Chapter 42
ELLIE
The agents are the ones who answer, sounding tired and bone-weary, exhaustion clinging to their faces.
It takes considerable effort to pull my gaze from the guys. I don’t want to look away. Not now. Not ever.
They’re here. They’re alive.
Fuck.
“Raymond’s the key to bringing this entire operation down,” Marsha says, her gaze on me.
“He found a flash drive hidden behind a portrait of POP’s founder in Aria’s office.
It’s everything. Financial records, meeting minutes, video evidence, all of her damning blackmail. It’s the key to the whole kingdom.”
Raymond. My heart aches with a confusing mix of pride and fear. He was always smarter than anyone gave him credit for.
Jeffries nods, tucking his notebook into his jacket pocket.
“We’re leaving now. We’ve got a mountain of evidence to process.
Take care of yourselves.” He pauses at the door, his expression serious.
“And understand this—this is only the beginning. The legal process, the fallout…it’s going to be a long road. ”
“Can you…?” I begin tentatively, my voice breaking. “Can you keep me updated on Raymond? Let me know if you hear from him?”
Agent Marsha’s face creases with sympathy, and she gives a single nod.
Then they’re gone, and the room feels even smaller, filled with a thousand things left unsaid.
We’re here.
We survived.
We’re together.
Fuck, we’re finally together.
“What happened?” I whisper, turning back toward my guys.
How did Landon and Ryker get there? How did they escape? Who contacted the FBI?
It’s Landon who fills me in, his voice soft as he regales me with everything that happened following his brief visit to Aria’s house.
When he tells me about Jane’s betrayal, I feel…numb. Maybe I’m supposed to be sad or furious, but none of those emotions manage to penetrate the flimsy barrier erected around me.
How could she? I thought she was my friend. Was that all a lie?
A prickling heat burns my eyes.
Before the silence can settle, the door bursts open again. Victoria and Piper rush in, their faces streaked with tears, their eyes wide with a relief so potent, it’s almost painful to witness.
“Oh my God, Ellie,” Piper whispers, her hand flying to her mouth.
They converge on my bed, their gentle touches a stark contrast to the rough hands of the men surrounding me, who are watching like stone sentries.
Victoria carefully takes my hand, her grip firm and steady, while Piper smooths the blanket over my legs.
“We were so scared,” Victoria says, her voice thick. “When we heard what happened…we thought we lost you.”
“We love you so much,” Piper adds, her voice cracking. “We’re so sorry. About Jane. About everything. We feel so stupid, so betrayed. How could we not have known Jane was involved?”
Tears well in my eyes, hot and sharp. I squeeze Victoria’s hand back.
“This isn’t on you. On any of you,” I insist, my voice hoarse.
“She played all of us. But you guys…you guys never stopped fighting for me. You never gave up.” I look between them, my vision blurring.
“I never had friends like you before. I never knew I could.”
One day, I’ll have to tell them everything that happened between me and POP.
I’ll have to tell Piper the truth about Blair’s death.
But not now, not today, not when my emotions are already fragile, and all I want to do is hold the men I love.
We stay like that for a long time, a tangle of hands and quiet sobs and whispered promises. Eventually, a nurse pokes her head in, reminding us of visiting hours, and with promises to return tomorrow, the girls leave, taking a little piece of the tension with them.
My guys, of course, refuse to go. The nurse doesn’t even bother trying to convincing them. She simply throws them a steely-eyed glare, then fiddles with the machine connected to me, her movements brisk and businesslike. She leaves without another word.
“I feel like I can finally breathe,” Landon murmurs, sinking into the armchair pulled close to the bed. He shakily runs a hand through his brown hair, disrupting the strands.
“This is like shitting after days of constipation," Zane pipes in, alleviating the tension.
Dominic crinkles his nose in disgust. “You’re sick.”
“I’m funny,” he counters.
Beckett shakes his head. “You’re really not.”
Zane pushes his lips out in an exaggerated pout and turns toward me, blinking his long lashes. “Ellie! They’re being mean to me.”
A giggle catches in my throat.
These men…
What would I do without them?
The room smells like antiseptic and warm plastic, the steady beep of a monitor counting out time I don’t quite trust yet.
I’m propped up in bed, bruised, sore, wrapped in more blankets than necessary.
Landon sits to my left, his thumb brushing slow circles over my wrist like he’s afraid to stop touching me.
Beckett is pacing, his bruises stark on his pale skin, though he doesn’t seem to notice or care.
Dominic is standing at the foot of the bed, jaw tight, eyes sharp, like he’s still cataloging threats.
Ryker leans against the wall closest to my head, one hand resting lightly on my shoulder, grounding me with his quiet presence.
Zane is gone.
I notice it absently at first, like my brain is skipping stones over details it can’t fully process yet. Then minutes pass. Too many.
“Where’s Zane?” I ask.
Beckett glances toward the door. “He said he had to take care of something.”
That doesn’t help. Zane taking care of something is usually loud, impulsive, or illegal.
Another minute ticks by.
Then the door opens.
Zane slips inside wearing an oversized coat that definitely does not belong to him. It hangs awkwardly from his shoulders, bulky in all the wrong places. He’s holding it closed with both hands, posture stiff, eyes shifty.
