19. Ember
CHAPTER 19
EMBER
SAVE YOURSELF – KALEO
“Faster, dimples. Before I disarm you!”
Attempting to focus my static-filled brain, I run through the steps he’s trained into me. Reach for the gun tucked into my side holster. Click off the safety. Rack the slide. Aim. Squeeze the trigger.
At the sound of the hollow click, Axel dramatically clasps his hands over his heart then falls to the floor of the boxing ring. He lands hard, limbs spreadeagled and giggling like a raving lunatic.
“Better.”
“You’re dead.” I stash the gun back in its leather holster. “Dead people can’t talk.”
“I bet I could,” Axel guffaws.
“Pretty sure death is the only time you’ll stop talking, asshole.”
“Well, that’s just mean.”
“Did I hurt your feelings?” I laugh at him.
“Nah. I’ll live.”
Flipping back up onto his feet, he lifts the hem of his oversized tee to dab his forehead, revealing a flash of mouthwatering abdominals. His shirt is an obnoxious shade of red displaying the words ‘ I dressed myself today ’ in childlike scrawl.
Dropping from the ring to take a swig of my iced americano, I watch him fiddle with his amethyst hair. It’s all ruffled and messy from sweat after our latest sparring session.
We’ve been working on weapons for several days now in preparation for Thursday’s raid. As the hours tick down, my excitement grows, along with my trepidation.
“I don’t think red is your colour, Ax.”
“Get lost,” he snarks back. “I love this shirt.”
“It’s clashing with the hair.”
“What? No, it’s not!”
“I preferred yesterday’s selection.”
“You did?” His eyes widen into round spheres. “Well then. I’ll burn everything I own and only wear that t-shirt from now on.”
“And when it needs washing?”
He saucily winks at me. “I’ll be naked, obviously.”
Shaking my head at him, I work on stretching out my muscles. We’ve been working harder than ever since Warner’s news. Though my motivation to train non-stop now stems from more than my desire to attend the raid.
When I’m not in the ring, all I can think about are those twelve women. Twelve bodies currently being autopsied, after they were left to float and rot until the container washed ashore. Twelve lives… gone.
The number repeatedly throbs inside my tender head.
Twelve.
Twelve.
Twelve.
The thought of what they endured is horrific. Every night, I dream of the container we were trapped in—dark, freezing cold, filled with sobbing and raw bodily waste. The constant swaying and tipping.
Twelve.
Twelve.
Twelve.
Eyes scrunching shut, I brace a hand against the raised platform that holds the boxing ring to ride the wave of vertigo that engulfs me. My current headache has been tormenting me for days now.
Holding back memories and every last emotion entangled in them is becoming a full-time occupation. I can hardly get through a waking moment without hearing rain on the roof of that container again.
“Ember? You good?”
“Fine,” I grit out.
“You don’t exactly look it.”
There’s a thud as Axel hops down next to me, then his hand lands on my lower back.
“We’ve been at it non-stop. You should take a break.”
“No! I need to?—”
“Rest.” He grips my shoulders to hold me steady. “Jeez. You’re trembling.”
“Just tired.”
“You sure? Are you getting sick?”
“No, no. I said I’m fine.” I pull from his grasp, rolling my neck to relieve the stress. “Let’s go again.”
“Again? Hell no!” Axel watches me with tightly knitted brows. “You’re pale too.”
“Ax, stop. I want to keep training.”
“Nope. We’re done.”
“I have to be ready for Thursday!”
“Yes, by resting and recuperating. You won’t be worth shit if you’re sick or dead on your feet.”
Steeling my spine, I’m about to lay into him when I realise a quiet figure is typing on his phone near the entrance to the room. He must’ve slipped in while we were busy training.
Although he’s wearing his usual tailored suit and tie, Tom looks rumpled. His auburn locks are hastily arranged, not neat and sleek. Even his shirt collar is unbuttoned, navy tie askew.
“Aw, shit.” Axel looks over at our intruder. “Shall I get rid of him? You should go home and nap.”
“It’s alright. I can handle my brother.”
“Or I could beat his ass?”
“Ax!” I exclaim.
“What? He’s not my brother or best friend. I’ll happily do it.”
“Well, he is mine.”
“Sooo… You’re gonna beat his ass then? I have a new knife you can borrow. It’s in my coat. Custom blade and grip too.”
“No ass beating! No knives!” I flap my hands around with increasing dismay. “For fuck’s sake.”
