Chapter Seven
Lia
Ishuffle into the kitchen, feet dragging. Leo and Carter are eating, mugs steaming in their hands. I don’t know how they function this early.
My body never truly shuts down. My mind is still stuck in that bathroom, waiting for a door to open that doesn’t exist anymore.
“And she rises,” Leo nudges a mug toward the empty seat beside him.
A groan escapes my lips. “Morning.”
“Another shitty night?” he asks.
“That’s my new normal.”
“Lia, how are you feeling today?” Carter asks.
“Muscles I didn’t know existed are staging a protest. I’m fairly certain Kylo is caffeinating his black heart and sketching out ways to dismantle my will to live as we speak.”
Carter lets out a dry laugh. “Well, your will to live is safe for twenty-four hours. I’m sending you both to the store.”
“Wait. Why are we off?” Leo asks.
“You both have the day to rest. I heard yesterday was rough for Lia.”
How do I explain something that hits before I can brace?
Whenever Kylo steps onto the mat, the air shifts. His frustration presses in like a second pulse, loud enough to drown out my own thoughts.
I’m already wound tight. Adding his anger feels like stacking weight onto a chest that’s barely rising—like it’s happening inside me, not around me.
My body reacts before my brain can catch up. Kylo’s face blurs, replaced by another man’s shadow—another set of hands coming in fast and close.
I know where I am. I know who he is.
My body doesn’t.
But I don’t tell them this.
“I’m just running on fumes,” I mutter, staring at my coffee. I have no intention of opening the cage and letting them see the blackness inside while we’re eating breakfast.
“Precisely why I’m giving you two the day off,” Carter says. “Here.” He reaches into his pocket, pulls a metal card from his wallet, and slides it across the table. “Since we haven’t determined the duration of your stay, buy what you want.”
The name etched into the surface reads: Elijah Mendez.
I don’t touch it. To me, it looks less like a gift and more like a tether. Everything they give me is a debt I don’t know how to pay back. Adding a blank check to the list feels like signing away the rest of my life.
“Who’s to say we don’t take your card and run?” I ask.
I lean forward, locking onto Carter’s eyes. I’m looking for the flinch, the hidden catch, the predatory gleam that usually comes with “free” things.
“You’re not prisoners. You’re guests.” Carter picks up his coffee, the steam veiling a look that’s almost paternal.
“You’re free to walk out the front door right now.
If you take the card and disappear, Elijah will report it stolen, and you’ll be back to looking over your shoulder in the rain. Your choice.”
Leo kicks my shin under the table, a sharp knock-it-off warning. He grabs the card, his fingers lingering on the metal before he pockets it. “What she meant to say was thank you. We’ll be careful with it.”
Carter winks at me. “It’s a valid question, Lia. Paranoia is a survival skill. I’d be worried if you didn’t have it. But today? Go buy shoes that don’t have holes in them.”
Men don’t offer handouts without a hidden agenda. Usually, the price is paid in bruises or something worse.
I look at my sleeves, stained with yesterday’s black streaks and smelling faintly of sweat. I’m down to my last clean shirt, and even that one has a frayed hem I can’t stop picking at.
Four outfits isn’t a wardrobe.
It’s a temporary kit for someone planning to die young.
Stepping into the city feels less like a shopping trip and more like walking into a hunting ground.
“Is it safe?” The question comes out quieter than I intended.
“I’m sending Zayne,” Carter says. “On standby. He stays with the car, ready if you need him. Other than that? The city is yours.”
“We’ll keep our eyes open,” Leo says. “In and out. No lingering.”
“It’s settled, then.” Carter stands. “I’ll wake Zayne. Try not to make his job too difficult.”
The drive is filled with the sounds of Zayne cursing and grunting as he fights morning traffic. He grips the steering wheel like he’s strangling it, radiating the kind of energy that says he’d rather be anywhere else than stuck playing babysitter to a pair of runaways.
We pull into a strip mall with sun-faded signs and cracked asphalt.
I glance down at my Chucks. They’re more gray than white, the canvas held together by a few stitches and the peeling remains of a logo. With every step, I feel the grit of the pavement through the holes in the soles.
I scan for dark fabrics and boots that won’t fall apart when I have to run. I need a week’s worth of layers that can survive training.
We hit the men’s section first. Leo moves through the aisles, bypassing anything with a logo or a bright color. He piles the cart with thick cotton shirts.
“Not into the flannel look?” I ask, nodding toward a rack of plaid that looks like it was pulled straight from Carter’s closet. Between him and Zayne, I’m pretty sure they’re keeping the flannel industry in business.
