Chapter 17
17
“H e’s dead,” Lena announces, the words echoing through the empty warehouse.
I keep staring at Raphael, at the stillness of his chest, the slight curl of the fingers reaching toward me, and an aching emptiness spreads through my body.
“Avery?” Lena prompts.
“Not yet,” I murmur.
If I panic now, all of this was for nothing.
Lena checks the counter on her phone. “We have maybe five minutes. We need to be out of here before then.”
Five minutes to end five years. It doesn’t seem fair, but nothing about me and Raphael has ever been fair. When Raphael abandoned me for family reputation, for the clean Rockford name, for everything that wasn’t me, he made his choice.
And now I’ve made mine.
I reach behind my neck to touch the smooth skin where Raphael Marked me years ago, claiming me as his mate.
Beneath my fingertips, my skin begins to burn white-hot as if I’m being branded. Receiving my three Marks had come with a rush of pleasure. Of course, the end of us would bring more pain.
I grit my teeth, refusing to utter a sound as our bond dissolves. The physical pain is nothing compared to what follows, though, as a wave of loss crashes over me, memories flooding through my consciousness as the neural pathways created by the bond break apart.
Raphael laughing in our bed, sunlight streaming through the windows. His tender voice telling me I’m everything. His hands, strong and sure, guiding my hips as I rode him. The look in his eyes the last time he saw me, before he chose the Rockford legacy over the life we’d built together.
A gasp escapes, but no air enters my lungs. I can’t breathe. Can’t feel my heart beat through the crushing loss. I fall forward, my fingers finally brushing Raphael’s as I catch myself, and they’re so still.
Lena reaches across his body to grip my shoulder. “Breathe. You are not allowed to lie down and die next to him.”
I nod, wheezing as I fight through the pain. The burning sensation intensifies, spreading from my Mark down my spine, across my shoulders, and into my chest. My lungs constrict, threatening to collapse.
This is how bonds break, not with a clean snap but with a slow, agonizing tear. Neuron by neuron, cell by cell.
Lena checks her timer again. “Two minutes.”
The burning peaks, so intense that copper coats my tongue from where I bit the inside of my cheek. Then, like a rubber band stretched to its limit, the bond inside me snaps.
The pain vanishes, replaced by a terrible emptiness. A void where a crucial piece of me used to be.
I lift a trembling hand to touch the back of my neck again. Where the Mark was, only a barren patch of skin remains. The connection I carried for years through our separation has lifted.
It should leave me lighter. Instead, I’m dead inside.
“It’s done.” The words come out flat.
All business, Lena pulls a second syringe from her jacket, this one filled with adrenaline and other compounds to counteract the paralytic drug I injected into Raphael. She stabs it into his chest, right over his heart, and depresses the plunger.
For a terrible moment, nothing happens. Then she begins CPR, the rhythm of her compressions steady and mechanical.
One, two, three, four, five. Breathe.
One, two, three, four, five. Breathe.
I search Raphael for signs of life.
“Come on.” Lena continues compressions. “Wake up, you entitled prick.”
As if hearing her insult, Raphael gasps, his body arching off the floor. His eyelids flutter but don’t open.
“There we go.” Lena checks his pulse, fingers pressed to his neck. “Strong and steady. The ambulance will take care of the rest.”
I try to sense a connection past this vast emptiness.
Nothing.
“We need to move.” Lena rises and steps over Raphael. She grabs the syringe off the floor and pockets it, then takes the briefcase of money before helping me to stand. “Walk it off, boss. We need to be gone before the ambulance arrives. You can fall apart once you’re home.”
I nod, unable to tear my eyes from Raphael. Will he realize what I did as soon as he wakes? Will he feel the severed bond the way I do, like a phantom limb?
“Avery.” Lena’s expression softens a fraction. “It’s over. You’re free.”
Free. The word should taste sweet. Instead, the ashes of my love choke me.
I force myself to turn away from the man who was once my Alpha. Who I once believed would stand with me against the world, until he proved me wrong in the most devastating way possible.
