8. Nora
NORA
The used SUV survives almost the entire drive across the country before dying fifteen minutes from Black Rock.
Honestly, that feels a little fucking personal.
I sit in the driver’s seat staring through the windshield while the engine ticks uselessly beneath the hood, one hand wrapped around the steering wheel hard enough that my fingers ache.
Outside, Nevada desert stretches endlessly around the interstate in washed-out winter browns while cars fly past fast enough to rock the SUV slightly every few seconds.
Sixty degrees in December somehow still feels cold after New York.
Beside me, Paxton kicks his sneakers lightly against the glove compartment while peering out the window toward the gas station across the road.
Your turn, he signs dramatically. We’re still playing.
I force my attention away from the dead dashboard. Right. “I Spy” for the fifth time in thirty minutes because apparently five-year-olds can entertain themselves forever with games adults secretly hate after round three.
I sign back, Fine. I spy with my little eye…something blue.
Paxton gasps loudly enough that I can hear the sound even though his speech stays soft from lack of auditory feedback. He points immediately toward the sky outside the windshield.
Too easy. I shake my head and sign no. His brows pull together in concentration. Then he points toward my water bottle. I shake my head again. The game continues while anxiety slowly eats through my ribs.
The mechanic texted twenty minutes ago saying someone was on the way. Apparently the guy himself doesn’t usually handle roadside calls, but “his people” made an exception because we’re close to town.
Whatever that means.
I glance toward the gas station again automatically. We’re technically within walking distance, but I’m not dragging two duffel bags and a tired kid across the side of an interstate unless absolutely necessary.
Paxton suddenly signs, Red truck.
I blink before realizing he’s still guessing. I laugh quietly despite myself and shake my head.
Wrong again.
He narrows his eyes suspiciously at me. You’re cheating.
I’m absolutely cheating.
He grins immediately. Then headlights flash in the side mirror.
An SUV pulls in behind us on the shoulder, smoothly enough that my stomach tightens before I even process why. Big black SUV. Expensive. Dark windows. Definitely not the rusty roadside assistance truck I expected.
Every instinct I’ve built over the last six years goes on high alert instantly.
I unbuckle quickly before turning toward Paxton.
Stay in the car, okay? Too many cars outside.
He makes a face but nods.
I climb out before he can argue further.
The cold desert wind catches my hair immediately while I slam the door shut behind me. Gravel crunches beneath my sneakers as I turn toward the SUV pulling fully onto the shoulder.
And freeze. For one impossible second, my brain genuinely refuses to process what I’m looking at. Then the driver’s door opens.
Stryker climbs out first.
Six years disappear violently enough that I almost physically stumble backward.
He’s older now. Harder around the edges in ways that have nothing to do with age and everything to do with responsibility.
His hair is darker silver now than brown, cut shorter than I remember, the streaks at his temples sharp against sun-bronzed skin.
Time carved new lines beside his mouth and eyes, but somehow it only makes him look more solid instead of older.
More dangerous too.
The passenger door opens next.
Blade unfolds from the SUV slower, broader through the shoulders now than he was six years ago.
His dark brown hair brushes slightly longer on top while the rest stays neat, and there’s a faint scar near his throat I know wasn’t there before.
He still carries himself the same way though.
Calm. Steady. Like the world has to move around him instead of through him.
Then Viper steps out last.
And somehow that one hurts worst.
His dirty blond hair is shorter than it used to be, pushed back from his face carelessly while light stubble shadows his jaw.
Age settled into him differently than the others.
Smoother somehow. Sharper in quieter ways.
His eyes find mine instantly across the distance between the vehicles and I remember exactly how those eyes looked watching me across poker cards and whiskey glasses six years ago.
My body remembers them before my mind fully catches up. Hands. Mouths. Warm sheets.
I take a fast step backward automatically.
Viper moves toward me immediately. “Nora?—”
Fear flashes hot enough that I scramble backward again toward my SUV door, pulse jumping hard, while every survival instinct I own screams at me to protect Paxton first.
Blade lifts both hands instantly. “Hey. Easy. We mean no harm. We just want to talk. Please let us.”
I stop moving mostly because his voice still sounds exactly the same. Calm enough to cut through my panic.
