4. I Feel Like Someone Slapped Me in the Face with a Sledgehammer
4
I FEEL LIKE SOMEONE SLAPPED ME IN THE FACE WITH A SLEDGEHAMMER
KRUZ
The boat rocks beneath my feet, the cold wind cutting through the layers I’ve somehow managed to keep wrapped around me. The waves slam against the sides, each jolt sending another wave of nausea rolling through me. Everything spins—inside my head, around me—until I can’t tell which way is up.
And honestly, I’m not sure it would be any different if I were on solid ground. Not after last night.
I feel like someone slapped me in the face.
Metaphorically.
Physically, I feel like someone slapped me in the face with a sledgehammer.
I force myself to focus—on the water, on the steady hum of the engine—but my thoughts won’t settle. They keep circling back, dragging me under, reminding me that no matter how far this boat takes me, there’s no escaping what’s already in motion.
I can’t believe I’m here with him.
I should’ve never gotten in that car. I should’ve fought harder, should’ve fucking run the second he led me outside.
But now, it’s too late.
The cold sinks deep into me, numbing everything but the fear. My whole body is locked up, stiff with tension, and the dull ache in my ribs only makes it worse.
My cheek throbs—a steady, relentless pulse—reminding me just how fast everything spiraled. How easily control slipped through my fingers, leaving nothing but chaos and pain in its wake.
Ezra doesn’t react—not outwardly, at least. His grip on the wheel remains firm, his gaze fixed ahead, cutting through the dark, choppy water like he isn’t the reason I’m here. Like he isn’t the reason my entire body is screaming in protest, bruised and aching from being tossed around like a beachball in an island squall.
I wrap my arms around myself, not for comfort but out of instinct, as if holding myself together will keep me from unraveling.
“You’re still shaking,” he says after a beat, softer this time like he’s trying to temper something inside himself.
“No shit,” I bite back. “I was thrown onto the ground, tied up, and dragged out of my life. It’s literally nine degrees. Excuse me if I’m a little anxious and a little cold.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks, but he still doesn’t take the bait. It infuriates me, the way he absorbs my anger without giving me anything to push against.
Finally, he exhales. “I’ll get you something warm.”
I scoff. “What, like a blanket? That’s supposed to make me forget that you kidnapped me?”
Still nothing.
That makes me even angrier.
The thought of him being involved with the Assembly churns in my stomach like a bucket of acid, eating away at every stupid, reckless decision that led me here.
I can’t believe I ever trusted him. Even worse, I can’t believe I slept with him.
I’m disgusted with myself.
The Assembly had always been just a rumor—a whispered name, a shadow lurking behind every well-timed disaster, every too-perfect scandal. I’d heard the stories, the half-suspicions, the hushed warnings about a group powerful enough to make or break lives without ever being seen. I never thought it was real. Not until this time last year.
Now, the truth settles over me, heavy and suffocating. The Assembly isn’t just real—it’s worse than I ever imagined. And he’s a part of it.
The group I once brushed off as paranoid fantasy is more than just a story. They are the hidden hand that tilts the scales, orchestrating every rise and every fall from behind closed doors. Untouchable elites pulling the strings, shaping the world to their will, controlling careers, lives, even deaths. They own the things that matter: money, power, influence. And they destroy anyone who dares to stand in their way, leaving nothing but a trail of broken people in their wake.
I hate them for what they’ve done to me. For what they did to Quinn.
And that isn’t even the worst part.
Jack and Quinn trust him. They trust him with Sienna.
The thought makes me sick.
They don’t know. They couldn’t possibly know.
If they did, I don’t think they’d ever forgive themselves.
How could they ever trust someone like him after everything that happened with Quinn and her dad last year?
And still, even as my thoughts spiral, twisting into knots I can’t seem to untangle, something about the idea of Ezra being untrustworthy with his niece just doesn’t sit right with me. It feels... wrong, like trying to force a puzzle piece into a space where it doesn’t belong.
But I shake the thought away.
I go back to thinking about Jack and Quinn. About how they used Jack—not because he was involved, not because he knew anything, but because he was kind. Because he trusted them. Because his relationship with Quinn gave them the perfect way in.
And he had no idea.
They needed that chip, needed whatever was hidden inside her, and they played the long game to get close. They acted like friends, like they cared, when really, they were just waiting for the right moment to strike.
And when the time came, they didn’t care what it cost.
They took the chip from her, like it was just a piece of tech they could rip out without a second thought. Like she wasn’t a person, just a container for something they wanted.
