Chapter 35 Lexi
Lexi
The dorm is quiet. Too quiet in that oppressive way that makes every small sound feel magnified—Scarlett’s soft breathing, the distant thump of bass from someone’s speaker three floors down, a hum of something electrical.
I stand by the window, forehead pressed against the cool glass, watching the streetlights blink through the blinds.
My reflection stares back at me—hollow-eyed, exhausted in a way that goes deeper than lack of sleep.
It’s the kind of tired that sits behind your eyes, in your bones, a weight you can’t shake no matter how long you rest.
I wanted so badly for this year to be my fresh start, to be normal, and not feel this way, but here I am.
My phone glows in my hand. I scroll through my messages, reread a text from Thea asking if I’m really okay, if I want to talk. My thumb hovers over the delete button and I press it before I can overthink the tone, before I can parse whether she’s asking out of guilt or genuine concern.
The image of an older man with gray hair and a beard, standing in the doorway of this very room flashes in my mind.
Old man, beard, watching.
Scarlett’s voice echoes in my head, panicked and certain. But I force it away, rationalize it. She’s probably dreaming of weird shit. She’s probably just stressed about the new school year and not really knowing her roommate, letting her imagination run wild.
I lock my phone, the screen going dark. Turn off the lamp. The room plunges into shadow broken only by the ambient glow from outside.
My bed feels colder than I remember when I climb in. The sheets are crisp, almost hostile against my skin. I pull the comforter up to my chin and try to find a comfortable position, but everything feels wrong.
I roll over, staring at the wall, trying to convince myself that this is just normal. Just the trauma hangover. Everyone feels watched after being through hell, right? It’s a natural response to stress, to fear, to having your sense of safety shattered.
Sleep comes in fragments—brief snatches of unconsciousness interrupted by hypervigilance, by the sound of every footstep in the hallway, by the creak of old building settling.
When I finally sink deeper, finally let go, the dreams are dark and formless.
And warmth blooms.
Something solid pressed against my back, I think. I blink my eyes open. Am I imagining it?
A breath ghosts against my neck, raising goosebumps. “Hey, baby.”
The whisper cuts through the fog of sleep. A voice I know. A voice that makes my heart both skip and steady at the same time.
I jerk upright, heart hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. My eyes adjust to the darkness, and I see Koa. He’s lying next to me in my narrow dorm bed, half in shadow, his features harsh in the thin light leaking from the hallway through the crack under the door.
He’s bruised. One eye is swollen, the skin around it purple-black. His lip is busted. His nose is bruised. Holy hell.
“Koa—” My voice comes out breathy, shocked. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?”
He shifts closer, and I catch the wince he tries to hide. He leans his forehead against mine, and I’m hit with the smell of him—motor oil and iron and something sharp that might be adrenaline still burning through his system.
“Worried about me?” he asks, and there’s something vulnerable in his voice.
I nod because my throat has closed up, because seeing him like this—broken and bleeding and here—does something to my chest.
His tone softens, just a fraction. “Sorry I couldn’t––”
“Don’t be sorry.” The words tumble out. “You tried. You—” I think of him fighting Revan and Atticus, outnumbered and outmatched. “You got hurt because of me.”
He grabs my wrist and brings my hand to his ribs. “Show me how grateful you are.”
I smirk, trying to hide it, but he sounds so sweet, even with all his darkness, he can still somehow manage to be sweet.
My thumb brushes something rough just under his ribs.
His skin is hot, swollen, and when I press gently he hisses through his teeth.
I flick on my phone flashlight with my free hand and gasp at what I see.
Road rash. Purple and black bruises blooming across his torso like storm clouds. His chest looks like he went to war and lost half of it.
“Jesus, Koa,” I whisper, my fingers hovering over the worst of it. “Are you okay?”
He shakes his head, then reaches up and cups my face. “Are you?”
The question lands heavier than it should.
I don’t answer right away because I don’t know how.
My chest aches with something that isn’t fear—just exhaustion, heavy and wet, like water pooling in my lungs.
