Chapter 37 Lexi
Lexi
Everything feels slow.
Like I’m swimming through syrup, my limbs made of lead, my thoughts sticky and disconnected.
My head’s pounding—a bass drum behind my eyes that won’t stop. My mouth tastes like metal and chemicals, bitter on my tongue. The air smells wrong. Smoke? Cordite? Something sharp and acrid that makes my nose burn.
Something pops, sharp and deafening. Once. Twice. Then again in rapid succession.
Gunshots.
My ears ring, the sound echoing inside my skull like I’m trapped in a bell tower. Everything’s muffled, distant, like I’m underwater.
My head jerks up—too fast, way too fast—and the world spins sideways. Nausea rolls through me in waves.
Axel’s next to me, slumped in a chair, his head lolling to one side. His eyes are half-open, pupils huge and black, swallowing the color. His lips move but no sound comes out, or maybe there is sound and I just can’t hear it over the ringing in my ears.
He looks high.
We’re high.
The realization hits me with delayed horror, like my brain is processing information through molasses. Someone drugged us. That needle. Vincent’s grin. The way the world went soft and sideways.
Another gunshot cracks through the space, so close I feel it vibrate in my chest. Then shouting—rough voices, clipped and urgent, too fast to understand. Footsteps thunder past. The wet thud of bodies hitting concrete, impacts that sound heavy and final.
My wrists ache, a burning sensation cutting through the fog.
I look down. Ropes. Tied so tight the skin is red and raw.
I twist, trying to get free, but the movement just makes the ropes burn worse. Panic claws at my throat, sharp and immediate, cutting through the drug haze.
“Ax,” I croak, my voice barely working. “Ax, wake up.”
He blinks slowly, laboriously, like his eyes are glued shut and it takes everything he has to pry them open.
The shouting gets closer. Men’s voices overlapping—rough, angry, commanding. Then silence again, sudden and complete, which is somehow worse than the noise.
And out of nowhere, a shadow materializes beside me.
He moves fast—tall, dressed in black, face covered with a mask that makes him look inhuman. A knife flashes in his hand, blade catching the dim light. The ropes snap loose with quick, efficient cuts.
He grabs my arm, yanking me up before my body’s ready to move. My legs don’t work right, folding under me like they’ve forgotten their purpose.
“Axel!” I scream, or try to scream, stumbling after the masked man. “Ax!”
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t acknowledge me. Just keeps pulling me forward with iron fingers wrapped around my bicep.
I dig my heels in—useless, completely useless. My legs won’t listen, my brain won’t catch up, and he’s so much stronger than me. Another masked man appears, lifting me like I weigh nothing, carrying me toward the back door.
The night air slams into me, cold and sharp, and I gasp like I’ve forgotten how to breathe. It fills my lungs, shocking after the stale warehouse air.
“Axel!” I try to scream again, but when I hear my voice it’s barely a whisper, weak and pathetic. “Axel!”
No answer. Just more shouting behind us, more chaos.
Another explosion goes off—something metallic tearing through glass, a sound like the world ending. The man carrying me doesn’t even flinch, just keeps moving.
He throws me into a car. Literally throws me. I land hard across the back seat, my shoulder slamming into the opposite door. The door slams shut before I can turn around, before I can orient myself.
The engine roars to life.
I reach for the handle, fingers scrabbling uselessly. They won’t close, won’t grip. The drugs pull me under again, heavy and irresistible, like hands dragging me down into dark water.
The last thing I hear is the gunfire fading into distance, becoming background noise, becoming memory.
Then darkness swallows me whole.
When I wake, it’s dark out.
The quality of light is different—softer, natural. The air smells like pine and something clean—soap, maybe laundry detergent. My throat’s dry as paper, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.
I blink against the warm glow of a lamp in the corner and realize I’m in a bed. A real bed with a headboard and pillows and everything, not a warehouse floor or a car seat.
A ceiling fan turns lazily above me, the blades casting rotating shadows.
Curtains are drawn halfway across a window, letting in slices of moonlight.
The sheets smell like detergent and cedar, clean and expensive.
I push up on my elbows, groaning as my head throbs in protest. My body feels like it’s been beaten, every muscle sore. But I’m not tied. My clothes are the same ones I was wearing—leggings and t-shirt, wrinkled and dirty but intact. My shoes are gone.
Outside the window, I see trees. Endless trees stretching into darkness, no streetlights or buildings or any sign of civilization.
Shit. I’m at the cabin. The one from before.
I hear voices down the hall—low, male, too calm for the situation. The words filter through the door.
“—wasn’t supposed to grab her like that.”
“She’d be dead if I hadn’t.”
“She’s still a liability.”
The words fade when someone shuts a door.
My heart rate kicks up. Liability. They’re talking about me like I’m a problem to be solved.
I swing my legs off the bed. The floor’s cold against my bare feet, grounding. I stand carefully, testing my balance. The drugs are mostly worn off now, just leaving behind a headache and cotton mouth.
I open the nightstand drawer, looking for my phone—empty except for a folded t-shirt and a half-drunk bottle of water. I grab the water and down it in three desperate gulps. It’s not enough.
My phone’s not here, or in my back pocket.
The door creaks when I push it open, loud in the quiet. The hallway smells like coffee and cigarette smoke, domestic and threatening all at once.
Down the hall, I can see into what looks like a kitchen or dining area. Someone sits at a table with their back to me—broad shoulders in a black hoodie, posture relaxed like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Revan.
