Chapter 14
Sound reaches me first again. Not sharp this time. Not broken the same way it was before. It’s deeper, steadier, like it has weight behind it instead of slipping through me. It presses at the edges of my awareness until I can’t ignore it anymore.
A voice. Low. Rough. Not raised. It doesn’t rush. It doesn’t trip over itself. It moves slow and certain, like every word lands exactly where it’s meant to without needing to be forced there.
Another voice answers.
Softer. Female. Calm in a different way. Not heavy. Not sharp. Just…grounded. Like it’s built to hold something steady instead of control it.
I don’t understand the words at first. They blur together, too far away, like I’m still behind whatever wall kept everything out before. Then something catches.
“…she’ll wake confused.” The softer voice.
“She’ll wake,” the deeper one replies. Not a question. A statement.
Something in my chest tightens.
Are they talking about me?
The thought forms slowly, like everything else, but once it’s there it doesn’t leave.
“She’s stable,” the softer voice says again. “Doc said—”
“I heard him.” That low voice again. Closer now. It cuts through everything else. I don’t know why that matters. It does.
My body shifts. Not because I tell it to.
Because something is waking up. My fingers twitch.
This time I feel it. The sensation is delayed, like my body has to send the message twice before my brain accepts it, but it’s there.
My hand feels…heavy. Not numb. Not gone.
Just weighed down like something is attached to it.
My arm follows. Slow. Uncoordinated. I try to move it again, more intentionally.
It drags. Something pulls at the back of my hand, a tightness that wasn’t there before.
My brow furrows. That’s new too. The ability to react to something instead of just noticing it.
My breathing changes. Not by much. But enough.
The low voice goes quiet.
The softer one shifts closer. “I think she’s coming around.”
My heart stutters. That’s mine. That’s something I control. Or at least something I feel. It speeds up, not fast enough to panic, but faster than it was. Enough to push something sharp into my chest.
Awake.
I’m waking up. The realization lands all at once. Not gradual. Not soft. And with it comes everything else.
The memory doesn’t return clean. It slams. Cold air. Footsteps. Hands. The sharp sting at my neck. The world dropping out from under me.
My eyes snap open. Light hits too hard. Too bright. It burns for half a second before my vision tries to adjust, shapes coming into focus in pieces instead of all at once.
White. A ceiling. Too unfamiliar.
I inhale too quickly, and the breath catches in my throat, breaking before it finishes. My chest tightens, panic clawing up from where it’s been waiting, quiet and patient.
Where am I?
The question doesn’t come out. It explodes inside my head.
I try to sit up. My body doesn’t cooperate the way I expect it to. My arm jerks instead of lifting smoothly, and the pull at the back of my hand sharpens, stopping me halfway. I look down.
There’s a line. Clear. Running from a bag hanging beside me down into my hand. An IV. The sight of it makes my stomach drop.
Hospital?
No.
This doesn’t feel like a hospital. The room is wrong. Too small. Too…contained.
I push again, trying to sit up, trying to get my body under me, trying to move out of this position that feels too vulnerable, too exposed.
“Hey, don’t—” The softer voice moves quickly. A woman steps into my line of sight, hands lifting but not touching me yet. She’s careful about it, like she’s waiting for permission she knows I won’t give. “Easy,” she says. “You’re okay. Just take a second.”
I shake my head immediately. “No.” My voice comes out rough, barely there, like I haven’t used it in hours.
My throat feels dry, tight, like something scraped it on the way back.
“I’m not…this isn’t…where am I?” The words trip over each other, faster than my body can keep up with. I try to pull my hand free.
The IV tugs. Pain flares.
I flinch.
“Okay, stop, you’re going to rip it out,” she says, still calm, still steady, but closer now. Not touching. Not yet.
That matters. I don’t know why. It does. “Who are you?” I ask, my voice shaking now. “Where am I? What is this?” My chest is rising too fast. Breathing too fast. The panic is there now. Not quiet anymore. Loud. Sharp. Real.
“You’re safe,” she says.
I laugh. It comes out wrong. Broken. “That’s not…this isn’t safe. I don’t know where I am.”
“I know,” she says. “I know it doesn’t feel that way.
But you are.” Her voice doesn’t change. That’s the thing that keeps me from completely losing it.
It doesn’t spike. Doesn’t rush. It stays steady like she’s done this before.
Like she knows what this looks like. “Listen to me,” she continues.
“My name is Brooke. You’re at a clubhouse.
You were brought here because someone tried to take you. ”
The words hit.
Take you.
My stomach flips.
The memory pushes forward again. The van. The hands. The needle.
I suck in a breath. Too sharp. Too fast. “I…no…there was—”
“You don’t have to remember it all right now,” Brooke says quickly. “That’ll come back later. What matters is you’re here, and you’re okay.”
