12. Lena
Lena
Silence.
No one moves.
No one breathes.
I stare at him, then at the file, then back at him again. “I’m sorry,” I say, because apparently my brain has given up on useful reactions, “my what now?”
Knox steps into the room, shutting the door behind him with a hard shove. “You heard me.”
I laugh once, short and disbelieving. “No, actually, I did not. I heard the words, but they made absolutely no sense in that order.”
He doesn’t care.
His gaze cuts to Havoc first. Then Vale. Then back to me.
“Your name,” he says, lifting the file slightly, “has been flagged in Brotherhood records. Repeatedly.”
My pulse starts pounding again. “No,” I say immediately. “No. That’s not possible.”
“It is.”
“I’m a barista.”
Knox looks unimpressed. “That doesn’t answer the question.”
“It should,” I snap. “Because it’s true.”
Havoc shifts beside me, the humor gone now. “What kind of file?”
Knox doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Restricted.”
That sounds bad.
That sounds very bad.
I take a step back without meaning to, Vale’s shirt brushing my thighs, my heart suddenly hammering for a completely different reason than it was thirty seconds ago.
“I don’t know anything about your weird murder cult filing system,” I say. “I don’t even know what the Brotherhood is beyond apparently having money, masks, and emotional problems.”
Havoc huffs a laugh under his breath.
Knox ignores it. “Do you know anyone named Andrew?” he asks.
The question hits strange.
I frown. “No.”
His stare doesn’t soften. “Anyone in your family. Foster records. School paperwork. Emergency contacts.”
I shake my head harder now. “I said no.”
Vale finally speaks, quiet and careful. “Knox.”
Knox rounds on him. “You knew?”
“No.”
“Did you tell her anything?”
“No.”
“Did she tell you anything?”
Vale’s jaw tightens. “What she already told all of us.”
Knox looks back at me.
And I hate this. I hate the file. I hate the way they’re all suddenly looking at me like I’m not just some girl who got drugged on a bad date.
“I don’t know why my name would be in your files,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I don’t know what you think this means, but I don’t have some secret double life. I go to work. I pay rent. I was in foster care. That’s it.”
Knox’s grip tightens on the folder. “That’s not it.”
Something cold slips into my stomach.
Because he sounds too sure. Because for the first time since waking up here, I get the horrible feeling that whatever happened to me didn’t start with Ethan.
It started before him. Way before him.
Havoc looks between us, thinking now instead of provoking, which somehow feels more dangerous. “Well,” he says finally, “that’s inconvenient.”
I stare at all three of them.
My mouth is dry. My body is still sensitive, still shaky, still humming with everything they did to me, and somehow none of that matters anymore because now there’s this file, this name, this look on Knox’s face like I’m a problem that just got a whole lot bigger.
“What,” I ask slowly, “is in that file?”
Knox doesn’t answer. He just keeps looking at me like the answer is already somewhere on my face and I’m refusing to hand it over.
“Family,” he says. “Tell me about your family.”
I let out a short, disbelieving breath. “That’ll be a quick conversation.”
His expression doesn’t change. “Do it anyway.”
I cross my arms tighter over Vale’s shirt, suddenly too aware of how little I’m actually wearing under it, of the way all three of them are in the room while I stand here with my thighs still sticky and my body still carrying the proof of what happened against that wall.
Humiliation starts to win out over shock.
“I don’t know my family,” I say. “Never did.”
Knox’s eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”
“It means exactly what it sounds like.” My voice comes out flatter now.
“Like I said, I was in foster care and no, I’m not a bad kid who got kicked out of their house because they decided to rebel or whatever.
I don’t know who my parents are. I don’t have a secret family tree hidden in a drawer somewhere.
No dramatic reunions. No rich grandfather.
No dead aunt leaving me a cursed estate.
” I say the last part sarcastically but my heart is pounding.
I don’t like sharing this info with anyone, let alone three masked murderers.
Havoc’s mouth twitches, but he doesn’t interrupt.
Knox does. “No names? No records?”
“No useful ones,” I snap. “A few files. A few placements. A lot of people who weren’t mine and didn’t want me to be theirs for very long.”
The room goes quieter after that.
Vale still says nothing. I look at him once, just once, but he’s gone still in that particular way of his, face unreadable, eyes lowered like he’s thinking too hard or refusing to think at all.
Fine.
Good.
Let him be quiet.
