14. Ember
CHAPTER 14
EMBER
UNTITLED – KNUCKLE PUCK
Hands braced over my ears, I try to block out the sounds of abuse all around me. My plain, nearly empty room is in the guards’ quarters. Their job is to ensure I remain secure at all times, but nothing more.
While I’m grateful not to be locked in a cage or worse, the nights when Gael’s men take advantage of the captives on this estate are full of torment. I can’t escape the noise.
“P-P-Please! No!”
Tears roll down my cheeks at the sound of begging nearby. It’s no use. They enjoy any form of protest. I’ve watched the defiance drain from countless women since being here.
Shifting over to hide my face in an almost flat pillow, I forget about my shredded back too late. Excruciating heat cracks through me, emanating from each laceration the whip left.
I tried to intervene when Gael was assigning girls to be distributed to his business associates today. The selection process was taking place near where I was sparring with Carlos.
“You dare to question me?”
The memory of his acid-sharp voice cuts into my already destroyed skin. I can still feel the whip that he laid into me with in front of every single sobbing, petrified woman up for grabs.
“These sluts have a purpose! As do you, 768!”
I’m not sure which of his guards carried my limp, semi-conscious body back to my room afterwards. Perhaps it was one of the men now violating another innocent nearby.
For all its grandiose architecture—stuccoed, terracotta walls, arched verandas, colourful Talavera tiles in the open-air courtyard—Gael’s estate is a slice of hell on earth. No one who enters leaves alive.
Sometimes, I’m allowed to step outside to drink in the humid air. I look at tropical plants and colourful blooms, reminiscent of some picturesque honeymoon destination. And I wonder how anyone will ever find us here.
If Gael’s inordinate wealth and political influence don’t protect him, the remoteness of our self-contained purgatory will. No one comes here. Only his trusted men and business associates.
Gael’s operation isn’t just unfathomably vast, it’s funded by an empire of dirty money funnelled through clubs and warehouses across the nation. His power is embedded in every level of society.
At first, I waited for help to come. I convinced myself that the authorities would come crashing in at any moment to rescue me. Take me home to my brother. To my home. To anything but this.
When they never came, the first tendrils of despair crept in. Those tendrils grew into vines that took root and strangled my hope soon after. Since then, I haven’t dared to hope for a saviour.
“Noooo!” The voice screeches.
If I had the strength, I’d burst in there to attack the sick fuck. Even if it resulted in another round of brutal punishment. Someone has to fight for the forgotten souls trapped here.
Even if no one fights for me.
And I have to save myself.
Battling so ferociously to escape the dream, I twist and tangle in the bed sheets until the mattress vanishes from beneath me. My body smacks into the bedroom floor with a loud bang.
“Shit,” I croak through sobs.
The feel of the cold floorboards is actually a welcome relief. Each wooden grain pulls me further from the night terror, the chill making my sweaty body break out in gooseflesh.
I’ve gotten good at grinding my teeth together to swallow the screams that beg to be set free at night. Perhaps all those years of silencing my fear through sheer necessity had some benefit.
Speak out of turn one more time, and I’ll have your tongue!
Banging my forehead against the floor, I attempt to shove Gael’s threats from my consciousness. He isn’t here, but just the memory of him is often enough to pull me into the past’s awfulness.
Sometimes, I dream it’s Gracie screeching for mercy. Her little voice leaking through brick and mortar to torment me. Her soul being repeatedly shattered for someone else’s twisted pleasure.
“Ember!”
Heavy footsteps sound out before the bedroom door is tossed open. Light from the penthouse hallway forms a glowing halo around a half-dressed Warner… holding a gun.
“Em?”
“Jesus Christ.” I gape up at him. “You can put the gun down.”
“What was that noise?”
His hands clenched around the silver weapon, he surveys my new bedroom. The soft grey walls with statement wood panels and a simple double bed are a functional blank canvas.
“Just me. No need to call the cavalry.”
“Are you okay?” He slowly lowers the weapon to his side, clicking the safety into place. “Why are you down there?”
After swiping the hem of my oversized tee beneath my eyes, I shuffle into an upright position and lean against the leather bed frame. I’m not sure my legs are strong enough to hold me yet.
“I’m fine. Go back to bed.”
“I wasn’t asleep.” He tentatively inches into the room. “Bad dream?”
“Something like that.”
Seeming to realise that he’s half-naked in little more than navy sweatpants, Warner shifts on his feet. The hem of his sweats is bunched up around his prosthetic, like it was urgently shoved into place.
“You want to talk about it?”
Fixing my gaze on the piles of unpacked boxes stacked against the built-in, mirrored wardrobe, I wave him off. His fixation on getting me to open up is exhausting.
“Em,” Warner pleads. “Don’t make me watch this without being able to help.”
“Watch what?”
“You torturing yourself for shit you couldn’t control.”