I haven’t cried in years. I forgot how the pressure builds, how it sits behind your eyes demanding release.
“I will be,” I finally say, and my voice cracks on the words. “Because you’re here. The last few days—”
He kisses me before I can finish. Gentle at first, almost careful, like he’s afraid I might break. Then deeper, more insistent. His face feels rough under my palms.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I breathe against his mouth.
He brushes his lips along my jaw. “I was just trying to protect what’s mine.”
“What’s yours?”
He pulls me closer until my breath catches, until I can feel every bruise and cut pressed against me. “This.”
My smile is small, half a challenge despite everything. “Really?”
He nods, his eyes dark and possessive. “Only mine.”
I shake my head, trying to hold onto some piece of myself in this moment. “Actually, it’s mine.”
“Actually—” He flips me beneath him in one smooth motion, his body caging mine, his voice dropping to a dark rumble that vibrates through my chest. “It’s mine.”
His mouth finds mine again and this kiss burns. I feel every bruise on his chest against my ribs, the scrape of his damaged knuckles at my hip. He reaches his fingers between my legs and kisses me deeper.
“Someone’s being gentle,” I joke.
He bites my ear, pressing his fingers firmly against me and says, “Don’t test me, Tiger.”
My hips buck, begging for more. I roll my head back as he kisses my neck. With his open hand, he pulls his pants down and presses into me.
I moan and slap my hand over my mouth quickly. I don’t want to wake up Scarlett. She’s already freaked out enough.
He smirks as he keeps pushing himself in. He pushes his cock so deep, I dig my fingers into his open wounds by accident.
“This is only mine,” he breathes.
I move my hips, helping myself to the pleasure of his dick.
“What?” I gasp. “What did you say?”
He nods. “You heard me, Tiger.”
He moves slow, deliberate, like he’s reminding me of every inch he claims, like he’s writing his ownership into my skin.
“See?” he murmurs, dragging his mouth down my neck, teeth grazing my pulse point. Slowly fucking me. “I take care of what’s mine.”
“Yours?” I exhale, dizzy.
“Mine.”
When we’re done, the room smells like sweat and salt and relief. My body feels heavy, satisfied, the tension finally released. Koa props himself up on one elbow, tracing patterns on my shoulder with his fingertips.
He kisses my shoulder before whispering, “Take a shower. Then come back.”
I slip out of bed as quietly as possible, hyperaware of Scarlett’s sleeping form across the room. My legs tremble from more than just what happened—from exhaustion, from the emotional whiplash of the last few days.
In the bathroom, I turn the water as hot as I can stand and scrub my skin raw, trying to wash away the week that won’t leave me. The bruises are faint, yellowing, but there.
When I come out, towel twisted around my hair, Koa’s sitting on the edge of the bed pulling on his jeans. He’s moving carefully, favoring his ribs. He watches me with an intensity that should make me uncomfortable but doesn’t.
“You always look at people like that?” I whisper, rummaging through my dresser for clean clothes.
“Only you.”
The words settle into my chest, warm and dangerous.
I start dressing—leggings, a clean t-shirt. “Where’s my brother?”
“Out of rehab.”
I freeze, one arm halfway through my sleeve. “What? When?”
“Today.”
My pulse spikes, anxiety flooding back. “Is he okay?”
Koa stands, tugs his hoodie over his head with a grunt of pain. “I know where he is. I can take you to him.”
“Now?” Hope and fear war in my chest.
He nods once.
Scarlett mumbles something in her sleep as I grab my jacket and shoes. I don’t think, don’t question. I just follow Koa out into the hallway, down the stairs, into the night.
The night air bites, sharp and damp with the promise of rain. We don’t speak on the drive. Koa’s hands are tight on the wheel, his jaw set. The streetlights blur by too fast, and I watch the familiar campus buildings give way to industrial areas I don’t know that well.
When the warehouse comes into view, I frown. Why is Axel here?
“What is this place?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer. Just parks the Charger and kills the engine. The silence that follows is oppressive.
“Koa?”
He gets out, comes around to my side, and opens my door. Takes my hand. His palm is warm, callused, and I cling to it like a lifeline as he leads me toward the building.
