Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Gabbi
The cave was dark, damp, and colder than I expected.
My fingers trembled as I pushed past the vines at the entrance, my breath tight, uneven.
The night outside had been thick with tension, every step I took toward safety feeling like I was walking straight into a trap.
But somehow, I had made it back. The guards had believed my lie—at least for now. I had bought us time.
Inside, the glow of a small fire flickered weakly, its light barely touching the rough stone walls.
The air smelled of damp earth, charred wood, and something else—fear, exhaustion, survival.
The boys were huddled together against the far wall, wrapped in thin blankets, their small bodies curled up for warmth.
Some were asleep, others just staring blankly into the darkness, too tired, too traumatized to rest.
And then, there was Bobby.
He stood near the fire, his back against the wall, arms crossed, his posture stiff. He wasn’t sleeping. Of course, he wasn’t. He had been waiting.
His eyes found mine the second I stepped inside. They were unreadable, dark, sharp like a blade pressed against my throat. I couldn’t tell if he was angry or relieved. Maybe both.
I took a slow step forward, my legs aching, my body screaming for rest, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Not when I could feel the weight of his gaze following every movement.
"You took too long," Bobby said, his voice low, rough.
I exhaled, lowering myself onto a flat rock near the fire, stretching out my sore legs. "I had to be sure they didn’t turn back," I murmured.
Bobby didn’t move. He didn’t blink. The tension in his jaw tightened, his arms pressing harder against his chest. He was holding himself together by a thread.
Silence stretched between us, thick, suffocating. Then, finally, he pushed off the wall, stepping closer, his movements slow, controlled—too controlled.
"If you had gotten caught—" he started, but his voice cut off like he physically couldn’t finish the sentence.
I tilted my head back against the cave wall, staring up at the uneven ceiling. My entire body felt heavy, exhaustion pressing down on me like a weight I couldn’t shake. I wanted to close my eyes, wanted to forget, even for a moment.
But I couldn’t.
Not when my skin still burned where Victor had touched me. Not when his voice still curled around my thoughts, a whisper that wouldn’t go away.
A lump formed in my throat. The words tumbled out before I could stop them. "He almost did it, Bobby."
The cave went silent.
I didn’t look at him. I didn’t need to. I could feel the shift in the air, the way everything inside him locked up, went rigid.
His voice came out hoarse, low. Dangerous. "Who?"
I swallowed hard, my fingers curling into the fabric of my pants. "Victor."
Bobby inhaled sharply, his breath loud in the stillness. And then, he didn’t move.
I could feel the anger rolling off him, a slow, simmering thing, crawling up his spine, twisting into something lethal. But he didn’t speak. Didn’t even breathe.
I didn’t stop. I needed to get it out. I needed to say it.
"He touched me," I whispered, my voice barely there. "He was so close, I could feel him breathing. He smelled my hair, whispered in my ear. He—" I exhaled sharply, my stomach twisting. "He was waiting for me to give in."
Bobby moved.
His boots scraped against the stone as he turned away from me, his shoulders rising and falling too fast. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white, his entire body vibrating with rage.
"If I hadn’t gotten there?—"
His voice broke. Just for a second.
I reached out, my fingers wrapping around his wrist before he could pull away from me completely. He tensed, his muscles locked, like a coil wound too tight, like he was barely keeping himself from shattering.
"You did," I said, my voice firm.
He didn’t look at me at first. His breathing was rough, uneven, his hands still fists at his sides. The firelight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharpness of his jaw, the anger in his eyes.
"Bobby," I whispered.
His head snapped toward me, his gaze burning. I had never seen him like this. Never seen him this raw, this close to breaking.
And then, he was in front of me.
His hands came down on either side of me, bracing against the rock, caging me in. Not trapping me. Holding himself up. Holding himself together.
"He’s dead," he said, voice like gravel. "He’s gone."
I nodded. "I know."
But it wasn’t enough.
Victor was gone. His body was cooling in that cabin, blood soaking into the wooden floors. But he wasn’t really gone. Not from me. Not from my skin, my mind.
Bobby saw it. He saw everything.
And then, without another word, he pulled me into his arms.
The embrace was tight, desperate, like he needed to feel that I was still here, still breathing, still whole. My fingers dug into his back, gripping the fabric of his shirt, my breath catching.
We stood there, wrapped in each other, the sound of the boys’ soft breathing the only thing filling the cave.
Bobby’s hand slid into my hair, his fingers tangling there, his breath warm against my temple. "I should’ve killed him slower," he muttered.
A soft, broken sound left me. A laugh. A sob. "I don’t care how fast or slow it was," I whispered. "I just care that he’s dead."
Bobby’s grip tightened.
For a long time, we just stood there, holding onto each other, neither of us moving, neither of us speaking.
Eventually, my body sagged against his, exhaustion winning.
Bobby held me up.
And for the first time since Victor died, I let myself feel safe.
But even in the silence, his ghost still lingered.