Chapter 16 Lyra
LYRA
Itold myself I came back for the money.
That the reason I slipped on these black scrubs tonight and showed up at the warehouse like it was just another job was because I needed the cash. Not because of the man with the inked skin and green eyes. Not because of the kiss that still burns the corners of my lips.
But lies taste bitter when you chew on them long enough.
It's been six days since Declan showed up at my apartment, saw through me acting like an idiot, kissed me senseless, and then just walked away.
We didn't talk about it. Didn't even acknowledge it when I walked into the fight warehouse tonight and saw him across the ring. For both our reasons, we are just pretending nothing happened.
But my body knows better. Every nerve ends up wired every time I glance over at him. And I've glanced. Ten times, maybe more.
Declan's wearing a dark shirt. It stretches perfectly across his muscular chest. One of his fighters is up now, and he's shouting instructions, veins in his neck straining.
I look away, trying not to stare.
But my eyes betray me, sliding toward Declan. He's focused on the fight, jaw clenched, fists tight at his sides. The lights catch the sharp angle of his cheekbones, his mouth. I remember how his lips felt against mine, firm and demanding, and my stomach twists.
The bell rings and I try to distract myself. I stretch out my legs and sip from the water bottle I brought, eyes drifting over the crowd. It's a full house tonight.
I twist in my chair to crack my back and then I see him.
I freeze, my heart stuttering to a stop, and I look away.
A man stands against the far wall. At first, I think I'm mistaken. This venue is packed, and faces blur together. It could be anyone.
But when I glance back, I see his face clearly.
It's him.
The man from the grocery store.
I blink hard, hoping I'm wrong. But he's now staring at me and a slow smile crawls across his face.
I know that smile.
The room tilts sideways, and the floor beneath me seems to vanish. Suddenly I'm not here anymore. I'm back in one of the basement clinics where the Albanians kept me.
The girl on my table trembles, her body wracked. Her name is Tatiana. Nineteen. Russian. Brought in by the Albanians' trafficking ring six months ago.
"Please," she whispers in broken English. Her eyes dart to the door, then back to me. "You doctor. You help me."
I check her vitals, noting the bruises across her ribs, the finger marks on her throat. "I'm giving you something for the pain," I tell her, reaching for a syringe.
She grabs my wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. "No. Not pain." Her eyes are wild, desperate. "End. Please. Death."
My hand stills. "What?"
"Kill me," she begs, her voice cracking. "No more. I can't. No more."
I'm stunned. Shocked. In all the years of treating the girls, none have asked me this directly. But I've seen it in their eyes. The plea. The desperation.
I swallow hard. "I can't do that, Tatiana."
"Yes. You can." Tears stream down her face. "Medicine. Too much. Accident."
I look at her. Beyond the obvious injuries, I see other signs. Track marks on her arms from forced heroin use. Cigarette burns on her thighs. And when I examine her more closely, I find evidence of trauma so severe I have to step away for a moment, bile rising in my throat.
I want to help her. God help me, I do. But if I'm caught.
My sister's face flashes in my mind. The Albanians' promise.
"Please," Tatiana whispers again.
Before I can answer, the door swings open. Heavy footsteps approach.
Tatiana's face contorts with terror.
The man grabs Tatiana's arm, yanking her off the table. She screams, clawing at him. He starts hitting her. Over and over.
She never woke up.
And when he was done, he turned and looked at me.
I blink, and the memory shatters. I'm back in the present, heart hammering so hard I can barely breathe.
It's that face. The same face that ended Tatiana's life is now staring across a crowded fight venue.
The man holds my gaze as he lifts one hand and drags a finger slowly across his throat.
The message couldn't be clearer: We're coming for you.
My hands tremble, but I force them still. Just like before. Don't show fear. Don't give them the satisfaction.
I turn away, my mind racing. The Albanians found me. After a year of freedom, of thinking I'd escaped, they found me.
Was I stupid to believe I could ever truly get away? They owned me for almost ten years. Marked me with their tattoo. Of course they wouldn't let me go so easily, even after I paid for my freedom.
I glance back again, but he's gone. Melted into the crowd or slipped out. It doesn't matter. The threat remains.
This means it's only a matter of time before more show up. Maybe that was just a warning. Maybe next time it'll be worse.
My eyes find Declan across the room. He's deep in conversation with one of his fighters, unaware that my world is crumbling around me. For a wild moment, I consider telling him. Asking for help.
But then what? Become a pawn in his game instead? Trade one master for another?
And there's the Albanians to consider. They'd hurt anyone who stood in their way. I've seen what they do to people who interfere with their property.
Because that's what I am to them. Property. A valuable asset they want back.
No, I can't drag Declan into this. He doesn't deserve my shit.
I need to disappear. Tonight. If he asks next time he calls, I'll tell Declan I got a call about a job in another city. A temporary thing. Or a family emergency. Something believable but vague. By the time he realizes I'm not coming back, I'll be gone.
I'm probably overreacting. He won't question it. He probably won't even care.
The thought of leaving him makes my chest ache in a way I wasn't expecting. I've never let myself get attached to anyone since the Albanians took me. I'm damaged goods anyway. What man would want a woman who's barren?
My heart sinks. I'm not just running from the Albanians tonight.
I'm running from the only man who ever made me feel like staying might be worth the risk. The only one who saw through my wall and stuck around, in his own way.
The main event finishes with a knockout that brings the crowd to its feet and I jolt as it brings me out of my thoughts.
As people begin filing out, I pack my supplies. Just get through the next hour. Smile. Nod. Act normal. Then go home, grab what you need, and vanish.
"Lyra."
I turn to see him, Declan standing there, his green eyes looking me over. "You okay?"
"Just tired." I zip up my medical bag. "Long night."
He steps closer, lowering his voice. "About the other day. I wasn't going to bring it up, but—"
"No need," I cut him off. "It's forgotten."
"That's not what I was going to say."
My pulse jumps. "Doesn't matter. I need to go. Oh, uh, an emergency came up. I might need to leave town for a bit."
His eyes narrow. "What kind of emergency?"
"Family stuff." The lie. "I'll only be gone a couple weeks." Another lie.
He moves closer, boxing me against the table. "What's really going on, Lyra?"
I can smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating from his body. My traitor heart speeds up, remembering his kiss, his hands, the way he made me feel.
"Nothing that concerns you," I say, defaulting into defense mode.
His jaw tightens. "Everything about you concerns me now."
"Why? Because you're paying me?" I push against his chest, needing distance.
He catches my arm. "I feel like you're lying to me."
I am. Because I'm scared. Because I can't stop thinking about you. Because for the first time in my life I want something more than just survival.
"I have to go," I whisper.
His grip loosens, but he doesn't release me. "Tell me what's wrong. Let me help."
I want to. I do, but I can't put Declan in danger. I won't have another death on my conscience. It's my bag to deal with.
"There's nothing wrong," I say, pulling free of his grasp. "And I don't need your help."
I grab my bag and walk away, feeling his eyes burn into my back. Every step away from him feels wrong, but I keep going.
I'll be gone by morning. And with any luck, the Albanians will follow me and leave Declan alone.
It's better this way. For both of us.
But as I push through the exit door into the cold night air, I can't help looking back one last time.
He stands where I left him, watching me go, his expression unreadable in the shadows.
Life's never been fair for me, I think.
Then I turn and walk into the darkness. Only this time, I don't know if I'm ever coming back.