Chapter 3
LANDON
TWO MONTHS LATER
Getting stabbed sucks.
Sure, there are some perks to almost dying, like having Ellie waiting on me hand and foot. But still…it sucks.
The last two months have been a series of surgeries, physical therapy appointments, and resting. Goddamn resting. If I have to listen to my brothers scream at me to sit my ass down and let them handle things one more time, I’ll go insane.
I think the worst of it all is the fact that, legally, I’m dead.
Just like Ryker.
We decided unanimously that the best course of action was faking my death and taking another pawn off the board. Then, when The Divine One isn’t looking, we’ll surround her. The queen may not be the most important piece on a chessboard, but she is in this game.
Taking her out won’t obliterate the entire organization, though. No, that will have to be done with…finesse. Planning. Scheming.
The Paragons of Prosperity will fall, and when it does, I’ll throw an “I’m alive” party in the ashes of their remains.
A knot tightens in my throat.
God, I didn’t even witness my funeral, but I know it was brutal. Ellie arrived back here in tears, and my brothers were in an incredibly foul mood for weeks after.
I’ve never been overly close to my parents. They’re both successful politicians who are away more often than not, leaving me alone with an endless supply of nannies.
But, according to Dom, they…cried. A lot. My mother sobbed and told the entire room of grievers that she fucked up. That she didn’t care for me the way she should have. My father remained silent, solemn, but Dom claimed a single tear fell from the corner of his eye as he stared blindly ahead.
Though I know why we had to do it, why it was crucial we faked my death, pain still rakes its claws down my spine.
How much more of this can any of us take? Two of us are “dead,” and everyone else is desperate to pick up the pieces, to arrange them into something that is semi-coherent and tangible.
Beckett was able to unlock the phone of the asshole who attacked us the night everything went to shit.
We were right in our initial assessment—he was a guard who managed to catch a glimpse of one of us without our mask (probably Zane, who claimed the mask made it hard for him to breathe), then followed us here with the intent to kill us.
Shortly before he could implement his plan, he received a notification from a high-profile POP member with information about Ellie, including her school photo, date of birth, and other important information.
Apparently, The Divine One notified all of her staff about Ellie’s sale and promised a hefty payout if Ellie was found and delivered to whomever bought her.
Fortunately, it appeared as if the prick was acting rogue—there was no indication whatsoever that he’d contacted anyone about our location—so we should be safe where we are for now.
And since no other assholes have arrived, hoping for a payout…
Maybe The Divine One has finally given up. Raymond seems to believe the bitch has been toying with us this entire time and never had any intention of actually selling Ellie.
I digress.
Someone out there believes they’re owed my girl, and I imagine they won’t be satisfied until POP delivers what they promised.
School has come and gone. Ellie, Dom, Beckett, and Zane all got their diploma, though they skipped out on the graduation ceremony. None of them have been back at the academy since we first discovered Ellie was listed for sale on the black market.
Our professors thought the four of them were grieving, so they gave them online coursework to complete in order to graduate. And since I had nothing better to do, I did it all for them.
Easy peasy.
I suppose you can say I graduated four times over.
“What are you doing out of bed?” Ellie’s curt voice—rife with worry—brings a tentative smile to my lips.
I freeze where I’m standing, one hand flush against the wall for support, and wait for her to catch up.
Morning sunlight gilds one side of her face, creating golden highlights in her brown hair. She looks fucking gorgeous.
She looks like…mine.
I don’t bother to tamp down the explosive, possessive reaction I have at seeing her.
She pauses when she reaches me, her hands balling into fists by her sides, and I know she’s quelling the urge to touch me.
Caress me. Assure herself that I’m okay.
I want to tell her that she’s allowed to touch me, that I relish the feel of her fingers caressing my skin, but I can’t push her too far.
There are shadows in her eyes, demons that can’t be vanquished back to hell, no matter how hard we all try. They’ve been there for years but have only become more prominent with time. Watching me get stabbed…it broke something in her.
The first few weeks after the incident, I tried to reassure her that it wasn’t her fault.
However, my words did very little to assuage the guilt swarming in her gray-blue eyes.
If anything, it only seemed to exacerbate it, like just hearing about my injury sent her spiraling into a pitch-black abyss.
“You shouldn’t be walking around,” Ellie insists. Her brows bank together, forming a knot. “Come on, Landon. Let me walk you back to bed.”
If it were anyone else, I would refuse on principle. I’ve been cooped up for way too damn long. Besides, I barely feel the wound in my stomach, though the skin surrounding it does pull with every step I take, making it hard to walk without support.
But this is Ellie, and I can never resist her. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.
With an elongated sigh, I allow her to place her palm on the small of my back and guide me in the direction of my borrowed room. Energy fires up my spine at her touch in a series of sporadic explosions, fireworks bursting through me.
She hasn’t touched me—or anyone else, for that matter—in a way that wasn’t clinical. For weeks, we’ve all been toeing the line we not only already crossed months before but absolutely decimated.
I want to pull her into my arms. Hold her. Run my nose down the length of her neck. Tangle my fingers in that gorgeous brown hair. Kiss those plump, swollen lips.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
Not yet.
