7. Ember
CHAPTER 7
EMBER
STAY WITH ME – THRICE
“That was shockingly bad, 768. You’re getting lazy.”
Panting from exertion, I let my sweat-soaked forehead crash against the training mat. We’ve been in the ring for almost ten hours. I feel like I’m going to throw up if I don’t take a break soon.
Looming above me, Carlos makes no secret of how my failing muscles disgust him.
“So weak! Pathetic!”
The powerful kick he delivers to my tender midsection causes me to scream out.
“P-Please…”
“What did I tell you about begging?”
Pleading with him only intensifies his rage. I should know better than to beg for anything after the blows he dealt before I knew what asking to rest would incite.
I roll onto my back, jelly-like arms wrapped around my stomach to protect it from another kick. The motherfucker loves to flex his authority when the boss is watching.
“Get up, puta!”
Sitting silently in the corner of the warehouse with a hand-rolled cigarette clasped between his fingers, Mr Gael hasn’t reacted at all. Not even when I landed a punch to Carlos’s sneering face.
After weeks of these gruelling sessions, I thought he’d be pleased. Or at least forgiving. I don’t want his satisfaction; I just want his mercy. My body can’t take another punishment.
“Get up,” Carlos spits again. “Now.”
“Just… A little water…”
“When you earn it, you’ll be given water and rest. Now get up.”
Bracing a blood-caked hand against the floor, I use the leverage to heave myself upright. The world twists and spins, threatening to pull me under, but I blink the dizzy fog aside.
Carlos grants me a moment to gather my wits before he comes for me again. With my feet spread, I duck the blow he attempts to land, stumbling beneath his swinging arm.
Fortunately , his lessons are starting to stick since he’s unwilling to tolerate failure. If I don’t fight, I’ll die. Or worse—I’ll be like the other women, sent out to satisfy the whims of depraved monsters.
Taking a kick to the side, I land sprawled across the boxing ring. The mat isn’t the high-tech, sponge kind that I paid a small fortune to have fitted in my studio. This one is rock-hard and inflexible.
The impact jolts my bones, causing me to cry out. Carlos growls a curse in furious Spanish then stalks off so he doesn’t have to watch me writhe around in front of him.
Staring up at the steel rafters high above me, I can almost picture my safe, bright studio back in Liverpool. The polished, floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Workout equipment. Well-stocked smoothie bar. Bustling atmosphere.
I used to think that I was successful. Strong. Independent. Capable of tackling anything the world dared to throw at me after Mum passed. That nothing and nobody could ever hurt me again.
Now I’m cowering here, getting beaten within an inch of my life on a daily basis. Despite all the PT sessions I’ve taught and workout routines I completed, I still can’t defeat this son of a bitch.
If I can’t defend myself against Carlos, what hope do I have against anyone else?
I have to get stronger.
Fists curled tight, I push myself up again. My spindly legs are shaking, the muscles shrieking in protest. But still, I launch myself towards where Carlos is glugging water against the ring’s ropes.
He hears my thudding steps too late. I strike him in the back of the head, causing him to grunt then topple. The asshole lands so hard, I wonder if I’ve caused some serious damage.
Spread out in the same position he left me in, I’m free to boot him in the face. Blood erupts from his mouth and nose from several firm kicks, giving me a burst of satisfaction.
“You told me to get up.” I stare down at him, his eyes muddled with confusion from the head blow. “Now let me have my rest and water.”
A slow, rolling clap echoes through the room. Cigarette now flicked aside, Mr Gael has moved to the edge of the boxing ring. For the first time since I arrived here, a smile graces his lips.
“Finish the job, 768.” His savage yellow eyes brim with intensity. “We’re not teaching you to show mercy.”
Distant sensations pour into my numb state, dragging me from the depths of the traumatic memory. For a few seconds, I float in the unknown, that evil smile at the forefront of my mind.
We’re not teaching you to show mercy.
It takes time for awareness to inch back in, eventually feeling the hot water still beating over me. I lay still as the world settles back into place, slick tiles pressing into my screaming muscles.
Pain.
Nausea.
Dizziness.
Numb detachment.
The warring sensations battle for centre stage when my brain catches up to what’s just happened. Each time I black out, the result is the same. I wake up in agony, confused and dazed by the force of the latest attack.
Every episode I’ve had in the past few years is different. Truthfully, I don’t know what physically happens in the seconds or minutes when I’m plunged into total blackness.
I’ve dealt with the anxiety of wondering when the next will hit ever since my worst fight. The one that almost ended my life. Mr Gael was forced to cancel my fights for months while I healed from a fractured skull.
Knocking forces me to peel my eyes open. It takes a few seconds for my sight to settle beyond my swimming vision. I feel like I’m on a swaying ship.
