CHAPTER 31
ZANE
PAST
I started calling her Mom in my head.
It wasn’t something I planned—it just happened.
Maybe because that’s how I imagined a mother should be. Loving. Someone who listened, someone who cared. And this mysterious woman… she listened. Every single day.
The best part of my day became sitting across from her, sharing a meal, telling her about things that didn’t matter to anyone else. She never mocked me, never dismissed me. Just smiled, always kindly.
Her eyes never held malice—only pain. A pain I wanted to take away, to heal somehow. But that was beyond me.
The woman sat across from me, her wrists still bound, though she didn’t seem to mind. There was a strange calmness about her—one that didn’t fit the situation.
“If my little girl saw you,” she mused, her voice light but tinged with something sad, something distant. “She would think you were an angel.”
I blinked, caught off guard. She never shared anything personal. She was always composed, guarded. But now, she let something slip.
I shifted, my shoulders tense. “Who are you?”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Nobody important, to be sincere.”
Lies.
Before I could press further, the door burst open. Heavy footsteps. A shadow loomed over us.
The air turned sharp, suffocating. My pulse pounded in my ears.
The door slammed open. Heavy footsteps. A presence that made the room feel smaller, like the walls were closing in.
The woman beside me tensed. The first real sign of fear I had ever seen in her.
Two men moved in fast, grabbing her by the arms, forcing her to her knees. She didn’t fight—she had to know it was useless.
Then he stepped forward.
I didn’t know his name. Not yet. But the way he carried himself—the quiet menace in his every movement—told me exactly what kind of man he was.
A predator.
He crouched in front of her, tilting her chin up with the barrel of his gun. His voice was smooth, almost amused.
“You ran far enough,” he murmured. “But you knew you’d never make it, didn’t you?”
She didn’t respond. Just stared at him with something between defiance and resignation.
Then her gaze flickered to me.
And something inside her shattered.
“Nico,” she choked out, her voice raw, desperate. “Please.”
I stiffened. The name sent a cold shock through me.
She turned fully toward him now, pleading. “Spare him. He’s just a kid. He doesn’t know anything.”
Nico tilted his head, studying me like I was some kind of curiosity. “Is that so?”
She nodded frantically. “He’s not part of this. He’s—he’s good.”
Nico chuckled, the sound low, condescending. “You think I care about ‘good’?”
Her hands, still bound, clenched into fists. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Ah,” Nico sighed, crouching lower. “But I want to.”
She swallowed hard, her breath shaking.
“I’ll do anything,” she whispered. “Just… don’t hurt him.”
"Do you mean it like this?"
Nico’s voice is almost playful, but there’s nothing playful about the way he steps down—hard—on my arm. A sickening crack splits through the air, followed by a white-hot pain so intense I can’t stop the strangled cry that rips from my throat. Tears sting my eyes, blurring my vision.
"Or something like this?"
His boot slams into my ribs, forcing the air from my lungs.
The pain is sharp, radiating through my chest like fire. I gasp, trying to breathe, trying to move, but my body won’t listen. Another wave of pain rolls through me, and this time, I do scream.
"No!"
Her voice cuts through the agony. The woman—this stranger who, for some reason, cares—cares enough to break. She’s screaming, crying, begging him to stop. Her voice is raw with desperation, cracking on every word.
And all I can think about is how wrong this is.
This woman, who’s known me for only a few days, is crying for me. Fighting for me. While my own mother pretends I don’t exist. While she stands by, vacant-eyed, as her boyfriends take turns using me as a punching bag for the sake of a heroin fix.
I don’t feel worthy of these tears.
But God, they still get to me. They tighten something in my chest, something deeper than pain. Something I don’t have words for.
"Nico, please!" she sobs. "He’s just a kid!"
I wanted to tell her to stop.
That I didn’t need saving.
That begging only made things worse.
Then, suddenly, Nico stops.
He exhales through his nose, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves like he just finished a chore. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes gleam with something cold, something satisfied.
"You’re lucky I’m in a good mood today," he says, wiping his shoe on the ground like my blood is nothing more than dirt. "And not even your little antics are enough to ruin it."
He grabs the woman by the arm, yanking her away. She struggles, reaching for me even as they drag her toward a car.
But then she looked at me.
And in her eyes, I saw it.
She wasn’t afraid for herself.
She was afraid for me.
And for the first time since this all started, I felt truly helpless.
He shoves her inside without another word.
The door slams shut.
And I’m left on the ground, gasping, broken, watching the only person who ever cried for me disappear.