CHAPTER ELEVEN #2
I don’t move. I can’t. I just stare at the man’s now greying skin tone and the way his body is slumped so unnaturally.
Why didn’t I notice?
Ray’s hand clamps around my arm, pulling me up and away from the table before I can even process what’s happening.
“Come on,” he mutters, steering me through the crowd, his body shielding mine from the surge of people.
I glance back once, catching a glimpse of his wife sobbing beside him. My stomach twists.
Vinn appears at Ray’s side, and there’s a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “We should go,” he says.
Ray looks equally as amused as he agrees, leading the way out.
An uneasy feeling sweeps through me. This all feels too . . . arranged.
RAY
As we move towards the exit, I catch Joel by the arm as he passes.
“Did you get rid of the glass?” I murmur.
“Of course, boss,” he replies under his breath, flashing a quick wink before continuing on. I let him go without another glance.
“Is he going to be okay?” Wynter asks beside me. Her face is pale, her hand trembling slightly in mine.
“No,” I say evenly. “He’s dead.”
“But maybe they can bring him back?” she presses, her voice unsteady.
I shrug lightly, like it doesn’t matter. “Maybe.” But I already know they won’t. Joel did his job properly. The poison would’ve slowed his heart, dragged it to a stop without warning. Clean. Quiet. By the time anyone thinks to question it, there’ll be nothing left to find.
To everyone else, it’ll look like what it is on paper—a heart attack.
“It was probably health related,” Sofia adds smoothly. “A heart attack. He wasn’t exactly young.”
Wynter shudders beside me. “It just gives me chills,” she murmurs. “Knowing he was sitting there like that and I was . . .”
Her words trail off, her cheeks flushing. I glance at her, already knowing where her mind’s gone. “Sitting right opposite,” she finishes quickly. I grin slightly, tightening my grip on her hand as we step out into the night air.
When we get home, Wynter disappears to shower. I head straight to Anika’s room to find her awake.
Her eyes fix to me and narrow, “What did you do?” she snaps.
I pause. “What?”
“Don’t play dumb,” she fires back. “A dinner party with judges? I’m not stupid, Ray.”
I shrug, like it’s nothing. “Vinn invited us.”
“You arranged it,” she shoots back, her eyes blazing. “So that you could get to Luke’s judge.”
A grin tugs at my mouth. She always could read me too well. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Stop it,” she snaps. “I know Luke’s going for full custody.”
My smile fades instantly. “And how would you know that?” I ask slowly.
I haven’t told her. Sebastian doesn’t know.
So, how the fuck?
“You’re wasting your time,” she says, her voice suddenly quieter. “Luke’s right. He can give Sebastian a better life.”
I close the distance between us, my face inches from hers. “Don’t you fucking say that,” I roar. “Don’t you dare give up on him.”
Her eyes fill with tears instantly. “You never listen to me anymore,” she whispers.
“Because what you’re saying is bullshit.”
“I don’t want to live like this—”
“Enough,” I snap, stepping back, running a hand through my hair. I can’t hear this again. Not tonight. “Yah know what, Ani,” I mutter, turning for the door, “I’m gonna break my promise.”
“Ray, listen to me,” she cries.
I stop for half a second, but I don’t turn back. “I can’t.”
I walk out, slamming the door behind me. It doesn’t block out the sound of her sobbing. It hurts more knowing I’ve broken my promise of never walking out on an argument, but I can’t stand there and listen to her talking like she’s giving up.
The carer appears from the spare room, startled. “Everything okay?” she asks.
I nod once, already moving away. “Sit with her.”
“Of course.”
I find Wynter in the shower, and I strip off to join her.
After, we’re lying in bed, skin to skin, her tucked against me exactly where I want her. Exactly where I need her.
“You look sad,” she whispers, her fingers brushing over my cheek.
“You make me happy,” I murmur.
She smiles softly. “You make me happy too.”
I study her face for a moment, committing every detail to memory.
“It’s only been a few weeks,” I say quietly, “and I can’t get enough of you.
It’s like . . . I can’t breathe when you’re not beside me.
Everything outside of this,” I gesture vaguely, “is a fight. And all I want is to get back to you.”
Her expression shifts, concern creeping in. “Is everything okay?”