Tom’s spotless marble bathroom appears in blurry lines through the shower door. This is… his apartment. His bathroom. His life I’ve invaded.
I’m free now.
“Ember? The car just arrived.”
Lips flopping uselessly, it takes great effort to make my tongue obey, though my voice is strained.
“C-Coming.”
His kind response floats through the door. “I’ll tell them to wait. Don’t rush.”
Tom took me back to his apartment when I landed a couple of days ago. True to his word, Warner has held back the questioning until now. But I can’t hide from it any longer.
When I try to find the strength to stand, my numb limbs fail to respond. I quickly give up on moving. My body needs time to recover from the total paralysis that each terrifying episode always brings.
Finish the job, 768.
“Leave me alone,” I whimper in a tiny, broken voice. “Please… I’m free. I’m safe. Leave me alone!”
I’m not sure how long I continue laying in the shower, curled up into a tight, protective ball while the memory refuses to budge. It’s long enough for my muscles to grow stiff and cold.
With great effort, I manage to turn off the shower then stumble out to locate a towel. My jittery limbs feel weak and useless. These episodes drain me physically and mentally. I’m weaker than a baby right now.
They don’t usually happen in such quick succession. I woke up in a similarly disorientated state in the motel. The frequency of the attacks is undoubtedly a testament to the stress of the past few days.
I have no doubt that seeing a doctor would give me answers to the constant worry of when my brain will attack me next. It’s the warped, terror-fuelled memories of the doctor who assessed us when we were kidnapped that are holding me back.
After arriving at the warehouse, we were individually dragged from our cages and shoved into a makeshift clinical room to have our measurements taken. That’s how they confirmed that Gracie was a virgin.
I can’t contemplate even seeing a doctor without sweat breaking out on my skin. My body tightens and prickles with panic just skirting the edges of those dark memories.
While they didn’t have to do that horrific test on me, being stripped bare and weighed like a prime steak was harrowing. I never want to experience that again. Free or not.
By the time I’ve shakily dried off, pulled on jeans and braided my wet hair, my extremities feel more stable. My head still feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton wool, but I can play that off.
Another knock on the door rings out, interrupting my spiralling thoughts. I clear my throat to call back.
“I’m coming now.”
And another knock.
Huffing, I throw the door open. “I said I’m com…”
Shoulders wider than a sprawling mountain range steal my words. Rather than Tom’s worried face and signature pressed shirt, I’m staring between the carved pectorals of a glaring giant.
“Oh.”
“I’ve been waiting downstairs for an hour.” Hyland’s barrel chest vibrates with his low rumble. “What is taking so long?”
Neck craning so I can look into his olive-green orbs, my snarky retort dies in my throat. He’s sporting a brilliant shiner, his face and left eye socket blackened by a huge bruise.
“What the hell happened to you?”
“I could say the same about you.” He folds his arms over his barrel-like chest. “Who takes that long to shower and dress?”
Mentally burying the truth, I shrug it off. “I asked first.”
“Axel,” he replies shortly.
“He… punched you?”
Hand braced on the doorframe, Hyland scales his gaze over me from head to toe. “You look pale.”
“No, I don’t.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Stop deflecting,” I retort.
“Hah.” He snorts in amusement. “Pot, meet kettle.”
Narrowing my eyes, I glower at him. “Fuck you.”
It doesn’t take long for the grump to crack.
“I ate one of Axel’s bagels. The pup said it’s lucky I’m still breathing.”
Honestly, I’m starting to wonder if the ball of golden retriever energy isn’t the most insane of them all.
“You guys are fucking crazy.”
Hyland’s mouth crinkles in a reluctant half-smile. “Don’t worry. He looks worse.”
“What happened to turning the other cheek?”
“I never really bought into that shit as a kid.” He chuckles deeply. “Not gonna start now.”
“That’s really mature of you,” I say sarcastically.
“I know, I’m a fucking hero. Look, are you ready? Or should I wait for another hour?”
“Settle down. I’m ready.”
Ducking underneath his braced arm, I flick the hallway light on to locate my shoes. A modern crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling creates a beautiful pattern on the hardwood floors.
The opulent, two-bedroom apartment in the affluent borough of Marylebone is a testament to Tom’s passion for law. He’s always been career-driven, working hard for his status and money.
The man in question appears as I’m toeing on my knee-high, leather boots. At least I have my own clothes and belongings here. They’ve provided some comfort, however shallow.
Tom told me he packed up all my stuff when the landlord insisted my apartment be cleared as I hadn’t been found after a whole year. The life I fought so hard to get back to is gone. Erased. All I have left are a stack of cardboard boxes.