Axel’s honeyed eyes roll in outrage. “You’re so dull.”
“Better to be dull than fucking insane.”
“See, that’s where we disagree.”
Shoving his shoulder, I decide to face the music rather than put it off. Tom and I haven’t spoken since I left his apartment, and the silence has been excruciating. But hell if I was going to be the one to break it.
Ditching my cold coffee, I limp over to Tom’s slumped-over state. He quickly slips his phone away to train his tired focus on me.
“Hi,” he offers warily.
“Hey.”
Looking over me, Tom summons a minuscule attempt at a smile. “It’s good to see you.”
“Can I help you with something?”
He shuffles his feet, appearing awkward. “I was hoping we could talk.”
“I wanted to talk the last time we saw each other. All you did was yell.”
“No more yelling.” Tom surrenders by showing me his palms. “I promise.”
“Why should I believe that?”
Face folding in visible pain, his eyes are pleading. “I heard the news. I’m here for you, Em. Nothing else.”
Taking a moment to debate his motives, I decide to steer him out into the corridor for some privacy. Tom follows close behind me as I head for Sabre’s empty changing room a few doors down.
“So talk.” I wave towards him.
Resting against a bank of shiny silver lockers, he averts his eyes while I change into fresh leggings. It hurts my head to bend and yank them up, but I suck it up.
“I want to apologise for the things I said. And I intend to apologise to the others too.”
“You were a complete dick, Tom.”
“I’m aware of that,” he agrees wholeheartedly. “Throwing the past in their faces was unfair.”
“You know Warner has been through hell.”
“I know. I’ll make it right.”
Throwing a plain white t-shirt over my sports bra, I sit down to brace my palms on my knees. I need a moment to rest. My vision is hazy at the corners.
Moving to crouch in front of me, Tom clasps my forearms. His fingers graze my brand, causing discomfort to slither up my spine. It takes great effort to look up and meet his eyes.
“Let’s talk about this, Em.”
“You literally called me mentally unstable for choosing to do this. I don’t know what else I can say.”
“That’s not… Shit.” He sighs heavily. “I didn’t mean to be such an idiot. I really am sorry. It’s just… I wanted to protect you.”
“By screaming your head off?”
“By convincing you to be something you’re not.”
Tom averts his eyes, but not before I see how much shame fills them. My brother isn’t one to apologise. His career and world are far too cut-throat for that. But we’ve never fought like this either.
“I can see how foolish that was now. You’re braver than me. Strong. Determined. I should’ve trusted you.”
Softening, I lift one hand to place it over his, drawing his sad eyes back to me. “Thank you.”
“When Mum died…” His throat works up and down. “You held it together for the both of us. You looked after me and struggled alone. Just like you did when I left for university.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself.”
“No, Em. It’s always you keeping us together.”
My vocal cords spasm, filling with sharp pain. Someone had to take care of the funeral arrangements and our mother’s estate. Although Tom was older, he was a grieving wreck. I had no choice but to step up.
“For once, I just wanted to be the one to look after you. That’s all.”
“I love you for it,” I rasp throatily. “But I have to do this.”
“I know that. I’m proud of you.”
“You’ve no idea how much I needed to hear that.”
We wrap each other in a tight hug. Tom’s face tucks into the crook of my neck while I suck in his minty, ink-stained scent, letting it soothe me.
Losing our only parent fucked us both up, but I don’t think either of us quite realised how much until now.
“I’m not going to lie… I really hate that you’re living in an apartment full of men.” He laughs into my neck. “Who do I need to have thrown in prison first?”
“No one,” I rush out.
Pushing me backwards, Tom cocks a brow. “That was a fast answer.”
“I can handle the Anaconda Team. They’re harmless.”
“I trust Warner, but the moment the others try to cross any professional boundaries… You tell me, alright? I’ll handle it.”
My stomach twists and flips traitorously. He really doesn’t need to know about Axel publicly fucking me with his hand or Hyland kissing me so hard, I swear I saw stars.
“You got it.”
Smiling, Tom tugs the end of my ponytail. “Good.”
“Did you come all the way here just to win me over in person?”
“Partly.” His smile soon fades away. “The authorities are investigating the shipping container that washed up. I wanted to make sure you’re okay. But first, I have something for you.”
Sitting back on his haunches, Tom reaches into his suit jacket. He pulls out a folded yellow Post-It note to hand over to me.
