Chapter 29 Kaios
I hear Nyx’s car before I see it—engine roars down the gravel driveway, tires spitting loose stones in its wake. He’s pissed. I know he is, but knowing doesn’t make it any easier.
My stomach twists, a tight knot of nerves I can’t explain. I’ve been standing here for what feels like hours, pacing the same twelve steps over and over, trying to figure out how this is going to go, how I’m going to explain, how he’s going to react.
The car screeches to a halt, and the door slams so hard it echoes against the cliffside. I don’t move. I just watch as Nyx strides toward me, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing like he wants to kill me. Maybe he should.
“Look,” I start, but I don’t even get the chance to finish before he grabs me, pulling me into a hug so crushing I feel like my ribs might snap. For a second, I let him hold me, his relief bleeding into my own. Then, just as fast, he shoves me back, and his fist flies straight into my jaw.
The crack echoes in my skull, pain flaring white-hot as my head jerks to the side. I stumble, tasting copper as blood pools in my mouth. My teeth feel loose, and for a second, I think he might have knocked one out.
“What the fuck?” he snaps, his voice vibrating with fury. He grabs my shirt, yanking me upright. “Do you have any idea—any fucking idea—what you two put me through?”
I spit blood onto the gravel, my jaw throbbing. “If I’d called you, you would’ve left Naomi,” I say flatly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Damn right, I would’ve left her!” he shouts, shaking me. “She would’ve been fine with Xay and Cade. You know that.”
I shake my head, wrenching out of his grip. “No. It’s not the same.”
“Not the same?” he snaps, throwing his hands up. “What the hell, Kaios? I know you’re fucked for her, and I…”
Our eyes meet, and for just a split second, something shifts in his expression.
“I would never let any harm come to her.” He storms past me, muttering under his breath, and heads straight into the house.
I follow him down the antiseptic-smelling hallway, the sound of machines humming faintly in the background. Dr. Mortez meets us halfway, his face calm but serious.
“He’s stable,” Mortez says, glancing at Nyx. “I induced a coma to prevent him from exacerbating his injuries. He was agitated and was insisting on finding Naomi. That kind of stress could’ve been fatal.”
Nyx’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything. His fists clench and unclench at his sides as the Doctor continues.
“There’s something else,” Mortez says, holding up a tablet displaying Jaxon’s medical scans. “His wound has healed at an unprecedented rate. Overnight, the injury closed completely, but there is still some bruising. There’s no medical explanation for such a rapid recovery.”
Nyx stares at the images, disbelief etched across his features. “This doesn’t make sense,” he mutters.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Mortez admits. “Even with advanced treatments, such healing is… extraordinary.”
Nyx stares at the scans for a beat before shoving the tablet back into Mortez’s hands. He doesn’t say anything—just strides toward Jaxon’s room like he can’t get there fast enough.
I trail after him, my stomach knotting.
When Nyx pushes open the door, the sight of Jaxon stops him cold.
He’s pale—too pale. The sharp edges of his face look wrong against the sterile hospital bed, tubes and wires winding around him like some kind of lifeline. The machines beep steadily, a cold, clinical reminder that he’s still here.
Nyx turns to Doctor Mortez, eyes narrowed. “So, what’s next, Doc?”
He holds his gaze, the weight of unspoken truths hanging heavy between us. “I don’t have all the answers,” he says, quietly. “But I promise you, we’ll figure this out.”
He studies him for a moment longer, then nods, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “We’d better,” he says, his voice softening. “For Jaxon’s sake.”
As we stand there, the steady beep of the heart monitors the only sound. I can’t shake the feeling that this is just the beginning—of answers we may not be ready to face.
The hum of the machines fades into silence as Dr. Mortez finally lifts the sedation. The room is heavy with anticipation, Nyx and I standing like statues as Jaxon stirs. His eyelids flutter, and he groans softly, his body sluggish as it fights to wake up.
The first word out of his mouth—croaked and broken—is, “Naomi.”
The breath in my chest feels stolen. Nyx leans forward, his face softening in relief, but I stay still, watching. It’s like Jaxon’s very soul pulled that name to the surface, instinctive and raw.
Dr. Mortez steps in, adjusting the monitors and checking Jaxon’s vitals with precision. “He’s looking good,” the doctor announces. “I’ll keep him here for observation for a few more hours, just to be sure.”