I’d recognize that silhouette anywhere.
He glances over his shoulder when he hears me, casual as anything. “Well, look who decided to wake up.”
My voice is hoarse, raw. “Where’s my brother?”
“Safe,” he says. Too quick, too easy.
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to.” He turns back to whatever he’s doing, dismissive.
I step closer, fists tight at my sides, nails cutting into my palms. “What did you do to him?”
Revan doesn’t look at me, just stirs his coffee with a spoon. The sound is rhythmic, maddening. “What we did was save your ass. You were about to be traded like a bag of coke, Lexi. You’re welcome.”
“Where am I?”
“Somewhere no one will find you. Cabin’s off-grid.”
“You mean Reaper territory.”
He finally looks up, and there’s that infuriating smirk. “Smart girl.”
I swallow hard, trying not to let him see the shake in my hands. My whole body is trembling—fear, rage, leftover adrenaline. “How did you––” I inhale. “I want to see Axel.”
“Soon.”
“I said—”
He stands. The chair legs scrape against the floor, a sound like nails on a chalkboard. “Soon,” he repeats, stepping closer. The calm in his voice is worse than anger would be, more threatening. “You’ve got questions. You’ll get answers. But first—rest. You’ll need it.”
“For what?”
He grins, and there’s nothing friendly in it. “For what comes next.”
Then he turns and walks toward the door, leaving me standing there barefoot and dizzy and still half-high, staring at the empty mug he left behind.
A coffee ring stains the wooden table.
The smell of gunpowder is faint in the air, mixing with the coffee and smoke.
And in the window reflection, I catch movement—another figure watching me from outside.
Atticus.
He’s just standing there in the shadows, staring. His expression is unreadable, but there’s an intensity to it that makes my skin prickle.
I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I need answers. Now.
I storm toward the door, yanking it open. “Hey, asshole!”
The word echoes in the night air.
That’s when I see him.
Koa.
Standing there with Revan and Atticus, all three of them together, and my skin prickles with betrayal. They can’t be fucking serious right now. My stomach drops out from under me, freefalling.
I search frantically for the nearest weapon I can find—there’s a boot by the door, muddy and abandoned. I grab it and lunge, throwing it at Koa with all the strength I have.
He dodges it easily, hands up. “Baby, I know you’re mad—”
“Mad?” I snap, throwing the boot at him. “You think I’m just mad?”
“Let me explain.”
“Fuck you!” The words tear out of me. “Let me explain something to you—”
Then I stop. Look around. Really look.
These three men are here... together. Standing in a loose semicircle like they’re on the same team.
I look at Revan, who’s watching me, looking almost uncomfortable. Atticus, who’s staring at me with that unreadable glint in his eyes. And Koa, who looks genuinely terrified—of me, of this situation, of what might happen next.
“What the hell is going on?”
Revan speaks first. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up so I could tell you everything.”
I grind my teeth so hard I taste blood. Turn to Koa. “Where the fuck is my brother, Koa?”
I step right up to him, close enough to see that the swelling in his face, one eye is still bloodshot red, the white stained with broken vessels.
“I’m so fucking serious.”
“He’s in the other bedroom,” Revan says from behind me.
I whirl on him. “You couldn’t mention that in the house?” I push past him, shoving him hard enough that he stumbles. “Fucking useless!”
I can kill them later. Right now, I run back inside, slamming the door behind me hard enough that the frame shakes. My hands are shaking as I start opening doors—closet, bathroom, another closet—until I find the one with Axel in it.
I close it quietly behind me, suddenly terrified of what I’ll find.
I walk to the edge of the bed on trembling legs. “Axel?” My voice breaks. “Axel. Wake up.”
I reach for his neck, feeling for his pulse, my heart hammering. It’s not a rational thought—he’s clearly breathing, clearly alive—but terror makes me check anyway. When I feel the steady thump under my fingers, relief crashes through me so hard I almost sob.
I shake him. “Axel.”
He groans, the sound groggy and confused.
I can’t help it. I jump on him, straddling his body like I used to do when we were kids. It drove him nuts back then, but I loved to cuddle, and sometimes he’d let me. Mom would gush over how sweet we were, take pictures, call us her babies.
I hug him tight, my arms wrapping around his shoulders. The tears start immediately, hot and fast, slipping down my cheeks and onto his shirt.
His arm comes around my back, weak but there, and that’s all it takes for me to break completely. I hug him tighter, crying so hard I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t remember the last time we had a hug like this.
“Lex?” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep and drugs.
I wipe my tears with the back of my hand and laugh, the sound wet and broken. “Yeah. It’s me.”
“Fuck,” he grunts. “You’re on my stomach.”
I get off him, rolling onto the bed beside him. “Are you okay?”
“The question is, are you okay?”
I nod, even though it’s not really true.
He shifts, turning his head to look at me. His eyes are still dilated but clearer than before. “Did you see Dad?”
I laugh—an actual laugh this time, confused and sharp. “What?”
“You didn’t?”
I shake my head, completely lost. “What do you mean?”
Axel lays back against the pillow and sighs, long and heavy. “Shit.”
“Axel.” I grab his arm. “What are you talking about?”
He looks at me then, really looks at me, and there’s something in his eyes—something like pity mixed with dread.
“Lex,” he says quietly. “Dad’s alive. And he’s the one who saved us.”