my words pressing down on all of us. Finally, Raph nods, his jaw tight.
“Fine,” he says, his voice low. “But if we’re doing this, we do it my way. You’ll get yourself killed otherwise.”
I meet his gaze, my fists clenching. “If we don’t get her back, I’m already dead.”