“I’m not okay,” I say, my voice breaking fully now. “I’m in a place I don’t know with people I don’t—” My gaze shifts.
I see more of the room. A doorway. Shadows moving past it. Voices beyond it. Male. Too many.
My chest tightens harder. “No,” I whisper. “No, no, no—”
“They’re not coming in,” Brooke says immediately. “You’re in a private room. No one’s coming in unless you say it’s okay. I promise.”
I shake my head again. “You can’t promise that.”
“I can,” she says. And the way she says it is not defensive, not trying to convince me. Just…certain.
It slows something. Not the panic. But the spiral. My breathing stutters again, still too fast, still too shallow, but not climbing higher.
Brooke watches me carefully. “Look at me,” she says softly.
I do. I don’t know why. I just do.
“Breathe,” she says. “In through your nose. Slow. Then out.”
I try. It doesn’t work the first time. Or the second. But by the third, something shifts. My chest loosens just enough to pull in a full breath. Then another. Not steady. Not calm. But better.
“That’s it,” she murmurs. “You’re doing okay.”
I shake my head weakly. “I’m not.”
“You are,” she says. “It just doesn’t feel like it yet.”
My grip tightens on the blanket beneath me. The IV tugs again. I wince. “Can you take this out?” I ask, my voice small now, raw. “Please, I don’t—”
“Not yet,” she says gently. “Doc put that in to help you. You were drugged. We need to make sure it’s out of your system safely.”
Drugged.
The word lands heavy.
Real.
My throat tightens again. “I need to go,” I say, the thought pushing forward with urgency now. “I need to get out of here. I need to call my family—”
“It’s okay,” Brooke says. “We have your phone. It’s broken, but we can get you another one. You can call them. Just, give it a minute.”
A minute.
That feels impossible. Everything feels like too much. Too fast. Too wrong. I push up again, ignoring the pull in my hand this time, forcing my body to cooperate.
Brooke steps back slightly, giving me space. That helps. Not being touched helps.
But the second I’m more upright, the room tilts. My vision blurs again. My stomach drops.
“Okay, maybe sit back,” Brooke says quickly.
I don’t have a choice. My body makes it for me. I fall back against the pillows, breath coming harder now, frustration mixing with fear. “I can’t even move,” I whisper.
“You can,” she says. “Just not all at once.” That doesn’t make me feel better.
My gaze drifts again. Toward the doorway. There’s movement. A shadow shifts.
Then…he steps into view.
Everything in me reacts. Immediate. Instinctive. Fear spikes sharp and fast, my body tensing before I can stop it, breath catching in my throat.
He’s large. That’s the first thing. Not just tall. Solid. He fills the doorway without trying, presence hitting the room before he even fully steps inside. Dark clothes. Leather. Blood on his clothes. His face is hard. Not angry. Not wild. Just…contained.
Too contained.
That’s worse.
My heart slams harder.
This is him.
I don’t know how I know. I just do. The one from the street. Something in my chest shifts. Not away from the fear. Alongside it.
He doesn’t move closer immediately. He stops just inside the room, like there’s a line he won’t cross without deciding to. His eyes are on me. Not scanning. Not distracted. Locked. Focused in a way that should feel like a threat. It doesn’t. Or it does. Just not the way I expect.
He doesn’t look frantic. Doesn’t look unpredictable. Doesn’t look like he’s about to do something I can’t anticipate. He looks… controlled. Like everything he does is already decided before it happens. That steadies something. Not everything. Not enough. But something.
My breathing is still uneven. My hands still shake. My heart is still racing. But the panic doesn’t spike higher. It stays where it is. Held. Balanced between fear and something else I don’t understand yet.
Brooke glances between us, reading something I can’t see. “He’s the one who brought you here,” she says quietly.
I look at her. Then back at him. “That doesn’t help,” I whisper.
She gives a small, almost sad smile. “I know.”
He takes one step forward. Slow. Deliberate. Giving me time to react. I don’t move. I don’t think I can. But I don’t flinch either. His voice comes out low when he speaks. “You’re awake.” It’s not a question. Not soft. Not harsh.
Just…there.
My throat tightens. “Yes.” The word is barely audible.
His gaze drops briefly. To the IV. To the way I’m gripping the blanket. To the tension in my shoulders. Then back to my face. “You’re safe.”
The same words Brooke used.
They land differently from him. He doesn’t try to convince me. He doesn’t explain. He just says it like it’s already true whether I believe it or not.
My heart stutters again. I don’t trust him. I don’t know him. I should be more afraid than I am. But standing there, he doesn’t feel like the danger. He feels like something else. Something worse. Something better. Something I don’t have a name for yet.
And for the first time since I woke up…
Fear and something steadier exist at the same time.
And I don’t know which one is going to win.