I nod, though it’s not entirely true. “Seeing that guy tonight . . .” I exhale slowly. “It makes me think about losing you.”
She huffs out a small laugh. “I don’t think I’ll be dropping dead any time soon.” Then she grins. “Unless you try that thing again, that you did the other night,” she says, her tone teasing.
I shake my head, a quiet laugh escaping me as I run my hand through her hair. But the humour fades quickly. “After what happened to Anika,” I say, my voice lower now, “I don’t take chances.”
She stills slightly. “What did happen to Anika?”
I hesitate. I don’t usually talk about this to anyone, but with her, it feels different, like I suddenly need to unburden all the shit that’s been weighing me down. “She got hurt because of me,” I admit. “Someone came looking for me. I wasn’t there, but she was.”
Wynter’s hand doesn’t leave my face. “What did they do?”
My jaw tightens. “They didn’t just hurt her,” I say carefully. “They made an example out of her.” Her fingers pause against my skin. “She was attacked,” I continue, keeping my tone controlled. “Badly. The doctors said her injuries were . . . extreme.”
I don’t give her every detail. I don’t need to. The look in her eyes tells me she understands enough.
“Why were they after you?” she asks softly.
“Because men like me make enemies,” I reply. “And those enemies don’t play fair.”
Her thumb brushes along my jaw. “Sofia said people are scared to come after you now.”
My mouth curves slightly. “Sofia talks too much.” I lean in, pressing a slow kiss to her lips. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of,” I murmur. “But I’d never hurt you. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure no one else does either.”
She studies me for a moment, like she’s trying to piece me together. “Why doesn’t Luke help out more?” she asks gently. “He must have loved her . . .”
“He wasn’t in a relationship with her. She was his mistress.
Luke’s been in and out of her life since she got pregnant.
He was never reliable, and he certainly wasn’t committed.
” My jaw tightens. “He’s not a good man, Wynter.
He got into her head, twisted things, made her question herself.
It took me a long time to make her see it for what it was.
Abuse.” I exhale sharply. “That’s why I don’t let him around here.
Every time he shows up, he chips away at her until there’s nothing left. ”
Wynter’s hand slips from my cheek. It’s only a small thing, but I notice it, just like I notice the way her brows suddenly furrow like she’s worrying.
“Oh,” she says quietly. “So, he hasn’t been around her for a long time?”
There’s something in her tone.
“No,” I reply, watching her closer now. “Not for a while. And if it were up to me, he’d be long gone.” My voice hardens. “I’d have killed him years ago.”
Her eyes flick up to mine.
“But Anika begged me not to. For Sebastian’s sake.” I pause. “I think part of her will always love him. No matter how much damage he’s done.”
Wynter swallows, her gaze drifting away for a second before she brings it back. “Didn’t she ever make him choose?” she asks. “To leave his wife . . . or at least tell her about Sebastian?”
“If she did, she never told me about it. And clearly, he stuck with his wife. He’s a bastard and she deserves better.”
WYNTER
I don’t sleep, not really. I lie there staring at the ceiling with Luke’s name circling my head like a bad omen. The way Ray spoke about him . . . the way Anika’s been lately . . .
It clicks too easily.
By six, I give up. I throw on a robe and head straight to her room. I won’t let him near her again. Not now I know what he’s like. But I also have a need to talk to her, to check if he’s the reason she’s been so quiet lately.
I push the door open quietly, and I instantly feel like something is off. I can’t explain it. The room just feels too still.
My gaze lands on Anika, and my stomach drops. The way she’s lying isn’t right. She’s tilted to one side, unmoving, just like the man from last night. Her lips are pale, her skin porcelain white.
“No,” I whisper, stepping closer. “Anika?” My heart starts pounding heavy in my chest. “Anika, wake up.” But there’s nothing, not even a slight stir.
I move closer, my hands trembling as I reach for her, carefully pressing my fingers to her neck. I instantly retract my hand, holding it to my chest and staring through widened eyes.
She’s cold. Ice cold. And her chest isn’t moving.
She’s not breathing.
“No—” The word barely leaves my lips before I’m running back to my room, almost slipping over. “Ray,” I gasp, shaking him hard. “Ray!”
He jolts awake, grabbing my wrist hard instinctively. I flinch. He releases me instantly when he realises it’s me.