“What’s this?”
Unfolding the paper, I see a scrawled phone number.
“We contacted Gracie Livingstone’s parents. They want to speak to you when you’re ready.”
A miasma of shock, terror and alarm nearly bowls me over. I quickly refold the note so I don’t have to see the ink smears screeching their accusations at me.
“Why? I don’t know where she is.”
“Em, breathe.” He lightly squeezes my knee. “They just want to hear about her. That’s all. They miss their daughter.”
“I c-can’t… I can’t do that!”
“Hey, hey. It’s okay. There’s no rush.”
Gracie’s swollen, purple face flashes across my vision, an endless scream trapped on her tongue. She could barely walk when she returned from her examination, her legs were so shaky and weak.
Do they really want to hear about that? Or how she was repeatedly battered with fists and humiliation? How sick men drooled over her, imprisoned and prone, negotiating their best offer?
Soon they’ll think about their precious little girl the same way Tom now looks at me. Like she’s a broken doll. A shattered memory. Eternally lost to a trauma too extreme to ever recover from.
“Do they hate me?”
Tom passionately shakes his head. “Of course not. Why would they?”
“Because I left her there!”
“You escaped, Em. It’s different.”
“But I didn’t just escape, did I?”
I was freed.
Eyes straying over to the backpack I stole from Hyland to use on training days, the urge to reach for my phone is stifling. I blocked Blaine the moment it was revealed he attended that meeting.
It’s hard to comprehend that he was playing me all along. Though he owes me nothing, part of me still believed there was more to him and his actions. That on some level, perhaps he even cared.
Knowing that I was just a pawn in some unknown game stings. I don’t have to understand his scheming to feel used. Despite all his flirting and weirdly gentle touches, he never really gave a shit.
“You don’t have to speak to them,” Tom adds, his emerald eyes full of understanding. “Not if it’s going to be too hard. But I promised I’d pass the message along.”
“I’ll think about it.” I nod robotically.
“No matter what you decide to do… What’s happened to Gracie will never, ever be your fault. No one else thinks that, so you don’t need to either.”
When his phone begins to ring, Tom reluctantly releases my knee to answer it. When the voice on the other line rattles on about some urgent client matter, he mouths an apology to me.
“Take it. I need to freshen up.”
Nodding, Tom rises to his feet. “I’ll be back.”
Once he’s left the changing room, I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my hot, pounding forehead there. It took all of my strength to hold my mask together in front of Tom. Like I do every other day for the whole world.
With him gone, the building blocks that fortify my mental wall come tumbling down. No matter how many times I rebuild that fortress, it never lasts long. I just don’t let anyone see the inevitable destruction.
Shivers overtake me, the first tremors of an apocalyptic earthquake that will level everything in its path. I shook so hard in that container. Not even Gracie’s hypothermic body clinging to me stopped the quakes.
I don’t know that my bones have thawed since those endlessly cold days. An eternal frost crystallised around my nerves and organs in the time I spent waiting for us to die or be rescued.
I’m s-so c-cold, Em.
I want to g-go home.
It took all of my strength and remaining energy to whisper reassurances to the sobbing sixteen-year-old. Everything I had to give, I gave to her. I wanted her to feel safe with me.
The tears come thick and fast, coating my skin in an unbearable reminder of how badly I’ve failed. It doesn’t matter that what happened wasn’t my fault. Honestly, I don’t care whose fault it was.
I still made a promise that I couldn’t keep. I failed to protect that terrified girl who just wanted to go home. Now I’m safe and free while she’s still lost.
Slumping onto my side, I curl up in a ball on the changing room floor. My chest heaves as relentless sobs tear through me, each thunderous clap causing my ribs to shudder.
My cries pour out in a never-ending geyser, ripping free from the broken remnants of my soul. The anger and hatred leave no space for air. I don’t deserve any. Not after breaking my promise.
At the sound of the door reopening, I can’t even attempt to pick myself up. The last thing I want is for Tom to see me like this, but the floodgates have splintered, and I’ve got no chance of rebuilding them.
“Em? You in here?”
More footsteps. Then a sharp inhale.
“Oh, love.”
Metallic thumping betrays Warner’s unmistakable steps. His hollow prosthetic would give him away to anyone. Knowing it’s him only intensifies my embarrassment.
He grunts while struggling to lower himself to the floor a short distance away. I peer through enflamed, tear-logged eyes to look at him. The sweet, broken boy who once harboured so much pain. I know he will understand.