We slip out of the warehouse, the afternoon sun harsh after the dimness inside. I halt next to our SUV, squinting at the blinding light. The world shouldn’t be so bright and peaceful when mine has just fallen apart.
“Boss?” Lena holds out the suitcase.
“Take it.” I reach into my pocket and hand her the keys to the SUV. “Split half between you, Jace, Cassian, and Rico. Distribute the rest among the crew according to their usual percentages.”
“You sure about that?” Lena’s brow furrows. “It’s over half a million, boss.”
“You all deserve it. Tell everyone to take two weeks,” I continue, focusing on the practical details rather than the hole in my chest where my heart should be. “Full vacation. No calls, no jobs. When we come back, we can celebrate by killing more human traffickers. Maybe we’ll even find Jade.”
“Sounds fun.” Lena’s fingers tap on the side of the suitcase in a pattern I recognize as her way of processing information. “Where will you be?”
Where indeed?
I let out a long breath. “It’s better I don’t tell you.”
Understanding dawns, and she purses her lips. “Want me to handle Cassian while you’re lying low?”
“Only if he tries anything.” I almost hope he does, so I don’t have to deal with his assumptions of what we’ll be when I return. “Tell him I checked into a private clinic. That should keep him pacified until I can deal with him when I return.”
Right now, I need time to regroup before handling any Alpha. Especially one who wants to be Raphael’s replacement.
Please let two weeks be enough to adjust to my new reality. Right now, with bond-breaking chemicals flooding my system and my psyche raw from losing the connection to Raphael, I feel like I’m dying. I can’t trust my biology not to seek the comfort and stability of another Alpha to bond with.
Lena accepts my reasoning without further argument. That’s what I appreciate about her. No unnecessary questions, no emotional complications. Just clean, efficient action.
“I’ve got some burner phones.” She pops open the trunk and tosses the briefcase inside like it’s nothing before grabbing one of the unopened boxes and holding it out. “Call if you need anything.”
“I will.” I take the phone, tucking it into my jacket pocket.
“The team will want an explanation.”
“Tell them I’m securing our position after the Rockford job. Tell them anything plausible.” I pause, considering. “And let them know they’re covered. The money’s clean. No blowback coming.”
Lena snorts. “Clean money from a Rockford. That’s a first.”
“Raphael’s legitimate businesses generate plenty of clean cash.” Even now, I find myself defending him. Old habits.
“If you say so.” Lena shifts her weight. “Two weeks, then?”
“Two weeks,” I confirm. “I’ll contact you when I’m ready.”
She hesitates, uncertainty cracking her calm. “Are you sure you don’t need me to go with you? I can hand off the cash to Jace for distribution.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt myself.” I swallow hard, fighting the burn in my throat. “The bond’s been dead for years. Today was just made it official.”
We both know it’s a lie, but Lena is kind enough not to call me on it.
“Take care of yourself,” she says, the closest to sentimentality she’s ever gotten.
Then she turns and walks to the car we arrived in, sliding into the driver’s seat without looking back.
I remain in place as she drives away before I walk across the street to where Raphael’s sports car sits parked. The door pops open with ease, and I find the key fob in the cup holder. Such a bad habit.
There’s a certain poetry to stealing Raphael’s vehicle to leave here after he stole years of my life.
Instead of getting in, though, I lean on the door and focus on the warehouse across the street. The ambulance hasn’t arrived yet. I need Raphael to walk out alive before I leave. Need to confirm that our plan worked as intended, that while I broke our bond, we both survived.
The sound of sirens grows louder, and an ambulance rounds the corner, red lights flashing. It pulls up to the warehouse entrance, and two paramedics jump out, retrieving a gurney from the back.
Finally, I slip into the driver’s seat, close the door, and start the engine. Still, I don’t leave.
Minutes tick by, and then the warehouse door opens. One of the paramedics emerges first, followed by Raphael, who walks between them, one hand pressed to his chest where the second injection went in. Even from this distance, I see the confusion, the disorientation.
