26. Alexandra
Morning comes without asking.
Not gently. Not with light and coffee and the normal cues that tell you the world is still intact. It creeps in through the windows in thin, gray strips, catching on half-empty bottles and abandoned chairs and faces that haven’t slept.
No one went to bed.
The clubhouse hums with low voices and quiet purpose. Phones charging. Laptops open. People coming and going in measured bursts like this is just another problem to be handled — because for them, it is.
Cole has been gone all night.
Cyber’s set up at the end of the bar, fingers flying across a keyboard, three screens glowing in front of him like a command center. Every so often someone stops to murmur something in his ear. He nods. Types faster. Doesn’t look stressed.
That somehow makes it worse.
The brothers aren’t panicked. They’re pissed.
Not at me.
At the authorities. At the audacity of federal boots walking into their space and putting hands where they didn’t belong. There’s a simmer under everything — tight jaws, clipped voices, restrained violence that’s being deliberately held in check.
I’m perched on the edge of a chair near the wall, knees pulled up, hands wrapped around a mug that’s gone cold. Guilt coils in my stomach anyway, sharp and relentless.
If I hadn’t been here. If I hadn’t existed. If I hadn’t been worth threatening.
Cole wouldn’t be in a cell right now.
Bruiser drops into the chair across from me without asking. He’s been up all night too — same clothes, same steady presence, eyes sharp but calm in that way that suggests he’s already made peace with the outcome.
“You eat?” he asks.
I shake my head.
He slides a protein bar across the table anyway. “Do it.”
I peel it open obediently, chewing without tasting anything.
“This isn’t your fault,” he says after a beat.
I let out a humorless breath. “You’re going to have to be more convincing than that.”
Bruiser leans back, arms crossing over his chest. “They didn’t show up because of you. They showed up because someone pointed them here. That’s on whoever made the call.”
“He wouldn’t have lost it if it wasn’t about me.”
Bruiser’s gaze sharpens. Not angry — certain. “Yeah. He would have.”
I look up at him.
“That’s who he is,” Bruiser continues. “You were just the line. Anyone touches what’s his, he reacts. Always has.”
“What if this costs him?” I whisper. “What if it sticks?”
“It won’t,” he says calmly. “Cyber’s got it handled.”
As if summoned, Cyber looks up from his screens. “I do,” he confirms. “Paper trail’s clean. Body cams worked against them. Assault charge gets ugly when they initiated contact.”
My chest tightens. “You sound very sure.”
“I am,” he replies. “Worst case, he spends the morning annoyed in county. Best case, he’s back before lunch.”
That earns a few dark chuckles from nearby tables.
Still, my hands won’t stop shaking.
Bruiser notices. He always notices.
“You know,” he says quietly, “when we were kids, Stone broke a guy’s nose for calling his sister a name.”
I blink. “He did?”
“Didn’t even think about it,” Bruiser says. “Just reacted. Got grounded for a month. Thought it was worth it.”
That image lands somewhere warm and painful in my chest.
“He chose you,” Bruiser adds. “Every part of this. The good and the fallout. That doesn’t mean you carry it for him.”
I swallow. “I hate that he’s in there alone.”
Bruiser’s mouth twitches. “He’s not alone. Half the county knows better than to fuck with him. And he knows we’re here.”
He stands, then hesitates, like this next part costs him a little.
“You’re family now,” he says. “That means when shit hits, we close ranks. We don’t assign blame.”
Something in my chest loosens.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
He nods once, already turning away. “Eat the bar.”
“Bruiser,” I say before he can fully turn away.
He pauses, glances back at me.
“I can’t just sit here,” I add. “I need to do something.”
He studies me for a moment, weighing it. Not dismissive. Not indulgent either.
“There’s nothing you can do about him right now,” he says honestly. “That part’s handled.”
“I know,” I reply. “But I’m not useless.”
A corner of his mouth lifts — just barely. “Never said you were.”