Jaxon’s head lolls, but his lips move again, murmuring Naomi’s name in an almost unconscious mantra. I glance at Nyx, who nods but says nothing.
The hours stretch, filled with quiet murmurs and clipped instructions from Mortez. By the time we make it back to the yacht, the sun is setting, casting a burnt-orange hue over the water.
Naomi is on the deck—watching, waiting—as if she’s been standing there all afternoon. Her curls are wild from the sea breeze, her eyes wide and frantic. The moment she spots Jaxon, leaning heavily on Nyx’s shoulder, she pauses for a moment as if she’s seen a ghost, and breaks into a sprint.
“Jaxon!” Her voice cracks as she reaches him. Her eyes roam over his face before she cautiously moves closer, and her eyes begin to glisten. He wraps her up in his arms without hesitation, holding her like she’s the only thing tethering him to the world.
She doesn’t even notice me. I’m there, not even five feet away, but yet I seem invisible to her. Caught between Naomi’s soft cries and his gentle reassurances—it all blurs together as I stand on the edges of their world.
“Thank you, God,” she sobs. Jaxon makes a face. He’s never been a believer; none of us have. When you have been through some of the shit we’ve been through, it’s hard to believe that there is some entity in the sky that watches over you, cares about you.
Now, he’s read many other religious teachings, coming to the same conclusion: No one’s there.
He doesn’t say a word, though, which is unusual because Jaxon always has something to say.
Always. He’s the one who argues with priests just to see their faith crack, the one who questions every belief until someone stumbles over their own convictions.
But now, his lips press into a thin line, his jaw tightening like he’s physically biting down on whatever thought just lit up in his head.
“You’re okay,” she whispers, her voice cracking like she’s trying to convince herself. “You’re okay. You came back to me.”
I see it then, the flicker in his eyes. Guilt. Regret. Something dark and heavy that he doesn’t want her to see but can’t quite hide.
“I’m here,” he murmurs finally. “Everything is going to be all right, Reina.”
But the way he says it… It doesn’t sound like reassurance. It sounds like a confession.
She’s still sobbing, clutching the remnants of her faith like it’s the only thing holding her together. And maybe it is. She looks fragile, raw, like her belief is the only shield she has against the world.
For a moment, I wonder what it’s like to believe, to hold on to something so intangible. I can’t picture it. Faith has never been my thing. The closest I’ve ever come is loyalty—to my brothers, to Naomi—but that’s rooted in flesh and blood, not sky and spirit.
Jaxon shifts beside me, his tension radiating like heat. Whatever he’s holding back, it’s tearing him up inside as he holds her.
He doesn’t look back as he walks up the passerelle with her and into the boat. I watch them, a mixture of emotions swirling within me. There’s relief that Jaxon is recovering, but also a pang of something else as I observe Naomi’s unguarded affection toward him.
For the first time, it feels hollow. The thrill of the chase, the stolen moments, the secrecy—it seems lackluster in comparison. A bitter thought twists in my chest: I want more.
‘Pussy’. Cain chuckles. ‘I never thought I’d see the day you went soft over cunt.’
They’ve been quiet for almost two days, but he chooses now to make an entrance. Always when I let my guard down. I huff, trudging inside after Nyx.
After Jaxon is settled in his cabin, curled up with Naomi like they’re two halves of the same whole, I find Nyx alone on the deck, his back against the rail as he takes deep drags from a joint.
The moonlight shimmers off the water, but my attention is drawn to Nyx’s intense gaze as he passes the joint to me.
“I’m leaving,” I finally say, inhaling deeply and feeling the burn of smoke in my lungs. I exhale slowly, trying to savor the pain.
Nyx turns to face me, his brow raised in question. “Where are you going?”
“Verrin,” I reply casually, trying to mask the urgency in my voice. “Need to clear my head.”
He studies me for a moment too long, his eyes scanning my face as if searching for something hidden. Finally, he speaks. ”Do what you have to do.”
“And you?” I ask, handing him the joint back. ”Where are you all heading?”
“Catalina, I think. Just for a few days, until things cool off.”
He gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze before taking another pull and passing the joint back to me. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Yeah,” I grit out, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “I’ll manage.”
