Chapter 21 Koa
Koa
Idon’t want to leave her.
That’s the first thought that hits me when my phone rings and I see the name on the screen. No contact name. Just a number I have memorized down to the last digit because forgetting it means forgetting who owns me.
Lexi’s standing in the doorway of the trailer, looking at me with those big brown eyes—confused, angry, maybe a little scared. She deserves an explanation. Deserves to know why I tied her to a tree, why I brought her here, why everything I do feels like it’s teetering on the edge of violence.
But I can’t give her that right now.
I get in the Charger and pull away before she can realize that I’m leaving her here. In the rearview mirror, I see her standing there, small and alone, and something in my chest twists so hard I almost turn around.
But I don’t.
Because I know what happens if I’m late.
The warehouse is twenty minutes outside of town, tucked behind a sheet metal factory that closed down five years ago. No one comes here. No one except the people who work for him.
I park outside and kill the engine. My hands are steady on the wheel, but my jaw aches from clenching.
I check my phone one more time. Nothing from Lexi.
Good. Better if she’s pissed at me than involved in this.
I get out and walk to the side entrance. The door is already unlocked. It always is when he’s expecting me.
Inside, the warehouse smells like rust and old concrete. There are crates stacked along the walls—empty, just for show in case anyone ever looks too close. In the center of the space, under a single flickering light, he’s waiting.
My stepdad.
Vincent.
He’s fifty-three, built like a boxer who never stopped training. Grey at the temples, expensive suit that doesn’t match the surroundings, smile that never reaches his eyes.
“Koa.” He says my name like he’s tasting it. “You’re late.”
“I’m not.” I check my watch. “You said eight. I’m three minutes early.”
“Close enough to late.” He gestures to the chair in front of him. Metal. Bolted to the floor. “Sit.”
I don’t move. “What do you want?”
His smile widens. “Sit. Down.”
I sit.
Two of his guys step out from the shadows—Travis and Tony, both built like brick walls, both loyal to Vincent in ways I’ll never understand.
Travis moves behind me. I feel the rope before I see it, wrapping around my wrists, pulling tight.
“What the fuck—”
“Shh.” Vincent holds up a hand. “We’re just going to have a little chat. Make sure we’re on the same page.”
He walks closer, pulls something from his pocket. A small plastic bag. White powder inside.
My stomach drops.
“No.”
“Yes.” He opens the bag, dips his finger in, holds it up to my mouth. “Open.”
“Vincent, don’t—”
He grabs my jaw. Hard. His fingers dig into the hinges until my mouth opens involuntarily.
He shoves his finger inside, smears the powder across my gums, my tongue. It tastes bitter, chemical, wrong.
I try to spit it out, but he clamps my mouth shut.
“Swallow.”
I shake my head.
He punches me. Right in the stomach. The air leaves my lungs in a rush, and I gasp—swallowing the powder before I can stop myself.
“Good boy,” he says, patting my cheek.
The room tilts.
Not immediately. It takes a few minutes. But then the edges start to blur, the light overhead fractals into a dozen smaller lights, and my heartbeat pounds in my ears like a drum solo I can’t control.
I hate this feeling.
Hate it.
I’m fifteen again. Sitting in this same chair. Vincent standing over me with that same smile.
“You want to work for me, you need to understand the product.”
“I don’t want to—”
“You don’t have a choice.”
He forced it down my throat that first time too. Watched me gag, watched me cry, watched me beg him to stop.
And when I came down hours later, sick and shaking, he told me I did good.
That’s when I learned to hate drugs. Not because of what they do to people—though that’s bad enough. But because of what they do to control.
He made me dependent. Not on the high. On him.
“Are you listening, Koa?”
Vincent’s voice pulls me back. Or maybe I never left. Time is slippery now.
“Yeah,” I slur. “Listening.”
He slaps me across the face. Not hard. Just enough to sting.
“You’re a genius, you know that?” He laughs. “Getting the girl to trust you. Getting her to think you’re some kind of savior. That’s good work.”
I blink at him. Try to focus.
“But you’re also fucking stupid.”
Another slap. Harder this time.
“You put Gilbert’s son in rehab?” His voice rises. “You cut him off completely? What the fuck were you thinking?”
Gilbert.
The name cuts through the fog.