“What?”
“It’s Anika,” I choke out. “She’s not . . . she’s not . . .”
He’s already moving, diving out of bed before I can finish. I follow, my legs barely keeping up.
“Anika,” he says, his voice low and urgent as he reaches her. He touches her forehead and freezes. “Fuck. Anika,” he says again, louder now, sharper. Then he shakes her. She’s lifeless, her head dropping forward.
I gasp as he slams his palm against the button, lowering the bed flat.
“Call an ambulance,” he orders.
The agency carer rushes in, she takes one look at Ray, and rushes to the bedside too. Ray begins pumping her chest, his movements hard, frantic.
I can’t move. It’s like I’m frozen to the spot.
“Wynter!” Ray roars. “Call an ambulance!”
The sound snaps something inside me, and I turn and run back into the bedroom to grab my phone.
My hands won’t stop shaking and I drop it. “Shit!” I snatch it up again and dial, pressing it to my ear and forcing myself to slow my breathing.
“I need an ambulance,” I gasp, the second the call connects, and I reel off the address.
“Okay,” the operator says calmly. “Is the patient breathing?”
A sob catches in my throat. “No. No, she’s not breathing.”
“Alright, I’m sending help now,” she says, steady and controlled. “But I need you to stay on the line. What’s your name?”
“Wynter,” I whisper.
“Okay, Wynter. Are you with the patient?”
“Ray’s with her,” I say, my voice trembling. “He’s doing CPR.”
“That’s good. That’s really good,” she reassures me. “I need you to go back to them and tell me exactly what’s happening.”
I force my legs to move back down the hallway, and I stop in Anika’s doorway. Ray is over her, his hands locked together as he drives down hard on her chest, over and over again. The carer is beside him, counting, checking, trying to guide him, but he’s not listening.
He’s growling under his breath, like he can force her heart to start just by sheer will.
“Oh god,” I whisper, my voice barely there. “I think . . . I think it’s too late.”
RAY
The ambulance crew feel like they take forever, and yet not long enough, because the moment they pull me away from Anika, I feel like fighting them so I can keep going. Because deep down, I know . . . I just know it’s over.
My back hits the wall, and I slide down it, my body folding in on itself as I sit there uselessly, watching strangers’ hands move over her, hearing their voices call out instructions that mean nothing now.
They keep going. They keep trying. But I know. She’s gone.
My best friend.
My whole fucking world.
Gone.
When the paramedic crouches in front of me, I don’t look at him properly. I can’t. I just nod, once, because I already understand what he’s about to say.
And saying it out loud will make it real.
“We’re going to tidy things up,” he says gently, his voice too calm, too soft for what’s just happened. “And then we’ll give you some time alone with her.”
Time.
A small word that feels so heavy. And it means nothing now, because she’s gone.
Somewhere behind me, I hear Wynter sobbing. It’s distant. Like it’s happening in another room, another life. But I know she’s here, I can feel her.
I should go to her. I should pull her close, tell her it’s okay.
But I can’t move.
I don’t have anything left in me.
So, I stay where I am, on the floor, staring straight ahead while everything around me carries on without me.
Eventually, the room empties. Voices fade. Footsteps disappear.
And then . . . . . . it’s just me and her.
I inhale deeply, like I’ve just remembered how. My eyes trail over her. She’s still lying flat. Everything about it is wrong. She hates lying flat—it makes her breathing worse, makes her uncomfortable—and my chest tightens at the thought that even now, even like this, she’s not where she should be.
I drag myself up, my body heavy, uncooperative, like it doesn’t belong to me anymore. And then slowly, carefully, I move to the head of the bed and press the controls, lifting her back up, adjusting her the way she likes.
The way she always asks me to.
“There,” I murmur hoarsely. “That’s better, yeah?” My voice cracks.
I tuck the blanket up to her chest. She looks peaceful, like she’s just fallen asleep. Like if I wait long enough, she’ll open her eyes and tell me to stop fussing over her.
I stare at her, drinking in every detail—her hair, her skin, the shape of her lips—trying to burn it all into my memory before it fades, before this moment becomes something I can’t hold on to anymore.
“You’re alright,” I whisper, my throat tightening. “I’ve got you.”
But my voice breaks on the words. Because for the first time in years . . .
I don’t.