1. Lyrius Anderson
Six Years Later
“As expected, Hurricane Imani is now a category five hurricane. We expect her to make landfall within six hours. All northbound highways are closed. Repeat, all northbound highways are closed. They are urging residents to seek immediate shelter—”
“I know,” I muttered, cutting off the radio mid-warning.
I didn’t need a reminder. I was already trapped in the chaos.
Rain hammered against my windshield, smearing brake lights into long, red streaks.
My fingers tightened around the steering wheel as traffic slowed to a crawl.
So much for getting further north. I eased the car toward the highway exit, hoping for anything that wasn’t gridlocked.
Then I saw the green highway sign that read Azalea County, and my stomach instantly dropped.
I fled Azalea County with a broken heart and blood on my hands, and I swore I’d never be back.
I had no reason to be, at least not until today.
I was only supposed to be passing through on my way to higher ground, but the road closures and the category five hurricane barreling toward us didn’t care about what I’d sworn.
“Mama?”
“Yeah, baby?” I blinked as I glanced up into the rearview mirror at my five-year-old. He was sitting in his booster seat, studying the sky like it was the most fascinating thing.
“Why aren’t we moving?” He asked the same question he’d been asking since we’d hit traffic a few hours ago.
What was supposed to be a straight shot north out of the hurricane’s path had turned into a parking lot full of people trying to flee the storm.
The entire golf coast was getting hit by the worst storm that had hit the region in decades.
I’d packed last night after pulling a double at the resort and left at the crack of dawn, thinking I still had time.
Apparently, everyone else had the same idea.
I had only made it six hours away, in the twelve hours we’d been on the road.
“There are a lot of people fleeing the storm,” I told him. My fingers tightened around the steering wheel again as the familiar street signs came into view through the sheets of rain. Pine Avenue. My pulse spiked as my body recognized it before my brain did.
“Absolutely not,” I muttered, turning onto another street.
My eyes glanced at Dae-Dae in the rear-view mirror instantly.
My baby was sitting there like his usual self, quiet and observing, like my answer was good enough to suffice until the next time.
He didn’t panic easily. He never had—just like his father.
The thought hit before I could stop it, like it always did whenever I looked at Dae-Dae.
He was every bit of his father. Same caramel skin.
Same dimples that showed up when he tried not to smile.
Even the way he chewed his jaw when he was deep in thought reminded me of the man I’d left bleeding on his marble floor.
Five years, and Dakota Knox still lived in my head like something unfinished.
I found out about the baby four weeks after that night, in a cheap motel bathroom in Shoreline.
I hadn’t even figured out my next steps yet.
I was still posted in the town where I’d run out of gas that night.
I was still jumping at every knock on the door, still checking the parking lot before I stepped outside.
I thought I was sick from stress until the nausea never stopped.
Then my baby became the only thing I had left. My only family.
KO didn’t know. He still didn’t. I stayed just long enough to make sure he survived the shooting, then I disappeared for good.
Not because I wanted to, but because I didn’t know who was more dangerous at that point—the people I crossed or the man I betrayed.
The organization had made it clear what happened if I talked too much.
Then the people connected to it started turning up missing and showing up dead.
Every time I thought about going back, another story hit the news.
Maybe none of it had anything to do with KO.
Maybe all of it did. Either way, I had a baby to protect, so I started going by my middle name, Remy, and stayed gone.
The way KO was moving, there was no fixing us, not even if I showed up with a baby bump.
The motel offered me a housekeeping job.
That eventually led to a promotion. Five years later, I was still there, managing a housekeeping team, still picking up overtime whenever I could, still trying to build something stable for my son and me.
It wasn’t a soft life, but it was an honest living, and Dae-Dae had everything he needed.
My phone buzzed against the console, shaking me out of my head, causing me to glance down at the radio to see Nia’s, my next-door neighbor and the closest thing I had to family, name flashing on the screen. I answered before it could ring twice, already knowing what she was about to say.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Are you guys safe? Did you make it?” Her voice sailed through the speakers.
“TT Nia!” Dae-Dae perked up.
“Hey, baby! Are y’all safe?”
“Not quite—”
“Lyrius. You told me you were going to drive up to Valdosta.”
I exhaled. “I’m trying, but traffic is so backed up. They’ve shut down all the northbound highways.”
“On the news, it says they’re telling people to park and walk to shelter.”
I took a deep breath. My heart was already pounding. There was no way I was about to walk in this weather with my son. Hell, there was no way I was about to stay in Azalea.
“I’m not dragging a five-year-old six blocks in hurricane bands.”
“Where are you?” she asked.
“Azalea County.”
“Azalea County?” she barked. “That’s only six hours up the highway. They’re still in the hurricane’s path, Lyrius.”
“I know.” I sighed.
“Mama, is this where Daddy lives?” Dae-Dae asked. “That show we watched said he lived in Azalea.” The air left my chest. Dakoda knew who his father was. I’d never lied about that. He’d seen pictures and watched clips of Kos’ fights with me. That was how he knew he was from Azalea County.
“Sit back, baby.” I swallowed. I couldn’t handle that question right now.
“When I begged you to evacuate Shoreline, I didn’t think you’d get stuck in traffic. Oh my God! What are you going to do?”