I’m too exposed for this. Too angry. Too aware of Knox standing there interrogating me while I’m half-naked in Vale’s shirt like that somehow gives him the right to peel my life open.
Something in me hardens. “This is ridiculous,” I say.
I bend, grabbing for my underwear where it was dropped, and step into it as fast as I can without wobbling.
My jeans are another matter. I spot them, snatch them up, and force myself not to think too hard about any of this as I drag them up my legs.
Then I grab what’s left of my blouse, take one look at the ruined front, and throw it back down.
I keep Vale’s shirt on.
No one stops me. That feels important.
I straighten, heart hammering now for an entirely different reason, my bare feet cold against the floor.
This is it. This is the moment.
Vale is quiet. Knox is too focused on the file. Havoc is still thinking, which means he hasn’t decided yet.
I can’t let him decide.
I point at the ruined blouse on the floor. “You can bill one of your secret apostles for that.”
No one smiles.
I nod once, more to myself than to them. “I’m going home.”
Knox opens his mouth immediately. “No.”
I ignore him and look at Havoc. Because he’s the one who brought me back. He’s the one who talks too much. He’s the one who might say yes just to annoy everyone else in the room.
“You said I wasn’t your problem,” I tell him. “You said I wasn’t the target.”
Havoc watches me carefully. Too carefully.
I keep going before he can speak. “You’ve got your creepy file mystery now.
Great. Mazel tov. Figure it out without me.
” I gesture toward Knox. “He clearly thinks I’m hiding some huge secret, but I’m not.
I’m a barista with student debt and apparently a horrifying talent for ending up in rooms with emotionally unstable men. ”
Havoc almost smiles.
Almost.
I step toward the door. “I don’t know anything,” I say. “And I’m done being interrogated while underdressed by people who won’t even explain what the hell is going on.”
Still no one moves.
My pulse pounds harder.
Don’t look scared. Don’t hesitate. Don’t give Havoc time to think this through.
I put my hand on the doorknob. “If someone wants me dead,” I say, forcing my voice steady, “I’ll take my chances with normal awful people, thanks.”
That gets Vale’s head up.
Knox’s expression darkens.
Havoc still doesn’t answer, which means he’s debating it. And that’s dangerous.
My hand is still on the knob when Knox moves. He gets there before I can open the door fully, one arm bracing across it, body blocking the exit with quiet, immovable force. He doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t need to.
“No,” he says. The word lands flat and heavy.
I look up at him, pulse hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat. “Move.”
“That’s not happening.”
I tighten my grip on the knob. “You don’t get to keep me here.”
His jaw shifts. “Actually, right now, I do.”
The panic comes fast then, hot and ugly, because for one stupid second I really thought I could walk out. I thought if I moved quickly enough, if I kept talking, if I looked harmless enough, they might let me go.
Then Havoc speaks. “I’ll take her home.”
The room changes again.
Knox turns first. “What?”
Havoc pushes off the wall at last, all lazy confidence and bad ideas. “You heard me. I’ll take her.”
I stare at him.
“I’m a man who keeps his word,” he adds.
My heart pounds harder.
Because that sounds good. Reassuring, almost. Except he never actually gave me his word. He never promised he’d take me home.
Knox’s expression doesn’t change much, but enough. Enough that I know he doesn’t buy it either. “We already have enough of a mess,” he says. “Letting her walk out is stupid.”
Havoc shrugs, almost bored. “Relax, brother.” Then his eyes slide to me, dark and bright at the same time. “People rarely outrun us.”
The chill that runs through me is immediate and total.
Not because he says it like a threat. Because he says it like a fact.
And I understand him.
“Who are you?” I ask.
He cocks his head. “We’re Saints.”
More like Sinners, I want to say, but I keep my mouth shut. It might be some kind of code word.
Even if I run, even if I get out that door, even if I make it home and lock every window and drag my dresser in front of it and sleep with my phone in my hand, they’ll still find me.
They found me once already.
No. That’s not true.
They didn’t just find me. They marked me. I’m branded now.
I look at Havoc and see it clearly for the first time: the offer is real, but so is the leash attached to it.
He’ll take me home. He just never said he’d let me stay there alone.
My mouth goes dry.
Knox still doesn’t move from the door. Vale still says nothing. He stands off to the side, silent and unreadable, which somehow makes all of this worse.
Havoc gives me a small, wicked smile. “See?” he says softly. “I’m trying to be nice.”
I stare at him.
I don’t believe that for a second.