His eyes search the street, pausing on his car, but the tinted windows hide me from view.
The paramedics help him into the back of the ambulance, while another comes out with Ezra on the gurney. He’ll be out for an hour, at least. The sedative we used was designed to work fast and keep him out of our way.
Reassured of Raphael’s survival, I pull away from the curb, forcing myself not to look in the rearview mirror as the ambulance shrinks behind me.
* * *
The silence of the safe house surrounds me as I step in from the attached garage, where I hid Raphael’s flashy car. In this neighborhood, it would stand out too much.
I flip the light switch, and a bare bulb flickers to life, casting harsh shadows across the sparse furnishings. I see the worn couch, a kitchen table with mismatched chairs, and a doorway leading to a bedroom, which only contains a bed and dresser.
This place has always been functional, nothing more. A place to disappear to, not a place to live. Perfect for my needs.
I lock the door behind me, sliding both deadbolts into place and activating the electronic security system. The familiar routine grounds me, giving my hands a task to keep them from shaking. I set Raphael’s car keys on the counter with a metallic clatter.
My body jerks, disjointed, like my skin no longer fits. The spot where my Mark used to be burns cold, an impossible contradiction of sensation. Studies on broken bonds say the surviving mate will continue to experience phantom pain and disorientation. The biological equivalent of withdrawal. They say it passes in a few days. They also say some people never recover.
I strip off my jacket, dropping it on the floor. My gun follows, then my shoes. Each movement requires concentration, as if I’ve forgotten how my limbs work. In the kitchen—an alcove with a sink and mini-fridge—I search the cabinets until I find the expensive bottle of whiskey stashed here months ago for an emergency.
If this doesn’t qualify as an emergency, nothing does.
I unscrew the cap and drink straight from the bottle. The liquor burns my throat, a welcome distraction from the cold emptiness spreading through my chest. I take another swallow, then another, willing the alcohol to work faster, to numb the pain.
The couch catches me when my legs give out. I sink into the worn cushions, bottle clutched in my fist like a lifeline. The liquid sloshes amber in the harsh light, hypnotic in its movement. I stare at it, focusing on the way it catches the light rather than the memories threatening to drown me.
It doesn’t work.
Raphael floats behind my eyelids every time I blink. Raphael laughing, head thrown back, the sound rich and unrestrained in a way few people ever got to hear. Raphael cleaning his gun, those long fingers moving with precise care. Raphael breathless with desire above me, whispering words that branded themselves on my soul.
Mine. My mate. My heart.
Lies, all of them. If I’d been his heart, he wouldn’t have left me so easily.
The whiskey burns less with each swallow. I welcome the spreading warmth, the slight blurring of my vision. Not enough yet. Nowhere near enough to forget.
I stand, swaying as the room tilts around me. The bottle dangles from my fingertips as I move to the window. From here, the industrial district stretches out on either side, a maze of abandoned warehouses, chain-link fences topped with razor wire, and the distant glow of the city proper.
No one would look for me here. Not Cassian. Not Rico or Jace or any of my crew. And not Raphael, who never knew about this place.
The thought should comfort me. Instead, it spreads the pain further. I’m all alone.
A spasm rocks through me, sudden and violent. My back arches, and the bottle slips from my hand, hitting the floor with a dull thud without breaking. Whiskey pools on the concrete, and I watch it spread, unable to summon the will to care.
Bond withdrawal. I expected this and read up on it after I conceived of this plan when Sebastian first contacted me. I’ll experience muscle spasms, temperature fluctuations, and nausea. What it didn’t mention was this sensation of being torn apart from the inside out.
I slide down the wall until I sit in a puddle of expensive whiskey, my pants soaking through. The cold seeps into my skin, but it almost goes unnoticed compared to the ice forming around my heart.
“Fuck you,” I whisper to the empty room, to the ghost of Raphael who lives in my head. “Fuck you for making me love you. Fuck you for leaving. Fuck you for coming back when nothing’s changed.”