The interstate roars beside us while cold wind whips across the shoulder. Cars keep flying past close enough that reality steadies slightly beneath my feet again. Broad daylight. Busy road. Gas station still visible half a mile away.
I’m not trapped and I’m not alone. Still, every muscle in my body stays locked tight.
“Talk quickly,” I finally croak out.
Stryker stares at me like he’s seeing a ghost. “We looked for you.”
The words hit hard enough that I almost flinch.
For six years I imagined this moment a thousand different ways and none of them included him sounding angry and relieved at the same time.
“I didn’t want to be found,” I say carefully. “By anyone associated with that place.”
“We weren’t even associated with it. We only got invited,” Viper says. “That’s it.”
Blade nods once slowly. “We didn’t know what it actually was. We were under the impression it was just a masquerade gala for charity.”
I almost laugh at that because it sounds impossible, and yet like something I desperately need to be true. “You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes,” Stryker says flatly, “Because it is true.”
Silence stretches briefly while traffic screams past beside us.
Viper takes another step closer, this time slower, careful enough that I don’t immediately retreat again.
“We were supposed to leave with the rest of the lower level guests that night,” he says quietly. “Then we met you and got a little distracted obviously.”
Something uncomfortable twists low in my stomach because I remember that too vividly, unfortunately. My body heats traitorously despite the cold wind cutting through my coat.
“We fought our way back through that house trying to find you,” Blade adds. “The whole estate burned afterward.”
I stare at him, and the worst part? I believe him.
Not enough to let any major walls down, but enough that something inside me refuses to fear them the way logic says I should.
That realization unsettles me more than if I were terrified.
Viper watches me carefully before speaking again. “We spent years tracking women taken from those auctions. We thought eventually one of them would lead back to you.”
My throat tightens slightly. “You found people?”
“Some.”
“Valentina?” I ask frantically. “Did you find her?”
The name comes out sharper than I intended. All three men go quiet. Hope rises ugly and fast despite myself, searching their faces desperately for something. Anything.
“You found her?”
Blade’s expression shifts first. Regret maybe.
“We remembered her name,” he says carefully. “We tried.”
Something inside me starts collapsing before he even finishes.
“We had a trail for about a year after that night,” Viper admits quietly. “Then she disappeared completely.”
No.
No no no.
I stare at the desert shoulder instead, because suddenly I can’t look directly at any of them without feeling grief clawing too close to the surface. Six years and I still can’t think about Valetina for too long without feeling like somebody reached inside my chest and removed something vital.
A small hand wraps around mine suddenly. I jerk slightly before looking down.
Paxton stands beside me, squinting against the desert wind after apparently ignoring my instructions completely and climbing out of the SUV anyway.
Panic spikes instantly. I move automatically, repositioning myself between him and the highway traffic while tightening my grip on his hand.
Then I realize the men aren’t looking at me anymore. They’re staring at him.…stunned. Paxton presses closer against my side while peering curiously around me at the strangers. Viper recovers first.
“Hey, buddy.”
Paxton gives a shy little wave, but doesn’t speak.
Stryker’s eyes stay fixed on him. “How old is he?”
I hesitate. Too long apparently. Because the silence answers enough on its own.
Blade looks at me quietly. “Is he ours?”
Immediate defensiveness shoots through me fats and sharp. “No. He’s mine.”
Blade nods instantly without argument. “Yeah,” he says easily. “He definitely is. He looks just look you.”
The answer catches me off guard enough that I blink at him. Then Paxton tugs my hand for attention.
Who are they? he signs.
All three men stare openly at his hands moving.
I hesitate only a second before signing back, People I knew once.
Blade’s eyes widen slightly. “Are you signing?”
I nod carefully. Then he shocks the absolute hell out of me by immediately signing toward Paxton himself.
Hi. I’m Blade.
Paxton’s face lights up instantly in surprise. You know sign?
Blade’s movements are slower than mine, but clean enough that I understand every word easily.
“A little,” he says aloud, too, for the benefit of the other two, I’m assuming, while signing simultaneously. “I learned in college.”
College?
The word catches oddly because somehow I never imagined any of these men in college classrooms. Which is stupid probably. I never actually knew anything about them beyond one surreal night and six years of memories.
Blade points toward the others while continuing to sign.