Leo chuckles. “The lumberjack thing isn’t my style.”
When he reaches the footwear, he skips the sneakers and finds the boots with thick rubber soles. He moves past a display of joggers and baseball caps, his hand lingering for a split second on a soft, gray hoodie.
It’s the kind of outfit he would have lived in back when we were just two normal college students. He pulls his hand back, settling for a pair of stiff, black cargo pants instead.
When it’s my turn, the sheer volume of choices reminds me of my old closet. I stand in the center of the aisle, my hands hovering over racks of cropped tops, neon, and jeans. Clothes that are too casual for my life. Everything is too thin, too tight, or too loud.
I end up in the dressing room, stripping away the sweat-stained pieces. When I walk out, I’m in black leggings, a polyester tank, and the same combat boots Leo picked out.
I do a slow lap in front of him, my arms spread wide. “Is this suitable for war? Or should I find something with more tactical pockets?”
Leo laughs, tipping his head back against a rack of coats. “Buy what you want. You need to be ready for a fight, but you also deserve to sit on a couch without smelling like a gym floor.”
Ready for a fight.
Turns out, you don’t forget your first lessons.
First it was surviving Joaquin’s heavy-handed rule. After that, it was the desperate scramble of college and homework, anything to build a wall between us and that house.
We were so close. We almost had a life that didn’t involve looking for exits.
I run my thumb over the black fabric in my hands. After everything Leo and I have been through, we’re still expected to breathe through the grief like it’s another sunny day.
They expect us to treat “war” like it’s normal.
To transition from late-night study sessions to sunrise drills.
I turn back to the racks, grabbing a pair of gray sweats and a hoodie so soft I could sleep in it. If I’m a soldier in a war I never asked for, I’ll at least take a piece of my old life with me.
Twenty minutes later, the mall’s recycled oxygen is replaced by the scent of cheap peppermint as we slip into a pharmacy. It’s a nondescript chain, the kind with old, stained carpet.
“Remember hiding out in the pharmacy down the street from school?” I ask, the wheels of our cart squeaking as we weave through the aisles.
Leo’s mouth twitches into a half-smile. “Yeah. Anything to stay out of the summer heat and away from that house.”
It was the August afternoons, when it felt like we were trapped in an oven, ducking into any air-conditioned storefront that would have us.
If we weren’t at our cove, watching the tide pull the sand from between our toes, we wandered through random stores just to hear the drone of refrigerators instead of the shouting back home.
I select what I need from the feminine aisle, then spot the pharmacy counter. “I’ll be right back.” I step away from the cart.
Leo’s hand shoots out, his fingers locking around my bicep. “I’ll go with you.”
“It’s just one aisle over, Leo.”
He relents, releasing me, and I slip away before he can change his mind.
“Refill?” The pharmacist looks up, her thick, square glasses reflecting the overhead lights in twin pink squares. Red curls spill from her ponytail, looking startlingly bright against the sterile white of her coat. Her nametag, Lizzie, glints as she leans forward.
“Yes, please.”
“No problem. I need your ID and date of birth.”
“An ID? I… I didn’t realize. I don’t have it on me.”
Back home, my prescriptions were on automatic refill. I never had to prove who I was.
Lizzie’s expression shifts from professional to cautious. “If it’s a new account, I can’t pull the file without verification. I’m sorry, but I’ll need—”
“Lia?” Leo looks between my empty hands and the pharmacist’s expectant stare.
“Wow, you two look identical. Twins?” Lizzie smiles.
My thoughts fixate on the two orange plastic bottles on my nightstand at the compound, both nearly empty.
One is the birth control I need to keep my periods from leaving me curled on the couch for hours.
The other is for my anxiety, the only thing that keeps my heart from leaping out of my chest and my breath from shortening into nothing.
“Yes, we are,” Leo says, his hand on my elbow. “Come on, Lia. We’re leaving.”
As we turn to leave, I’m hit by a rush of butterflies and arousal that isn’t mine.
Leo’s hand brushes my arm, and I jerk away, pulse spiking. But the sensation doesn’t fade. It tugs past him, thin and electric, pulling my attention back.
I follow it.
The pharmacist’s eyes linger on Leo. The feeling is stronger now, secondhand and invasive. I swallow, revulsion blooming fast and sour.
“What’s wrong?” Leo asks.
I shiver. “She was checking you out.”
“So?”
“I felt it. Her physical attraction.”
He blinks. “Oh.”
“Yes—oh.” I scrub my arms like I can wipe the sensation away.
Leo leans against a display of protein shakes while he watches Lizzie at the register. “She’s cute.” He throws a playful wink my way.