“I’m going goddamn stir crazy, you know,” I tell her, trying my damnedest not to pout like a petulant toddler.
Her lips twitch slightly, a smile begging to be set free. “Maybe next time you can avoid getting stabbed,” she quips.
I dramatically clutch at my chest. “Wow. Blaming the victim. Real mature.”
“It’s not like we’re doing a lot on our end.” A hint of bitterness seeps into her tone.
I may not be actively involved in the day-to-day operations currently, but I still know what’s going on.
After the guys and Ellie disposed of her buyer, another one immediately took his place.
This one was a teacher at the local elementary school.
Mania took care of him, and almost immediately, a third buyer popped up.
Then a fourth. Then a fifth. Raymond instructed us to stop killing them for the time being.
After all, one of these buyers could be nothing but a trap, designed to lure us straight to The Divine One and her minions, though I have a feeling that’s not the case; otherwise Mania would’ve been captured or killed long ago.
The Divine One isn’t stupid. She has to know what we’re doing and why, yet the conniving bitch doesn’t seem to care. A part of me wonders if she’s targeting the ad toward specific POP members, hoping we’ll take them out once they purchase Ellie.
Crazy bitch.
Yet, even suspecting that, I don’t want to stop murdering these fuckers. I can’t.
It’s driving me fucking insane knowing that some asshole believes he owns Ellie, but there’s nothing that can be done at the moment. Raymond’s right, as much as I hate to admit it. This entire operation is nothing but a Hydra—cut off one head, and two will take its place.
The guys spent the last couple of weeks looking into The Divine One and her underground clubs. We know their locations, but once again, Raymond insists we need to be patient. Gather evidence. Find a way to destroy the entire organization instead of a single building or its leader.
But how? Raymond has contacts in the FBI, yes, but what good will they do?
Despite an abundance of evidence, nothing has been done yet.
No arrests have been made. And for all we know, Raymond is setting us up, compiling extensive evidence of all our crimes to get us sent away.
I don’t trust the fucker, but he’s our best hope of defeating the Paragons of Prosperity once and for all.
Worry swells behind my ribs.
When will this be over?
Ellie stops in front of the room I claimed as my own—room two hundred and fifty-three, located just down the hall from Ellie and the others.
I don’t immediately enter the room, though. I simply stand there, my hand on the knob, Ellie beside me, her flowery scent permeating the air.
I glance down at her, taking stock of the freckles on her cheeks. The glasses on her nose. The perpetual pout to her lips. The minuscule scar on her jaw just begging to be kissed.
My chest hurtles toward my stomach. I suddenly can’t suck in a full breath.
“Ellie…” I murmur, reaching for her. I want to pull her inside, strip her naked, and ravish her body.
Ellie’s lips part slightly, her eyes growing hooded, and I think she might actually give in. But then her eyes shutter like blinds being drawn closed, and she takes a step away.
“I need to go talk to Raymond,” she tells me, her tone uncharacteristically businesslike.
“El…”
She doesn’t spare me a second glance as she hurries away, her head lowered, her pace brisk. I watch until she turns a corner before I lean against my door with a sigh, thunking my head against the wood.
Fuck.
“This can’t be healthy for her.”
I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of Zane’s voice. I hadn’t even realized he’s been nearby, watching the entire exchange like the crazy stalker he is.
He frowns after her now, a tiny crevice materializing between his eyebrows.
“She’s pushing everyone away,” he continues. “She spends all her spare time training to fight or researching POP or peppering Raymond with questions about Aria. I’m worried about her.”
It’s weird as fuck to hear Zane sound so serious—a testament to how anxious he must be over Ellie’s behavior.
“What do you suppose we do? Get her to see a goddamn therapist?” The mere idea is laughable, though it has been brought up more than once.
Zane shrugs a single shoulder. “Fuck if I know. I’m certifiably insane. My last two therapists quit the field altogether.”
“I thought you hid in one of their trunks and whispered to him whenever he drove anywhere until he thought he was going crazy,” I remind him.
Zane waves a dismissive hand in the air. “You have your hobbies, and I have mine. That’s not important. What is important is getting Ellie the help she needs.”
“Like a goddamn intervention?” I ask, incredulous.
Zane’s nose crinkles. “She might punch us in the face if we did that.”
A grin threatens to break free. “Yeah. She’s gotten pretty good at punching.”
“And stabbing,” Zane adds, pride glimmering in his dark eyes. “Can’t forget stabbing.”
“Who could possibly forget stabbing?” I parrot dryly.
Zane, obviously, doesn’t hear my sarcasm. He just continues to nod and smile.
Then his lips wilt at the edges, a somewhat familiar darkness flicking across his face.
“She’s going to be okay…right?” The question is tentative. Hesitant. I’m not sure if he actually wants me to respond or not. I can tell a part of him fears my answer and the ramifications behind it. I don’t blame him. That same question has plagued me for weeks.
And yet…
“Yeah.” I nod, knowing that what I said is the truth. She will be okay. We’ll make sure of it.
We’ll kill and die for this girl.
How hard will it be to get her to smile again?