“Tom gave you the number,” he guesses.
“How can I face them?” I weep uselessly. “How can I tell them that I left their daughter behind?”
“You had no choice, Em. You were sold.”
“She needed me!”
“You needed saving yourself,” Warner murmurs.
His soothing words slice into the tissue rupturing inside me until it feels like I’m going to bleed out. I want him to blame me. To scream at me. To tell me he hates me. Anything to validate my guilt.
Instead, he reaches out a single hand towards me. Just one. No expectations, no gruff demands. Just five fingers and a hope that I’ll let him share this burden with me. Hell, with anyone .
“You don’t have to do this alone. Not this time.”
“I’m so tired of hurting,” I whimper.
“Then let me help you. We talked about this, Em. We’re a family. You can lean on us.”
“I don’t know how… I’m alone. Always alone.”
“No. You’re not.”
Warner doesn’t wave his hand in invitation or wriggle his fingers. He doesn’t even inch closer. It’s all on me… He’s giving me the choice to accept his support or not.
The unconditional love in his motiveless care breaks me. Limbs locked tight, I shuffle across the floor to near him. Our fingers bounce off each other before his hand cinches around mine.
I drag in a startled breath.
“That’s it, love.” His firm grip on my hand tightens. “I’ve got you now.”
Warner pulls me close until I can crawl into his lap. I clamber on top of him, a leg on either side of his waist as I flatten my chest against his. Comfort thaws my frozen bones as two strong arms curl around me in a vice.
Every part of us ends up touching, not a single inch of air or space separating us. We’re locked tighter than two lost puzzle pieces, desperate to reveal the final image.
As the cyclone inside me continues to spin, I let myself be held by him. Comforted. Offered support and assurance. I’ve never given myself this luxury before.
Warner is what he’s always been to me— safe . The steady, constant presence of the tide lapping at the shore, regardless of the storm raging above. It doesn’t stop him from providing his love and care.
“I can’t face them,” I hiccup into his t-shirt. “How can I?”
“You don’t have to. Not yet. Not ever if you don’t want to. You owe them nothing.”
“But… They must hate me. I left her behind!”
“You did no such thing.” He gently kisses my hair again. “Did you plan to abandon her?”
“No!”
“Did you want to?”
“God, no. No!”
“Did you laugh as they dragged you away?”
“Fuck… No!”
“Or celebrate in the knowledge that she was left alone?”
Tears continue to pour down my cheeks, resembling an overflowing waterfall.
“N-No. I didn’t do any of that.”
“Then stop punishing yourself for something you didn’t choose. You were both captives. One of you just got lucky and found their way home.”
“B-But it didn’t deserve to be me.” My tiny, broken voice sounds so fucking childlike, it makes me sick.
“But it is.”
His arms tighten further, forming a snake-like coil that refuses to surrender me to the demons trying to drag me into their lair. Warner won’t let me drown. I know he won’t.
As long as he’s holding me, I’ll always come up for air. The same way I did when he held my hand at my mother’s funeral. And the same way I did when he found me in that coffee field, battered and broken.
He’s seen me at my worst. The lowest, most harrowing points of my whole life. No matter what heartbreak I’ve allowed him to see, Warner never judged. He never left. He never stopped caring.
“You were given the chance to escape and begin again,” he says into my hair. “Now look what you’re doing with that chance, Ember. You’re fighting back.”
“H-How?”
“By continuing to live. You’re taking all that pain and evil and doing something with it. You’re fighting for the right people now. I am so fucking in awe of you.”
Those words land the killer blow against my fragile state. My sobs intensify into backbreaking bawls that old, independent me would’ve been utterly disgusted by.
My keening must be audible out in the hallway; I have no idea how no one else has come in, seeking the source. The sound of my animalistic wailing feels deafening in my own head.
“Let it out.” Warner’s lips repeatedly press into my head. “You’re safe with me.”
With the feel of his hand stroking my hair, his quiet murmuring and each breath he draws in expanding against my chest, I find a lifeline. A tiny glimmer at the end of a suffocating tunnel.
And I take it.
Over and over again, I take that lifeline.
I take the strength he’s giving me.
Because if Warner can forgive me—the man who has seen me change into this broken version of myself, leaving my old self behind like a ruined chrysalis—then I can forgive myself too.
Or I can at least try to.
For him. For us.
For our team.