He thinks for a second, then nods once, decisive. “Alright. If you really want to help — get your papers together. Everything. Visa. Enrollment. Housing. Financials. Clean and ready.”
My stomach tightens. “You think they’re coming back.”
“They don’t make threats they don’t mean,” he says calmly. “But when they do, we want nothing for them to grab onto.”
“When,” I echo.
Bruiser’s gaze stays steady. “When.”
I nod. “Okay.”
He hesitates, then adds, quieter, “You do that, you’re helping more than you know.”
Something about that — the trust in it — steadies me.
“I’ll take care of it,” I say.
He nods once more. “Good.”
I don’t linger.
I head straight for the room Cole and I share — our room — closing the door behind me and leaning against it for half a second while my heart catches up with my body.
His things are everywhere. Boots by the wall. Jacket slung over a chair. The bed still rumpled from where we slept last night, before everything broke.
I push through it.
Laptop. Folder. Passport. Visa paperwork. University acceptance letter. Enrollment verification. Bank statements. Everything I’ve kept meticulously organized because part of me has always known that paperwork can be the difference between staying and disappearing.
Once it’s spread across the bed, I pull out my phone and call Rasmus.
He answers on the second ring.
“Lex?” His voice sharpens immediately.
I swallow. “I need your help. I’m coming to campus.”
“What happened?”
“The authorities showed up at the clubhouse last night,” I say, forcing the words out cleanly. “They took Cole. Not for immigration — for assaulting an agent. But they’re coming back for me.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Okay,” Rasmus says finally, steady. “You’re legal.”
“I know,” I say. “But I want everything airtight. I want someone at the university looped in now.”
“Good,” he replies. “That’s exactly what you do.”
“Can you meet me?” I ask. “I don’t want to walk into this alone.”
“Of course,” he says immediately. “I’ll be outside the International Student Office in twenty minutes.”
Relief hits so fast it makes my eyes sting.
“Who do we talk to?” I ask.
“The DSO,” he says. “Designated School Official. They handle visas, SEVIS records, immigration compliance. They can issue verification letters, confirm status, flag your file if needed.”
“Perfect.”
“I’ll also email my advisor,” he adds. “Just in case.”
“Thank you,” I breathe.
“Lex,” he says gently, “you did nothing wrong.”
I close my eyes. “I know. I just need to make sure they can’t say otherwise.”
“We’ll handle it,” he says. “Get here safe.”
When I hang up, I sit on the bed for a moment, surrounded by paper and proof and the weight of how close everything came to breaking.
Then I square my shoulders.
If they’re coming back for me, I’ll be ready.
And when Cole comes home, I want him to know that while he was fighting for me — I was fighting too.
I don’t tell anyone I’m leaving.
Everyone’s busy — phones ringing, voices low and urgent, Cyber still working, Bruiser coordinating things that don’t include me. Slipping out feels almost too easy, like the universe is distracted.
I grab my bag, double-check that my passport and paperwork are inside, and pull my jacket on.
I’ll be quick, I tell myself. In and out. Then back.
The morning air is cold, sharp enough to wake me fully. I keep my head down as I walk, pace brisk but not rushed, blending into the early movement around campus. Students pass me with coffee cups and backpacks, oblivious, wrapped in their own routines.
I’m almost relieved by the normalcy of it.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. A text from Rasmus.
Outside International Student Office.
I type back Two minutes and slide the phone away.
That’s when I hear it.
An engine slowing.
Too close.
I glance sideways just as a dark van rolls up beside me, nondescript, no markings. The passenger door slides open.
There’s no warning. No time to react.
Hands grab me — hard, practiced — one clamping over my mouth, another locking around my arm. I try to scream, but the sound dies in my throat as I’m yanked off balance.
My bag hits the ground.
The door slams shut.
Someone says my name.
Then something sharp and chemical floods my senses.
The world tilts violently, sound warping, edges blurring as panic detonates in my chest.
Cole.
That’s the last clear thought I have.
Then everything goes dark.