The metal door screeches when he pulls it open. The sound hits first—metal echo, muffled voices, footsteps. Then the smell—rust and concrete and something chemical that makes my nose burn.
We step inside and my eyes adjust to the dim lighting.
Then I see someone in the middle of the room, tied to a chair.
Axel?
He’s gagged with what looks like a dirty rag. His eyes are wild, panicked, and when he sees me they go even wider. He thrashes against the restraints, the chair scraping against the concrete floor.
And standing in front of him, all slick grin and gray beard, is an unfamiliar man. Could this be the asshole who’s been coming to my room?
His pupils are blown wide, jaw twitching rhythmically. High as hell.
“There she is!” he says, arms spread wide like I’m a prize he’s won. “The guest of honor.”
Axel thrashes harder in the chair, trying to scream through the gag. The sound is muffled but desperate.
I stumble back, my hand slipping from Koa’s. “What the fuck is this?”
Koa doesn’t answer.
The world tilts. I look at him—really look at him—searching for an explanation, for anything that makes sense. “Koa?”
He doesn’t look at me. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping. His eyes are fixed on some point past my shoulder.
The older man laughs, the sound echoing off the walls.
“Koa,” he drawls, satisfaction dripping from every syllable, “thanks for bringing her in. Let the show begin.”
Two men walk out of the shadows—huge, muscled, with dead eyes. They step forward and that’s when reality crashes down.
I spin on Koa, disbelief tearing through my chest like shrapnel. “What the fuck is this?”
He finally meets my eyes and for just a second I see the pain, regret, something that looks like self-hatred so deep it’s drowning him. Then it’s gone, replaced by that blank mask.
The men grab my arms.
“No!” I fight. Hard. Elbows flying, feet kicking, teeth bared. I’m not going down easy. I land a solid hit to one guy’s throat, and he curses, his grip loosening. But the other one wraps his arms around me from behind, lifting me off my feet.
“Koa!” I scream his name, still fighting. “What the fuck!”
He doesn’t move.
They drag me toward a chair beside Axel. I’m still fighting, still screaming, adrenaline making me stronger than I should be. But they overpower me, shoving me down into the seat so hard my teeth clack together.
“Sit her down,” the older man orders, circling us like a predator.
One of them holds my shoulders while the other ties my wrists to the chair arms. The rope scratches, burns, too tight. I can already feel my fingers starting to tingle.
Axel is making desperate sounds through his gag, tears streaming down his face.
The older man steps closer, his eyes glassy and unfocused. “Well, well, Lexi Kane. The last piece of the puzzle.”
My voice comes out sharp, broken. “Puzzle for what?”
He grins, and his teeth are yellow, his breath rank when he leans in close. “Oh, did Koa not tell you? Go on, son. Enlighten her.”
The word hits me like a physical blow. “Son?”
Koa’s voice is low, quiet, each word seemingly dragged out of him. “Step-son.”
The world stops.
Step-son?
This man—this monster who’s been stalking me, who has my brother tied up, who’s high off his ass and clearly dangerous—is Koa’s stepfather.
Which means—
Which means Koa brought me here. Knew what was waiting. He fucked me, made me shower, and used Axel as my bait. He planned this the entire time.
The betrayal is so complete, so devastating, that for a moment I can’t breathe.
Someone moves behind me. I feel them gathering my hair, pulling it back. Then something rough and foul-tasting is shoved into my mouth—a gag that makes me want to retch.
I try to scream but it comes out muffled. I thrash against the ropes but they hold.
Koa finally looks at me and his face is a war zone—anguish and resignation and something that might be an apology but means nothing now. Nothing.
The older man claps his hands together.
“Now,” he says, “let’s discuss debts. And what these Kane siblings will do for me.”
My vision is starting to blur—whether from tears or terror or rage, I don’t know. All I can hear is the sound of my own heartbeat thundering in my ears, and beneath it, quieter, the sound of Koa’s voice saying my name like it’s a sin he can’t take back.
Like he’s already mourning what he’s done.