Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
My shift dragged like cement tied to my ankles.
My feet throb, my back aches, and some drunk idiot spilled an entire pitcher of beer on me around nine. I smell like a brewery floor.
All I want is my bed.
When I unlock the apartment door, Daniel stands in the living room. Arms crossed. Face like stone.
"Hey, I'm—"
"Who is he?"
My stomach drops. "What?"
"Don't play stupid." His voice cuts like glass. "Who the fuck is the guy who picked you up at the plaza last night?"
My heart hammers against my ribs like it's trying to escape, and fear floods my veins—cold, electric, suffocating. The air in the apartment suddenly feels too thick to breathe.
I head to the kitchen, a feeble attempt to get away from him. “Were you following me?”
“Yes,” he screams. “And I’m glad I did.”
“He's... we were at the robbery together. I told you about that. About the meetings. It's no big deal."
"You left out some interesting details."
"I went to two support group meetings with him. That's it." The lie tastes bitter. "It's no big deal. I'm not going anymore."
"Like hell you're not," he screams, his face inches from mine, so close I can feel the heat of his rage and the spray of spittle on my cheek. "No big deal?" He laughs, sharp and cruel. "You think I'm an idiot?"
"Daniel, I don't—"
"I followed you all the way to Portland.” He pulls out his phone, taps the screen. "Want to see what I found?"
The video is dark and grainy, shot from a distance. But it's unmistakable. Julian and me in the parking lot in Portland. His mouth on mine. My hands gripping his jacket.
Fuck.
Rage bubbles up through the fear. "You're spying on me now?"
"I had a good reason!" His voice explodes through the apartment. "Since apparently you're a slut who can't be trusted!"
"It was one kiss! I pushed him away!" I point out. "You saw it with your own eyes."
"Did you want to fuck him?"
"No! God, no. It was just that one kiss, and I—"
"Do you have feelings for him?"
The question slams into me with the force of a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. My mouth falls open, but no sound comes out.
He stares at me, his gaze intense.
I try again, my lips forming shapes around words that won't materialize. My throat feels like it's closing, constricting around the truth I can't—won't—admit. Not to him. Maybe not even to myself.
The silence stretches between us, heavy and damning, and I watch Daniel's expression shift from fury to something far more dangerous: understanding.
His hand cracks across my face.
The world tilts. My head smashes against the counter edge. White-hot pain explodes through my skull. I crumple to the floor, hand flying to the wound. When I pull it away, blood covers my fingers.
Daniel stares down at me. No regret. No remorse. Nothing but cold calculation.
"Things are going to change around here." His voice stays eerily calm. "You clearly can't be trusted anymore. I'll need to keep a much closer eye on you."
I can't breathe. The room spins. Blood drips onto the hardwood.
This is it. The moment I become her—that broken girl from years ago, the one who ended up pinned down and helpless in a situation she couldn't control.
The girl who kept asking why, over and over, searching desperately for an explanation that would make sense of the senseless.
The girl who felt dirty afterward, no matter how many showers she took.
Beaten down, not just physically but in every way that mattered.
Wronged by someone she should have been able to trust. The girl who felt sick to her stomach, who wanted to crawl out of her own skin, who couldn't recognize herself in the mirror anymore.
I have to leave. Tonight. Now.
But when I try to move, fear paralyzes me.
"Come on." He extends his hand. "Let's get you cleaned up."
In the bathroom, he dabs at my wound with gentle fingers, applies antiseptic, and bandages it carefully. Sweet. Tender. Like he didn't just split my head open.
"You might have a concussion." His tone stays matter-of-fact. "I'll watch you tonight. You shouldn't sleep."
He shows no remorse. Acts like nothing happened.
My head throbs. Everything feels fuzzy and distant and wrong.
I sit frozen, unable to speak, unable to process that this is my life now.
Exhaustion settles into my bones like cement. Every muscle aches. My head pounds where it split against the counter. I keep my movements slow, careful, like I'm walking through water.
Reeves appears beside me, arms crossed, watching. "You look like death."
"Thanks." I force a smile that doesn't reach my eyes.
"I'm serious. When's the last time you slept?"
My throat tightens. "Last night was rough."
"Go." He jerks his head toward the back office. "Sofa. Now. Take a break."
"Reeves, I can—"
"That wasn't a suggestion."
The office sofa smells like old leather and beer.
I curl up on it, pull my knees to my chest. My eyes burn.
My head throbs. Sleep should come easily after being awake for more than twenty-four hours straight, but my brain won't shut off.
It replays everything on a loop. The slap. The blood. Daniel's cold eyes.
The tears start before I can stop them.
"Hey, what's—" Reeves stops in the doorway. His expression shifts from surprise to alarm. "Liza?"
I shake my head, pressing my palms against my eyes. Can't speak. Can't breathe right.
He closes the door and sits on the edge of the sofa. "What happened?"
Everything spills out. The robbery. The meetings. Julian. The kiss. Daniel's surveillance. The confrontation. My voice breaks when I describe the slap, the way my head cracked against the counter.
Reeves goes still. Completely, utterly still. Then he explodes off the sofa, face twisted with rage. "I'm going to fucking kill him."
"Reeves—"
"That piece of shit put his hands on you?" He paces like a caged animal. "I'm going to rip his goddamn head off."
"Stop." I grab his arm. "Please. Just... calm down."
He takes a breath, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscles jump. "Please tell me you're not staying with that asshole."
"No." The word comes out firm, steady. "I can't. I know I can't."
"Good." He runs a hand through his hair. "You can stay with me.”
Heat floods my face.
This is weird. Reeves is my boss. He’s Jenna's ex. I can't stay with her because she lives in Portland now. I can't stay with Colleen because she lives in Daniels' building. And I certainly can't go to my mom's, who lives in Canada. I don't have anyone else.
"We've got the spare room."
"Reeves, I can't—"
"You can." His voice softens. "You need help. Let me help."
"Okay."
He sits next to me and wraps his large arm around my shoulders. "You'll be fine."
"I…" I really don't want to bother this guy, but he's the perfect person for it— huge, intimidating. "I need help getting my stuff back. I don't trust—"
"Don't say another word. I'll help you get your stuff. Me and Greg. When?"
My stomach twists. "God… I don't know. I really don't want to do this."
"You know you have to." His eyes turn soft. "We'll be there for you."
Reeves drives like he's heading to war, jaw set, knuckles white on the steering wheel. Greg sits in the back of the pickup cab, quiet, massive arms crossed. I'm in the passenger seat, stomach churning.
When we reach Daniel's building, my building, the one he owns, my legs turn to jelly.
"You good?" Reeves cuts the engine.
"No." I grip the door handle. "But let's do this anyway."