“Hey, look. I’m sorry about today.” Nyx is the only one of us who is big on apologies, and he doesn’t give one unless it’s honest.
“I know.” I shrug, letting the apology roll off me. “You were worried. I get that.”
“Don’t get into too much trouble while we’re gone.” He chuckles before flicking the remainder of the joint overboard and heading inside with one last pat on my back.
Verrin Hall is quiet tonight; the only sound is the faint crackle of the fireplace in my office. Seated at my desk, the glow of the monitors in front of me illuminates the room. My fingers drum idly on the polished wood as I stare at the screen, watching Naomi and Jaxon on the yacht’s cameras.
It was supposed to be a precaution—something to give me peace of mind when we weren’t there. Instead, it’s become an anchor, tying me to something I can’t let go of.
I watch them talking, their fingers entwined as they whisper in the dark, and I’m tempted to turn on the sound in the room just to see what normal people talk about in bed—surely not how they want to shatter her sanity—but I don’t.
Instead, I watch them until they’re asleep, tangled together in between the sheets. Naomi’s head rests on his chest, her face peaceful, like all of the danger in her life doesn’t exist in this moment. Jaxon’s arm drapes protectively over her, his fingers tangled in her soft curls.
And I can’t tear my eyes away.
I lean back in my chair, my jaw tight. The sight of them together stirs something in me, something I’ve buried for years.
That same sense of longing I thought I’d buried with my mother.
It’s not jealousy—it’s deeper than that.
It’s the realization that I want something I don’t even know how to name.
Naomi doesn’t even know it was me behind the mask, doesn’t realize I was the one watching her from the shadows.
Though it’s true—Naomi likes the chase, she revels in being afraid and likes the breathless feeling of the unknown.
But the deepest part of her wants more, craving the intimacy of coiled bodies and familiar fingers tangled in her hair.
Does she want to be fucked raw? Yeah. But she wants it from someone whose heart is open to her. That’s why my brother is perfect for her. Jaxon can give her something I’ve never been capable of or cared enough to explore. She doesn’t need some dismally damaged soul.
But that doesn’t stop the ache in my chest.
I glance at the other monitors, scanning the rest of the yacht for any signs of movement. It’s a habit, a way to distract myself, but my gaze keeps drifting back to that one screen. To them.
The fire crackles behind me, casting flickering shadows on the walls.
I pick up my glass of vodka from the desk and take a slow sip, but the burn does nothing to ease the tension coiling in my chest. But it tastes like childhood, reminding me how dysfunctional I am.
As if mocking me, images of my formative years slink their way to the forefront of my mind.
“Can you suck cock, boy?” His voice is low, his thick Russian accent wrapping around the words like a noose. He drags a calloused thumb over my bottom lip.
My mother’s lips. I’ve grown to hate them. Hate the way men linger on them, kiss them, tell me how soft they are—how they remind them of a woman’s.
His thumb presses harder, the roughness scraping against the raw skin. Some Johns speak English to me. Others use my mother’s tongue. It doesn’t matter—they all say the same shit in the end, the same filthy praises when they’re buried inside me.
“Ye-” The word is a croak, my throat shredded from overuse. I swallow hard, trying again. “Yes. I know how.”
This one will be the seventh today. Lucky number seven. And his prize? Me.
“Good.” His cracked lips twist into a cruel smile, one that sets my stomach churning. Acid rises in my throat as nausea creeps up my spine, but I don’t let it show as he shoves me to my knees, my bones cracking against the tattered wooden floors of the monastery.
I glance up, locking eyes with his—pale blue, dead and empty. The kind of eyes that don’t see you as human. His smile widens, “Show me.”
I bash my head against the smooth wood of the desk—over and over and over again, harder and harder—until white-hot pain flares in my frontal lobe, arresting the images.
I could never be what she needs. I’m dirty. Unworthy.
The games of cat and mouse with Naomi, the stolen moments—they’re enough. They have to be. But as I sit here, watching her sleep in Jaxon’s arms, I know that’s a lie. I lay my head flat on the desk, my cheek flush against the cool surface.
For the first time in years, I feel like I’m standing on the outside, looking in. And it’s starting to feel unbearable.
‘Don’t worry. That’s why we’re here, so you’ll never be alone again,’ Vael says.
The words are a soft caress, a dark whisper against the fragments of my shattered soul.