“He was going to die,” I say. My tongue feels thick. “Had to—”
“You had to follow the plan.” Vincent leans in close. “The plan was simple. Get close to the family. Find out where Gilbert is hiding. Make him pay. Not play hero for some junkie kid.”
“I didn’t—”
He punches me in the ribs. I feel something crack.
I gasp, try to pull away, but the ropes hold.
“Gilbert owes me five hundred thousand dollars,” Vincent says, voice cold. “That’s half a mil. He’s been on the run for two years. Two. Fucking. Years. And you had the perfect in—his daughter, his son—and you threw it away for what? Pussy?”
“I’m close,” I manage. “I’m close to finding him.”
Vincent pauses. “How close?”
“The daughter. She doesn’t know where he is, but she’ll lead me to him eventually. People like Gilbert, they can’t stay away from their kids forever. He’ll reach out.”
“And when he does?”
“I’ll make him pay. Everything he owes. Plus interest.”
Vincent studies me. Then he smiles. “I like the sound of that.”
He stands, walks to a metal table in the corner. When he comes back, he’s holding a crowbar.
“But you still fucked up. And fuck-ups have consequences.”
The pain comes in waves.
He breaks two of my fingers. Maybe three. I lose count after the first one.
He doesn’t hit my face—can’t have me showing up to hockey practice looking like I went through a wood chipper—but everything else is fair game.
Ribs. Shoulders. Thighs.
Each hit sends shockwaves through the drug-induced haze, and I’m grateful for it. The high dulls the pain just enough that I don’t pass out.
“You work for me,” Vincent says between hits. “You don’t make decisions on your own. You don’t play savior. You don’t deviate from the plan. Understand?”
“Yeah,” I gasp, feeling my ribs ache. “Understand.”
“Good.”
He drops the crowbar. It clatters on the concrete.
“Get him the fuck out of here.”
Travis and Tony untie me. I slump forward, barely able to hold myself up.
They drag me to my car, throw me in the passenger’s seat.
“Sleep it off,” Tony says. “Boss wants you functional for practice tomorrow.”
The door slams and someone drives off. I’m too dazed and in pain to know where the fuck I’m going. Eventually, I close my eyes.
When I wake up, the sun is too bright.
I’m parked on the side of a road I don’t recognize. Trees on one side, empty field on the other.
My phone says it’s 7:47 a.m.
Fuck.
I try to move and immediately regret it. Everything hurts. My ribs scream. My fingers are broken. Shit.
I check my hands. Two fingers on my right hand are bent at wrong angles. I force them straight, biting down on a scream, and tape them together with athletic tape from my gym bag.
Then I remember.
Lexi.
I left her at the trailer park.
I grab my phone, pull up her number, call.
It rings. And rings. And rings.
Voicemail.
I hang up and stare at the screen.
The first practice of the season starts in ten minutes.
I need to get to the rink. Need to show my face, act normal, pretend I didn’t just get the shit kicked out of me by my own stepdad.
Lexi will have to wait.
I start the car and drive.
The rink is freezing as always.
I change in the locker room, moving slow, careful not to let anyone see how much pain I’m in.
Oxy notices immediately.
“You good?” he asks, eyeing my taped fingers.
“Yeah. Jammed them yesterday.”
“Bullshit.”
I glare at him. “Quiet.”
He holds up his hands. “Alright, man. Whatever you say.”
On the ice, I push through the pain. Every stride sends shockwaves through my ribs. Every time I grip my stick, my broken fingers protest.
But I skate. I hit. I shoot.
Because if I stop, if I show weakness, everything falls apart.
After practice, I check my phone again.
Still nothing from Lexi.
I text her.
Koa: Meet me at the rink.
No response.
I sit in my car, staring at the message, wondering if I just lost the one good thing in my life.
Wondering if she’s smart enough to run.
Wondering if I should let her before Vincent’s plan comes into fruition, and he takes her life to lure out her father.
He hasn’t for two years, but he wasn’t desperate then.
Now? His shit’s falling apart, and he’s going after everyone who owes him, big or small.
And Gilbert owes him big time. Years of working under Vincent built up to fucking him over half a million.
I shake my head just thinking about it.
I imagine Lexi’s mouth. Her eyes. Her ass bouncing on me last night. And how I made her orgasm three times. She can’t fucking ignore me. I’m not done with her.
I step out of my car and look at the time.
I’m giving her no choice but to hear me out.
My game. My rules.