The tight control I’ve clung to since the warehouse, the professional mask I wore with Lena, and the cold determination that helped me sever the bond all shatter like glass.
A sound tears from my throat, raw and animal. I press my fist to my mouth to stifle it, but it’s too late as the dam breaks. Tears burn hot tracks down my cheeks, and I hate them, hate this weakness, hate that even now, after everything, I still yearn for my Alpha.
I retrieve the fallen whiskey bottle, now only half-full, and guzzle. The alcohol hits my empty stomach like a punch. Good. Physical pain is preferable to this emotional evisceration.
“You were supposed to choose me,” I tell the wall, my words slurring. “We were partners. We were going to build a family together.”
Another spasm hits, this one bringing nausea with it. I curl into myself, riding out the wave of sickness. When it passes, it leaves me shaking, sweat beading on my forehead despite the chill in the air.
The whiskey bottle empties faster than it should, leaving the room spinning around me, but the pain remains clear and sharp, untouched by intoxication.
I think of Cassian, of the way he looks at me with such hunger, such covetousness. He wants me so much, and it’s been a long time since anyone desired me on that level. Would bonding with him fill this void? Replace one Alpha with another, one Mark with a fresh one?
Bile rises in my throat. Not because it’s Cassian but because the idea of anyone except Raphael claiming me is a desecration.
And isn’t that pathetic? Even after breaking the bond, after all this time, after everything he did, Raphael still owns pieces of me I can’t reclaim.
“I hate you,” I whisper. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”
The words turn to sobs that rack my body. I curl onto my side on the floor, whiskey seeping into my shirt, and let the grief take me. Here, I don’t need to be strong. Here, there’s no one to witness my collapse.
I sob until my throat is raw, until my vision blurs, until there’s nothing left inside me but empty spaces and echoes. The floor is hard beneath me, but I can’t summon the energy to move to the couch, let alone the mattress in the bedroom.
My consciousness begins to slip, alcohol and emotional exhaustion pulling me toward oblivion. I welcome it. Sleep means forgetting for at least a few hours.
As darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision, the sound of the door opening reaches me. My security system doesn’t trigger an alarm, though, which means whoever entered has the code.
But that’s impossible. No one has the code except me.
Footsteps approach, unhurried, and a shadow falls across me where I lie pathetic on the floor.
I crack my eye open, fighting the weight of my eyelids. A figure crouches beside me, the bare bulb overhead casting him in shadows. But I would recognize those shoulders, that silhouette, in the dark, in a storm, in the afterlife.
“Raphael?” I rasp out.
Joy surges through me, wild and irrational. At last, he came for me. He chose me .
Then reality crashes back in. The bond is gone. I felt it break. This can’t be Raphael. This must be a hallucination, a cruel trick of bond withdrawal and whiskey and desperate longing.
The figure reaches out, and warm, solid, real fingers brush my hair back from my forehead. The touch sends electricity through me, every nerve ending suddenly, painfully alive.
“Oh, baby,” Raphael says with aching tenderness. “Look what you’ve done to yourself.”
I blink, trying to clear my vision. It can’t be him. It can’t be. And yet the hazel eyes staring down at me shift from amber to green in the harsh light like they always have.
“You’re not real,” I manage to say, my tongue thick in my mouth.
He traces my cheekbone, my jaw, then the curve of my neck where the Mark used to be. His touch lingers, and his concern darkens, becoming dangerous. “Did you really think it would be that easy to leave me?”
The world tilts again, but not from alcohol this time. From fear. From the impossible reality of Raphael being here, in my safe house that no one should know about, touching me with hands too real to deny.
“How—” I begin, but my voice fails me.
Raphael’s lips curve into that chilling smile I first fell in love with. “You of all people should know I don’t let anyone steal what’s mine. Not even you.”
The last thing I see before unconsciousness claims me is Raphael’s beautiful face as he picks me up off the floor.