Damn his stupid fucking perceptiveness. I don’t want him in my messed-up head, and I certainly don’t want to hear however he intends to rationalise what my brain is doing to me.
“Just leave me alone.”
“You’re about to get your first lesson on what it means to be a part of this team.” Moving closer, he stretches out a hand. “Come on.”
“We’re not doing this.”
“Get your ass off that floor, Ember Lawson,” he says sternly. “That’s an order.”
Muttering under my breath, I take his hand then find my feet. The oversized t-shirt I was sleeping in gathers around my striped sleep shorts, but he keeps his gaze firmly locked on my face.
“I’m up!” I grumble. “Satisfied?”
“Fucking thrilled. Come with me.”
Rather than releasing my hand, Warner entwines his fingers with mine. It feels strange, like we’re breaking some invisible rule that was set long ago. Yet his tight grip doesn’t relent.
I follow him from the bedroom, shielding my eyes from the light filling the long hallway. While soft and understated, it still temporarily blinds me this late at night.
“I’m sorry for waking you up,” I offer.
“Don’t be. I was already awake.”
“Why?”
Warner steers me into the kitchen, pausing to slip the gun he carries into a console unit before flipping on the under-counter lights.
“Axel’s following up a lead from Stillwell. I wanted to be awake if he called in for backup.”
A quiver makes my muscles twitch. “What kind of lead?”
“We don’t need to talk about this now.”
When he eventually releases me, I lean against the marble counter. “Tell me.”
Warner walks over to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of milk and what looks like several bars of dark chocolate. He moves to locate a saucepan from the drawer next to the stove.
“Stillwell couldn’t confirm any of the identified players you’ve named. I figure he’s too low in the chain of command for that kind of knowledge.”
“We knew that was a possibility.” I try not to sound disappointed.
“Granted, but he did offer us a juicy tidbit at the offer of a new prison cell that isn’t infested with rats and mould.”
“You’re seriously bribing him?”
“Gently encouraging,” he corrects while lighting a burner. “It did the trick. He’s desperate to give us something after a few months in that shit-hole prison.”
Realising what he’s doing, I move to his side so I can begin breaking up the chocolate. It’s been a long time since we made his fancy version of hot chocolate together, but Warner knows I can’t resist anything sweet.
“What did he give you?”
“There used to be a biweekly meeting that takes place outside the city with other operatives.” He pours milk into the saucepan to heat. “Axel is checking it out.”
“Other operatives?”
“There are more honeypots working for Gael. These people operate as a network. They coordinate their hits. Plot, scheme and target women on mass.”
Nearly dropping several chunks of chocolate, I make myself take a deep breath. These are the sickos providing victims to the market—the same market that Gael uses to feed his exploitative trafficking machine.
Just thinking about them all huddled together, listing off their hits and relishing in the earnings they will provide makes me want to break into the prison and cut Stillwell’s face off.
“Axel’s gone to track these other honeypots down?” I grit out. “They may be long gone.”
“Perhaps.”
Locating a wooden spoon, Warner begins to gently stir the milk. He appears calm as ever while I’m internally spiralling at this revelation.
“Stillwell’s directions weren’t exactly clear. Axel is scouting out a few potential places to find the location of the meet if it’s still taking place.”
“Why is he alone? Those people are dangerous!”
“Have you met Axel?” He snorts to himself. “I love the guy, but I wouldn’t want to meet him on a dark night. He’ll be fine.”
With all the chocolate broken up, I scoop up the piles between my two hands to deposit them in the saucepan. Warner’s bare arm brushes mine, emanating heat and patchouli-scented musk.
The faint touch seems to startle him. He stares into the depths of the saucepan, his hand tightening around the spoon. Unsure if I’ve made him uncomfortable, I move back.
“Once we’ve narrowed down the location, we’ll wait for the next meeting to see who turns up.”
“Those operatives must be funded by Gael and others like him,” I point out.
“Most likely. Yes.”
“What if they could lead us back to Gael?”
“They’re just foot soldiers kidnapping women to sell onwards. Hardly a direct route to the head of the cartel. But it is a start.”
Huffing, I hop up onto the counter while he locates two mugs. I know the wheels of justice move slowly, but a part of me wants to march down to that warehouse and slit the throats of every last person in it.
Something tells me Axel would agree.
Perhaps he’d even help.
Setting two large mugs next to the stove, Warner dips into a drawer to search for something. He straightens with a pack of pink marshmallows clasped in his hand.
“I haven’t made this in ages.”
“Why do you even have the supplies?” I snicker at him.
“You’re not the only one with a sweet tooth.”
“I forgot you’re almost as bad as me.”
“Yeah.” He laughs under his breath. “Axel too.”
“You and Axel make hot chocolate together? Aw. How romantic.”
“Zip it, Em.”
Catching the bag that sails through the air towards me, I tear into it to shove marshmallows into my mouth. His gaze is locked on the bag. Eyes rolling, I toss him a fluffy marshmallow.