I squint. “Why do you look like a trench-coat criminal from a bad spy movie?”
The coat wiggles.
I freeze.
“…Did that just move?” I whisper.
Zane clears his throat. “Okay. Before anyone freaks out—”
The coat wiggles again, more insistently this time.
Landon leans forward. “Zane.”
Ryker’s eyes narrow. “What did you do?”
Zane sighs like a man who has made peace with a terrible decision. Then he opens the coat.
Frodo’s head pops out.
My breath leaves me in a broken sound I don’t recognize as my own. “Oh my god,” I whisper.
Frodo wriggles free, tail wagging so hard his whole body shakes. He lets out a happy, ridiculous little whine the moment he sees me, paws scrambling against Zane’s arm.
“Frodo,” I choke.
Zane carefully sets him on the bed beside me, like he’s handling a live grenade. Frodo immediately crawls onto my chest, nose pressing under my chin, licking my face with complete disregard for hospital decorum.
I break.
Tears spill out of me, fast and helpless, my hands shaking as I wrap my arms around him as much as I can. He smells like home. Like safety. Like happiness.
“I thought—” My voice cracks. “I didn’t know I would be able to see him again. I thought…”
Zane rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. He was…uncooperative about being left behind.”
I look up at him through tears, disbelief crashing over me. “Zane. You hate dogs.”
“I don’t hate dogs,” he says defensively.
Beckett snorts. “You once referred to Frodo as a ‘sentient mop with opinions.’”
Zane grimaces. “In my defense, he has opinions.”
Frodo barks softly, as if to agree.
I laugh through my tears, pressing my forehead to Frodo’s. “You did this for me?”
Zane shrugs, but his eyes won’t meet mine. “We’ve…come to an agreement.”
I blink. “An agreement?”
“He doesn’t chew my boots,” Zane says, “and I acknowledge his emotional support status.”
Dominic exhales, eyes suspiciously bright. “You smuggled a dog into a hospital.”
“Allegedly,” Zane says.
Ryker steps closer, resting his hand over mine. “You okay?”
I nod, crying openly, completely undone. “I am now.”
Frodo settles against me with a satisfied huff, like he’s done his job. The room feels warmer. Fuller. Like something broken has stitched itself back together.
I look at Zane again. “Thank you.”
He gives me a crooked smile. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation.”
Landon laughs softly. Beckett finally stops pacing. Dominic’s shoulders loosen. Ryker squeezes my hand.
And for the first time since the accident, I feel as if everything will be okay.
An hour or two later, another woman enters. She’s an FBI agent, but different from the others. She’s younger, with sharp, intelligent eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor. She closes the door softly behind her.
Frodo’s head snaps up, and the two of them lock eyes. But if she cares about the dog in my room, she doesn’t show it, her expression remaining carefully impassive.
“Ellie,” she says, her voice professional. “I’m Agent Harding. I wanted to give you a personal update.” Tension steals through my shoulders, and I sit up slightly. Her next words shoot through my heart like a loosed arrow. “We still can’t find Raymond.”
The small bubble of hope in my chest pops. “What?” I whisper. “But he gave you the flash drive…”
“I know,” she says, her expression softening with sympathy. “We have proof he accessed the drive. But after that…he vanished. We’ve checked everywhere. Given the chaos, the number of bodies…he’s probably dead, Ellie. I’m sorry.”
A cold dread settles in my stomach, heavy and suffocating.
Dead.
The word echoes in my head. I want to scream, to deny it, but I know Aria’s world. I know how easily people disappear.
There’s a finality to it that steals my breath.
I can’t do anything. I can’t search, can’t fight. I’m trapped in this bed, helpless. I just nod, a single tear escaping and tracing a path down my bruised cheek.
Beckett, who’s closest, leans forward to wipe it away.
“What about Fischer?” I ask, needing to know about the other ghost in my life. “Has he been…arrested?” Just saying that word scorches my throat like acid-tipped talons.
Agent Harding’s gaze is steady. “Yes. He participated in some of Aria’s crimes, even if he was trying to mitigate them. There’s an abundance of evidence connecting him to these crimes. But he is cooperating fully. He’s giving us everything he knows. That will earn him a lighter sentence.”
I absorb that. It’s fair. It’s just.
It’s also heartbreaking.
“You were incredibly brave,” she continues, her tone shifting. “What you did…facing Aria like that. It took courage.”
I shake my head, the admission tearing itself from my throat before I can stop it. “No. I wasn’t brave. I did awful things.” My voice drops to a whisper. “When I was under POP’s control, I…I hurt people. I’m not a hero.”
I leave out the worst of it. The men and women I helped my boys kill. The blood on my own hands. But the confession hangs in the air, raw and ugly.
Agent Harding doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t look disgusted. She just looks…understanding.
“I hear you,” she says softly. “And I need you to understand something. This will be a long process. There will be depositions, hearings, maybe a trial. The media will dig into every part of your life. It won’t always be pretty.”
A bitter, broken laugh escapes my lips. “Nothing in this life is.”
And it’s the truest thing I’ve ever said.