How could anyone do that?
But that’s the Assembly. They don’t care. Not about the people they manipulate. Not about the lives they leave in ruins. People are just tools to them—means to an end. And Quinn?
She was never more than collateral damage.
They wanted the information on that chip, and it didn’t matter who they had to hurt to get it.
Just like they’ve done with so many others. Just like they’ll do again.
It’s still hard to believe that Ezra’s wrapped up in all of this. That after everything that happened to Quinn—watching her father die, finding out how deep the Assembly's influence ran—that he could still be a part of it. But I know what these people are capable of. They’ll stop at nothing to get what they want, even if it means destroying everyone in their path. I just never thought Ezra would be part of their plan, even while I am smack in the middle of finding out just how deep into it he actually is.
How could he fucking do this?
I will never forgive him for this.
I fight the urge to punch the railing as the boat shifts again, tossing me off balance.
My hand grips the side to steady myself, and that’s when I notice the way Ezra’s looking at me.
I’m not sure what I see in his eyes—something between guilt and determination, but it makes me want to scream.
I’m angry. No, scratch that—I’m furious.
“Why the hell did you even let me get close to you at all?” I spit, trying to shake off the way my heart is aching as I recall the months we spent together. “Why did you make me think you wanted anything with me? Even the small amount we had? Has this been your plan since I stopped sticking around for your bare minimum?”
I can’t believe this is where my mind is while this man is taking me god knows where in the middle of freezing night.
“ Stop .” His voice is little more forceful now, but it only makes me want to yell louder. “I didn’t plan this.”
“You didn’t plan to take me, but what about everything else ?” I shoot back.
I should’ve known.
He was always so very distant, but he’s not the first man to treat me the way he did, unfortunately.
He was just the first man I wanted more with.
I look down at the bruises on my arms, feel the pain in my ribs, and the deep ache in my cheek.
I’m so fucking angry that I could throttle him, but that wouldn’t do anything. It wouldn’t change what’s already happened. And I’m too stiff from the fucking cold to move anyway.
It’s hard to breathe with this much anger (and possibly broken ribs), but I still force the words out, “You held me just far enough away—because you knew. You knew what I’d see if I got too close. That’s why you couldn’t let me in.”
The truth stings, and I can feel the tears burning behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.
Ezra doesn’t say anything for a moment, but his gaze softens, just barely.
He doesn’t apologize.
He doesn’t have to.
He’ll never be sorry for any of this.
I glance out over the dark sea, the wind pulling at my hair.
I wish I could disappear into it.
Everything would be easier that way.
But instead, I’m here, freezing, hurting, and angry at the man standing beside me, steering the boat toward God knows where.
I can’t believe I let myself get close to him.
I can’t believe I let myself trust him.
The boat’s engine hums beneath me, steady and certain, a cruel contrast to the storm raging inside me. I have no idea where we’re going. No idea what happens next.
All I know is that I’m stuck with him.
And there’s a good chance he’ll never let me go.
“I fucking hate you,” I whisper, the words barely audible over the wind, so quiet I’m not even sure he hears them.
But then, without missing a beat, he replies, calm, unwavering, certain, "You can hate me all you want, but at least you’ll be alive to do it."
9 Months prior
Ezra kisses me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
Not at first. At first, it’s slow, his lips barely brushing against mine, like he’s savoring the moment before he gives in. Like he’s trying to convince himself he can take his time.
He can’t.
Because the second I slide my fingers into his hair, he snaps.
His hands grip my waist, pulling me closer, his body pressing against mine like he wants to burn himself into my skin. I let him. I always let him.
Because I love him.
I don’t say it. That’s not how this works. We don’t say things that make this real, that make this more. But I feel it every time he touches me, every time he looks at me like he’s memorizing every curve and freckle on my face.
I wonder if he knows I’m memorizing him, too.
His lips move to my jaw, then lower, his breath warm against my neck. I shiver, fingers tightening against his scalp, and I feel him smile against my skin.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, like it’s a secret.
I close my eyes, letting myself sink into him. “I know.”
Ezra chuckles, a quiet, breathy thing, and I can feel it in my chest. He’s never loved me out loud, but it’s there, in the way he holds me, in the way he lets himself laugh around me like it’s safe.
I don’t ask for more.
Because the second I do, he’ll pull away.
So instead, I let the moment stretch. Let myself pretend this doesn’t have an expiration date.
Because I don’t know how to love him halfway.
And I don’t know how to leave him, either.
But maybe I don’t have to.
Maybe I can just drift.