Warner ducks to capture it between his lips. “Thanks.”
“You’re such a big kid.”
Mumbling around his mouthful, he returns to stirring the hot chocolate. I cross my bare legs at the ankles, looking around their shadow-filled apartment.
The idea that I’m now living here and will soon be training as a member of their team is crazy. I know Tom doesn’t approve, but somehow, this feels right. Like I was meant to be here.
“When can we start training?” I look back at him.
Turning off the stove, Warner pours our two drinks. “You’ve got medical and psychological assessments in a few days. Once you’re clear, we’ll begin.”
“I’m not sitting in some dumb therapy office and pouring my soul out. Forget it.”
“Talking will help.” He slides a mug over to me. “Keeping all that pain locked up isn’t going to do you any favours, Em. Trauma has a way of surfacing.”
“I am not traumatised.”
“Do you repeat that to yourself in the mirror every morning?” Warner blows his steaming hot chocolate. “You’re having night terrors and run daily marathons.”
“Stalk much?”
“Beyond being your new team leader, I’m your friend. I have a right to be concerned. And frankly, struggling to process what you endured is nothing to be ashamed of.”
Hands wrapped around the warm ceramic, I let the rich, chocolatey nectar slip down my throat. The sense of comfort is immediate and heady.
“I’m not ashamed,” I admit in a hushed voice.
“Then what’s going on? Help me to understand.”
Staring into the cup, a rush of nerves makes my scalp prickle. “I just… I don’t want to let that pain in. I can’t. If I do, I don’t know how I’ll come out the other side.”
Placing his drink on the counter, Warner moves closer to me. His bare torso presses against my crossed legs, and when his hand clasps my knee, immediate warmth spreads through me.
“Letting the hurt in is how we move on from the past,” he whispers without an ounce of judgement. “You need to feel it to heal it.”
“I don’t want to feel it.”
“And that’s understandable. But you will feel it. One way or another, those demons will claw their way out and wreak havoc on your life.”
His soft fingers circle my skin, tattooing a reassuring pattern that sinks deep into my muscles and nerves. Even when I was a kid, scared of the sight of my mother wasting away, he could always comfort me.
“You want me to go through that willingly?” I squeeze my eyes closed.
“Better to do it on your terms, Em.”
When I reopen my eyes, Warner’s carved chest and patient eyes fill my vision. I can’t look away from him or dodge his gentle words. The weight of his hand on my knee provides a feverish pressure.
“I’ve already agreed to do the medical evaluations. What more do you want from me?”
“I want you to know that it’s okay to open up,” he replies. “That you can lean on me. On the others. On the family we’re inviting you to be a part of.”
A bottomless ocean, still beneath vast swathes of cerulean sky, burns into me. His undivided attention ensures I feel every last promise tangled in his words.
“I’m not good at talking,” I reveal.
“That’s okay. To be honest, we can all be shit at it. The point is that we hold each other accountable. We look out for one another and offer support.”
“So this is a two-way thing?”
“Sure.” Warner nods. “You’re not a burden. Come to us, and we will come to you. We’ll figure out anything that comes our way together.”
“I’m not weighing in on your girl trouble or shit like that.” I wink at him to lighten the mood. “You’re coming to the wrong person if you want relationship advice.”
His chuckle pierces the intensity. “Noted.”
“Glad we cleared that up.”
“For the record, none of us are seeing anyone. So no relationship drama.”
“Thank God. I’m not that kinda girl.”
His handsome smile growing, Warner lifts his hand from my knee to lightly touch my sleep-rumpled hair.
“You never have been.”
That budding feeling flourishes in the small gap between us again. The same feeling that took me by surprise before. It’s an illicit spark, tinged with longing for what can never be.
“I need to check in with Axel.” Trapping his bottom lip between his teeth, Warner steps back from me. “Try to get some more sleep.”
“Okay.” My voice comes out raspy.
“If you need me, just shout. I’ll be awake.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
“Goodnight, Em.”
With a final meaningful look, Warner picks up his hot chocolate and leaves the kitchen. I know they have a shared office on the far side of the penthouse for when he has to work from home.
The moment he disappears, the tension drains out of my body. I almost slump over on the countertop. A volatile concoction of unspoken need and confusion is sending me into a tailspin.
I must be losing my mind. There’s no way that Warner feels anything but duty towards me. Our friendship has always revolved around his love for Tom.
Taking my hot chocolate, I find my way back to the room he showed me into when we arrived. I know that Hyland is next door—I can hear his deep snoring from here.
With the door shut between me and what just unfolded, I slump against it. My bare-bones room feels lifeless without Warner in the doorway like an avenging angel, body taut and gun in hand.
He flew in here to save me from something unknown. Without a single beat of hesitation, Warner was willing to endanger himself if it meant getting to me when I needed him.
That knowledge sinks deep into my heart.
The heart that now holds a forbidden yearning.
A yearning for what it can’t have.