When he revealed that information, I quickly offered an excuse to get a closed door between us so I could fall apart in private. The grief is all-consuming. For so long, I dreamed of home.
And now it’s lost to me too.
That really fucking hurts.
“Sorry, Em.” Tom fiddles with his glinting cufflinks. “I held him off for as long as I could.”
“I doubt anyone is capable of holding him off indefinitely.” I cast Hyland’s bulked-out mass a side glance. “Thanks for trying, though.”
With his dirty-blonde hair pulled back in a messy bun, Hyland’s hair-smattered square jaw and perpetual frown are front and centre. At least he looks a bit more rested today.
Much like before, he wears an all-black ensemble that prioritises practicality over comfort. Black cargos hug his bulging thighs and round ass, while his black t-shirt accentuates every last defined muscle.
“Is that supposed to be an insult or a compliment?” Hyland questions with a cocked head. “Because I’m going to take it as the latter.”
“You shouldn’t.”
His nostrils flare, sparkling green eyes betraying his amusement. “Can’t take it back now.”
“What are you still doing here?”
“Whatever. I’ll be in the car.”
Once Hyland has stomped off, I’m left to face Tom. We haven’t spoken much since we were dropped off by the Anaconda Team. Even at mealtimes, I’ve silently eaten before crawling back into bed to avoid his questioning.
The distance between us hurts like a bitch after growing up so close, but every time I look at him, all I feel is anger. Pure, out of control rage for all the precious years and memories that were stolen from us.
If I give in to that righteous anger, I’m terrified of what I’ll do. And if I’ll be able to ever switch it off again.
“Listen, Em.” He gifts me a reassuring smile. “I’ll be there today as your legal counsel, and we’re going to take this at your pace. Their questions can still wait.”
“I want to get it over and done with.”
“Of course, I understand that. I’m just saying that if it’s too much or you need to rest some more, I have no problem telling them to bugger off.”
More fury licks at my insides, turning my blood to molten ash. All I want is to set him at ease. To tell him that no one hurt me like he’s imagining. Why can’t I do that?
Because it’s not true. It doesn’t matter how they hurt me or how any of us were forced into subjugation. The injustice is that I’m here—safe and breathing—while others are not.
Others like Gracie.
While those bastards still run free.
“Ember?”
Teeth grinding together, I try to speak past the enraged storm crawling up my throat. “I need to do this.”
“You’ve barely said a word since we got home.” His emerald gaze brims with concern. “I know you’ve been through a lot. I’m trying to protect you from more pain.”
“Avoiding the investigation isn’t going to help.”
“Perhaps not.” He gently squeezes my bicep. “But if you can’t even talk to me, how will you be able to tell them what happened?”
Typical Tom.
He’s never been one to beat around the bush.
“I want to talk to you,” I make myself admit. “I’m just trying to make sense of everything first. I lived in survival mode for so long, I didn’t stop to process it all.”
He sighs, sliding on his charcoal-grey suit jacket. “Which is precisely why we should postpone.”
“Time won’t make this any easier.”
“Then what will?” He stiffens, his posture carved from nervous tension. “Please tell me what I can do. Let me in.”
“I don’t think you can help.”
“Try me, Em.”
Unable to look at him, I stare down at the shiny, polished floor. His weekly cleaner came yesterday while Tom took work calls in the living room. I heard them trading polite conversation from the spare room.
I wanted to get up, try to socialise or even show my face. Yet something held me back from taking that first step into the world again. A paralysing fear that came out of nowhere and stole my breath.
I thought I’d feel safe here. Warner even assured us that he would post around-the-clock security outside the building. But in truth, I don’t think an entire army outside would make me feel any better.
I’m not scared of Gael and his men.
Rather, I’m petrified of the person he made me into.
After losing the studio I worked so hard to build—shut down years ago without me there to make rent—I have no purpose. No direction. Nowhere to go.
All I have left are my cardboard boxes of clothes and knickknacks belonging to a different woman. My vivid nightmares, jolting me awake in a cold sweat. And the constant threat of another attack forever looming.
How do I tell Tom that although I’m here, it feels like I left a part of myself in the ring? Perhaps the scraps I’ve brought home are the worst parts of me. The parts I don’t want him to see. Parts far too jagged and ugly to create a whole person.
“I just need time. That’s all.” My voice wavers. “Coming home… hearing how everything has changed… it’s been a lot.”
“I’m trying to give you time, Em.”
“I know.”
“I really am. But when you barely eat, won’t speak and seem unable to even look at me… it kills me inside.”
“I’m sorry,” I offer half-heartedly.
“Don’t even.” Tom jerks his head in dismissal. “None of this is your fault. I just want to help, that’s all.”