That, I didn’t know. I was starting to wish I’d just sheltered in place at home. I glanced out the window at the crowded streets, surveying my options, trying to figure out my next move. Up ahead, an officer came into view. He was waving cars toward the shoulder.
“Highway’s closed!” he shouted. “Flooding ahead. Park and walk to the shelter!”
“Mama?” Dae-Dae called as I turned off the engine. “Are we sleeping in the car?” he asked.
“No,” I said quickly. “Not if I can help it.”
“Lyrius, listen to me,” she said. “Get somewhere dry and high. I don’t care if it’s temporary. You do not stay in that car. You hear me?”
“I hear you.”
“I’m gonna stay on the phone. I can look up shelters. Just tell me where you are.” She sounded worried. I took a deep breath as I glanced at the time on my radio. The storm was going to hit in less than three hours.
“The police are leading the way to the shelter. I think we’ll be fine. I’ll call you back when we get somewhere,” I said. “I need to move.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“Okay. Call me the second you’re inside somewhere safe.”
“I will.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I ended the call and stared through the rain.
There was a parking garage just up ahead.
Maybe the elevation would keep my car safe.
I eased the car inside and lapped the garage until I found a space to park.
I grabbed our bags from the back seat and slung one over my shoulder before climbing out into the storm with Dakoda tucked against my side.
I pressed my palm against the dashboard.
“Please,” I silently begged. I couldn’t afford to lose this car. My 2019 Nissan Altima wasn’t much, but it was mine.
“Ma’am, we’ve got ponchos.” An officer jogged past and paused when he saw us. He pulled one from a box in the back of a truck. “Put this on him.”
“Thank you.”
I slipped the thin plastic over Dae-Dae’s shoulders and tightened the hood around his curls.
“Stay close,” I told him, and he grabbed my hand.
We joined the line of people walking toward the nearest shelter.
I knew these streets. That was the part that made my chest tighten.
I knew which corners flooded first. I knew which buildings sat higher than others.
I knew which church they were directing us to without needing to ask.
We were three blocks in when we heard someone yell.
“Shelter’s full!” My eyes shot up in the direction of a woman shouting from under the church awning. “We can’t take anyone else. There’s another church six blocks west opening now!” Six more blocks.
Dae-Dae tugged on my hand. “Mama, I’m cold.”
I looked down at him. His lips were pressed tight, trying not to complain.
“It’s okay,” I said. “We’ll get there.” We turned and started walking again. By the second block, his steps slowed.
“Can you carry me?”
I adjusted the bag on my shoulder and lifted him into my arms. He wrapped himself around me, the poncho crinkling against my jacket.
We had cleared maybe two blocks. My legs were burning.
The rain was relentless. The bag on my shoulder felt heavier by the second.
I stopped under a streetlight and tried to catch my breath. Four more blocks felt like forty.
“Mama . . . I’m cold,” Dae-Dae said, pressing his cheek into my shoulder.
“I know, baby.” I pulled him into me even closer, glancing around, trying to decide if we should just go back.
That was when I noticed where we were. We were standing right in front of KO’s old training facility, the same concrete building I used to walk into maybe twice a week.
The windows were boarded now, and the front doors were chained shut, like it had been abandoned for years.
I still recognized it, though. It was taller than the other buildings on the block, about fifteen floors.
My chest tightened. Whenever I dreamed of Dakota, we were here.
He was in the ring, and I was watching him, and everything was perfect.
“Mama?” Dae-Dae shifted in my arms.
I looked down the road toward the church, which was four more blocks in sideways rain, probably crowded with people scrunched together like sardines.
Then I looked back at the building, and a lightbulb went off.
Worst case, there was no running water and no electricity, but I had bottled water, flashlights, and candles.
We just needed a place to wait out the storm for the night.
We could move somewhere else in the morning or head back home.
“We’re going to stop here,” I said, and Dae-Dae slid down from my arms and grabbed my hand as we walked toward the front entrance. The heavy metal doors were wrapped in a thick chain and secured with a padlock. I tugged on them anyway, but they didn’t budge.
Dae-Dae looked up at me. “It’s locked?”
“Yeah,” I muttered, glancing down the empty street. Girl, what did you expect? This place had probably been boarded up for years.
“Maybe there’s another door, Mama.”
I looked down at my baby and smiled. He was a genius. There was another door around the back, and it used to stick. KO used to complain about it all the time. He used to say he needed to fix it before someone broke in.
“Come on, baby. Let’s try that other door.
” I swallowed and tightened my grip on Dae-Dae’s hand.
We moved along the side of the building toward the alley behind it.
A black car sat abandoned along the block.
I didn’t give it too much thought. Everyone had abandoned their vehicles once the roads started closing.
The back entrance came into view at the end of the alley.
Same metal door. Same warped frame. I grabbed the handle and pulled. It didn’t move.
“Come on,” I muttered as I braced my foot against the wall and pulled harder. The door jerked loose with a loud scrape, making Dae-Dae jump a little as it swung open. We stepped inside, and the stairwell was dark, but it was dry and warm, and relief rushed through me.
“Stay close,” I told him, and he nodded. I pushed the door shut behind us, silencing the wind howling behind us as Dae-Dae took off up the stairs before I could stop him.
“Dae-Dae, slow down,” I called, but he was already gone. I took a deep breath and hurried after him up the dark staircase, telling myself the same thing repeatedly. We were just waiting out the storm. This was just a dry place to stay until morning.