Chapter 41
DOMINIC
The hospital room is too small for all of us and the weight of what happened.
It smells of antiseptic and stale coffee, a scent I’ll forever associate with the worst night of my life.
Beckett is slumped in a chair, his head in his hands, while Zane paces a tight, restless circle by the window.
Ryker stands guard by the door, a silent, menacing statue, and Landon…
Landon is a coiled spring of rage sitting in the chair closest to her bed.
Ellie looks small, broken. Her face is a mosaic of purple and blue bruises, a bandage wrapped around her head, and the stark white of the hospital blanket does nothing to hide the massive, thick bandaging wrapped around her midsection.
The one covering the wound Aria gave her. The one that almost took her from us.
My own knuckles are raw and split, a useless testament to the fury I couldn’t unleash on the men who held me down while she fought.
I almost lost her.
The thought hits like a fist every time, sharp and sudden, stealing air from my lungs.
I don’t think people understand what that kind of loss would do to someone like me. They talk about heartbreak like it’s survivable. Like you breathe through it, wait it out, learn to live again.
I wouldn’t.
Ellie isn’t something I have. She’s something I am. Every version of myself worth saving exists because she saw me when I was at my worst and stayed long enough to demand better. Before her, I survived. Barely. With her, I learned what it means to live.
And I almost lost her.
I replay it over and over—the look on her face when Aria slammed a blade into her stomach. God, that expression will haunt me forever. Not anger. Not even tears. Just resignation. Like she was already giving up and had accepted her death.
That was the moment I realized the truth.
If Ellie were to die, I wouldn’t get a redemption arc. There would be no rebuilding or moving on. There would just be a hollowed-out version of me walking through days that don’t mean anything, breathing air that feels stolen.
No…not even that.
I would rather die than live in a world without her in it.
Because I can lose a lot of things. I’ve lost before. I know how to endure pain.
But losing Ellie?
I wouldn’t survive it.
The door clicks open, and two people in plain clothes step inside. They have that unmistakable federal-agent look—worn expressions, cheap suits, and eyes that have seen too much.
What are their names again?
I scour my memory.
Agents Larissa Marsha and Timon Jeffries.
Ryker tenses, his hand drifting toward his hoodie pocket, where a weapon should be. Like the rest of us, he looks like shit, his skin mutilated with cuts and bruises.
But we all refuse to leave Ellie’s room.
We allowed the doctors to stitch and bandage us up the best they could, but that was the extent of it.
“Is she awake yet?” the older agent asks, his gaze sweeping over all of us before landing on me, who happens to be closest to Ellie.
I shake my head, trying to swallow around the spike that has been jammed down my throat. “Not yet.”
Jeffries nods, like he expected as much.
“I don’t know if we’ve all been properly introduced, but I’m Agent Marsha and this is my partner, Jeffries,” the woman says, flashing credentials she doesn’t need to. “We’re here to update you on the Paragons of Prosperity situation.”
Beckett lifts his head, his eyes hollowed out. “Situation? Aria’s dead. Isn’t that the end of it?”
“For the most part,” Jeffries says, running a hand over his bald head. “The organization is in chaos. In the last twelve hours, about half of the known members have committed suicide. Cult-style. The other half have been taken into federal custody.”
A heavy silence hangs in the air. It’s supposed to be good news. Victory. But it feels hollow.
Landon lets out a short, bitter laugh from his chair. “Detained. They’ll walk free. POP’s lawyers are probably filing motions as we speak. They have money, connections. They’ll spin a story about being brainwashed and be out by Christmas.”
Agent Marsha sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We’re aware of the challenges. But this time, it’s different. We not only have evidence but also a credible eyewitness. Someone who was on the inside for some of their most horrendous acts. Someone who saw everything.”
My mind races. An eyewitness? Who could have…and then it clicks. The one person unaccounted for. The one we helped escaped and haven’t heard from since.
“Senator Reece Whipers,” I whisper, stunned.
He did it.
He really fucking did it.
He escaped and went to the FBI, as he promised us.
Jeffries gives me a long, unreadable look. “We can neither confirm nor deny the identity of our witness. What I can tell you is that he is cooperating fully and has provided invaluable intelligence on the entire operation, from the human trafficking to the financial crimes.”
Ellie will be so fucking relieved to hear he’s okay.
She just has to wake the fuck up for me to tell her.
“It’s not only that,” Marsha adds, looking a little too pleased with herself. “We also have recordings. Records. Full audio-visual flash drives of the cult’s inner workings, detailing years of horrific crimes. It’s the smoking gun, the kind of proof that makes conviction a certainty.”
My blood runs cold. A flash drive? How the hell would the FBI get the flash drive? We’ve been looking for it for months and haven’t had any luck. It wasn’t something you just found lying around.
I open my mouth to ask, to press them on the source, but a soft groan from the bed steals the air from my lungs.
Ellie’s eyelids flutter. Her brow furrows in confusion.
“Ellie?” Beckett is on his feet in an instant, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. We all surge forward, crowding the bed, the FBI agents forgotten.
Her eyes open, dazed and glassy. They sweep over our faces, one by one.
“What…what’s happening?” she whispers, her voice raspy.
“You’re all…here.” She immediately begins to cry, reaching blindly outward, as if she means to hold us to her.
I capture one hand, and Landon takes the other, his own metallic eyes swarming with love.
Relief so potent it feels like a physical blow washes over me. I can breathe again.
“Hey, my sleeping princess,” Zane says, his voice thick with emotion as he gently brushes a stray strand of hair from her forehead. “We’ve been worried sick about you.”
“Worried?” She manages a weak smile, her gaze finding Landon’s. “I see I’ve joined the stabbed-in-the-stomach club. Took me long enough.”
Landon’s face, a mask of relieved terror, hardens instantly.
His jaw clenches tight. “Don’t you ever fucking joke about that,” he snarls, his voice low and dangerous.
“If you ever pull a stunt like that again—ever—I swear to God, Ellie, I will bend you over my knee and spank your ass so red, you won’t sit for a week. ”
The threat is so raw, so full of terrified love, that it breaks the last of the tension in the room.
It’s over.
Aria is dead.
Her cult is dismantled.
We’re all here.
We’re whole.
Ellie’s smile softens, her eyes getting watery. “Promise?” she murmurs, then sniffles.
Almost instinctively, her gaze shifts to seek out Ryker, like she needs confirmation that the two of them are alive. I heard what Aria said to Ellie before. I know my girl believed them to be dead. I can practically taste her relief in the air at seeing them alive and well.
Tension seeps out of me, causing my shoulders to physically droop. This is it. It’s finally over.
Her gaze drifts around the room again, taking us all in, and then a flicker of confusion crosses her features. “Where’s Raymond?” she asks, her voice small.
The room goes silent. Beckett, Zane, Ryker, Landon…we all look at each other. The name hangs in the air, foreign and out of place.
Raymond.
And in that moment, staring at her bruised but beautiful face, I realize with a sickening jolt that I have absolutely no idea.