The anguish in my chest detonates, reforming into a new shape each time I try to wrestle it into subjugation. Choking grief is preventing me from saying a single thing to comfort him.
“I hate what they’ve done to you.” He runs a hand over his hair, slicked back in its typical perfection. “And I don’t know how to help.”
Shit.
Sighing tiredly, I wrap my shaking arms around his midsection. The scent of peppermint and rich, ink-stained paper filters into my senses, soothing the torrent trying to rip me apart.
I want to scream at myself… This is Tom . The overprotective perfectionist with a brain bigger than most family homes and a heart that rivals it in size. I can trust him. He deserves the truth.
“You help just by being you,” I whisper into his shirt. “Be patient with me.”
“Always.”
“I’ll try to open up more.”
He hugs me back, pushing warmth into my bones. “I need you to tell me if it gets too much today, and we’ll end the interview. No questions asked.”
“I will.”
Clasping my arms, his neck tilts so he can look into my eyes. “Promise me.”
Weakly, I smile at him. “What are we, five-years-old?”
Tom doesn’t crack a smile, his green gaze gleaming. My brother, the formidable legal ninja who breaks multimillion-pound cases wide open before he’s had his morning brew, looks afraid.
“Promise me, Em.”
That harrowing look is enough to shatter every last defence I’ve been hiding behind. I never want to be the reason he wears that expression. I’ll just have to find a way to pretend. And pretend well.
“Promise.” I nod once.
“Good.” A breath whistles from his nose. “Let’s get this done. Then we’re coming home and ordering the biggest pile of Italian food you’ve seen in your life.”
“Thought you were on a bachelor’s diet?”
He picks up his laptop bag then checks his pockets to make sure he has his wallet and phone. “That ended the moment I got Jamie to commit. I was sick of intermittent fasting.”
“Wait… You and Jamie?” My eyes widen in surprise.
Tom shoots me a smile. “He still lives at his place for now, but yeah. We’ve been exclusive for about three years now.”
“Holy shit!”
My brother’s on-again, off-again boyfriend—or rather his convenient hook-up, if you’d prefer the truth—has been on the scene ever since Tom moved to London. But they hadn’t done labels before.
“Alright, calm down.” A flush stains his pale skin. “It’s not like we’re getting married or anything.”
“I’m just surprised. I never thought I’d see the day either of you settle down.”
“Thanks for the slut shaming. It’s perfectly fine to spend your life having endless threesomes with hot, single men without taking on their baggage, you know?”
Grabbing his keys, we step out into the thickly carpeted hallway. He lives in a beautiful, luxury apartment building, set in a renovated mansion block with all original, Victorian features.
“I agree, but you have taken on someone’s baggage now,” I point out as we head for the stairs. “So that kinda refutes your argument.”
“Bloody know-it-all,” Tom grumbles.
“So what’s it like? You know, being off the market?”
“It feels really, really great.” He grins to himself. “Jamie makes me happy. He got me through the past few years, all the police investigations, everything.”
“I’m glad you had someone here to look after you.”
“He wanted to come see you, but I thought it may be too much right now.”
Guilt crackles through my grief-tightened chest. “I hate that I’m a burden to you.”
Halting at the top of the staircase, Tom captures my hand. “No. Don’t do that to yourself. You’re not a burden, and I would never think that.”
“I’ve interrupted your life. If I had anywhere else to go?—”
“You think getting my little sister back after all this time is an interruption?” he asks incredulously.
His fingers cinch around mine, anchoring me in the present moment. Far from the wails and cracking whips that still bounce around my mind.
“Maybe?”
“Jesus, Em.”
I bite my tongue to hold another pointless apology in.
“You’re my priority,” he declares without hesitation. “That will never change. This is your home now. Jamie doesn’t even come close to you in importance.”
Appreciation warms my skin, pushing out some of the disorientating fog still lingering in my mind. I latch onto the feeling with both hands and drag it to the forefront of my inner darkness.
“You don’t have to look after me. I’m a big girl. I’ll figure it out.”
“Less than forty-eight hours, and you’re already done being coddled.” He snickers to himself. “Why am I not surprised?”
“At least I’m consistent.”
“Consistently annoying. I agree.”
“Love you too, bro.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he groans humouredly.
Tackling the marble staircase side by side , I focus on the pressure of Tom’s hand wrapped around mine. Even though I’m a grown-ass woman who shouldn’t have to hold her brother’s hand. I want to.
For all those times I wished I wasn’t alone, I now have what I wanted. Perhaps I can forget the evil I’ve seen. Forget the way my mind has broken into a thousand pieces. Maybe I can forget the monster Gael’s street fights made me into.
I can forget it all.
Can’t I?