Chapter 46
Chapter Forty-Six
Emilia
Hope doesn’t last long.
Not when Claudia works a long shift the next day and doesn’t get home in time to see Jordan before his night shift.
Not when I’m so shattered from doing mine and Kayla’s combined roles that I pass out before Claudia’s home from work the day after that.
Not when I have to haul bags of manure from the barn to the fields as Enforcers heckle me with tales of Zac’s misfortune.
How bruised he’ll be.
How weak.
How starving.
How injured.
How limbless.
Useless. Ruined. Driven mad.
Better off dead.
Their words swirl around me like poison, dizzying me and sending me scrambling to retch my lunch into the dirty toilet. My stomach twists until there’s nothing left and I’m just dry heaving.
And when I drag myself through the front door, feet dragging, I collapse against the back of the door, sliding to the floor. My hands fly up to my eyes, pressing hard as if I can block everything out, a ragged cry spilling through my bitten lips.
When I finally peel my palms away, I notice a folded note on the arm of the sofa.
Em, I’m sorry. I’ve left you some pasta in the fridge. Jordan made it, not me! There’s talk of a surprise inspection on our street. Please keep yourself safe for the night. Sam, Heidi and Rayden are on call if you don’t want to be alone. C
That night, I hardly sleep. I sit upright against the headboard, knees pulled to my chest, and stare at the dark window.
I think of Zac, wondering, like always, what he’s currently doing; I pray the answer is sleeping, but I know that’s a fairytale.
He’s likely isolated, probably scared, definitely hurt.
I sob over the bruises that marred his face in court.
The blood that seeped through his top. The blood dried on his temple. I cry for Kayla, too.
And my fists tighten when my mind wanders towards all the unanswered questions that I still don’t have answers to.
By morning, my eyes are puffy and bloodshot. I drag myself to the fields, going through the motions. The Enforcers are back, taunting me with their cruel jabs.
“She’s doing all the work for Thomson whilst she’s gone.”
“Whilst she’s gone? That girl won’t be back! She’ll be dead before she leaves Killmoor.”
“Another one bites the dust. Waste of prison resources if you ask me.”
“And this one will be picking up her slack forever.”
I stumble as their words dig through the fake bravado that I’ve been sporting since stepping into field seven.
Their words stab deep, puncturing through the headache and the aching chest, straight into something else: my gut.
And suddenly, worry and pity and moping around doing fuck all turns into heat—a wildfire in my stomach, burning bright and scorching everything in its path.
I want to scream, to shove, to do something to make them pay. To help Zac. To help Kayla.
To fight back.
By the time I get home, the anger’s turned into a steadfast determination.
“Claudia?” I call out to the dark house. “Jordan?”
Nothing.
I’m alone again.
My chest tightens. I stumble into the kitchen and yank open a cupboard. A brand-new, full packet of biscuits greets me—the same ones I picked up from the shop three days ago. Without Zac. Permitted to do so alone because of my unusual situation. That’s what the Enforcers called it.
I don’t want them. Zac’s not here to eat them. Instead, he’s probably eating mouldy bread, or overdone meat… or nothing at all.
I snap.
My hand curls around the nearest mug, and I wrench it from the counter, hurling it at the wall.
It shatters, fragments raining over the table like his whiskey once did the stairs.
My chest jerks as I try to inhale, stumbling back into the counter.
My fingers curl around the edge of the counter, holding me up as the room spins. As Zac’s bleeding face fills my mind.
“I’ll be okay,” he’d promised me. It was a lie. A bare-faced lie.
He can’t be okay. Not whilst he’s in there.
I don’t care if Zac wants nothing to do with me when he’s released from Killmoor. If he didn’t mean any of his words or actions before he was arrested. I need to make sure he’s okay. I need him to survive.
He taught me the basics of how to defend myself. He made sure that I could help myself if he wasn’t around; that counts for something. And now I owe it to try to help him in return.
Tearing up the stairs, I change out of my grubby work clothes and into a new outfit before ripping my black leather jacket from the wardrobe.
I used my vouchers to get it over two years ago for Halloween when Sam, Heidi, and I went to a secret party at the old Hooters bar.
I haven’t worn it since. But black clothing is the most inconspicuous options I own.
I don’t hesitate, don’t stop to question whether I’m making a mistake. Not even when Claudia’s pleading eyes flit through my mind. If I think too much, I’ll second guess myself, so I leave the bedroom behind, tearing down the stairs and step onto the street, slamming the door behind me.
“Mils?”
I jump, eyes widening as I turn towards Rayden. “Hey!” I force a smile.
“Are you—”
“How are you?”
He frowns. “Fine. You?”
“I’m good. Great, actually.”
“Mils, you can’t be serious—”
“I need to get going,” I say, gesturing behind him.
He purses his lips, shifting on his feet. “Where’s Claudia?”
“Work.”
“Jordan?”
“Work,” I reply. “Why?”
“Shouldn’t you be—”
“Babysat?” I snap. His lips freeze, and he shakes his head, opening his mouth to respond, but I continue before he can. “No, Ray. I shouldn’t be.” I step to the side, ready to beeline past him, and his arm shoots out, hand curling around mine.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“For a walk.”
He scoffs and cocks a brow. “Dressed like that? You look like you did whenever you’d creep into my bedroom for a quickie.”
“It’s one of the only black things I have,” I retort, wrenching my arm from his grasp.
The frown returns. “Why black?”
“It doesn’t stand out.” I shrug. “Means I can walk in peace. Now, please excuse me.”
“No.”
“Fuck off, Rayden,” I snap, whirling to face him. “I just want to be on my own. Please.”
His eyes narrow, jaw tightening, grinding. He’s gearing up to argue, so I turn on my heel and practically sprint down the street as fast as my heels will let me.
Whether I’ve startled him, or he’s actually honouring my wishes—my bet’s on the first—I don’t hear his footsteps behind me. I dart down a side street, zigzagging through the next couple of streets until the familiar alleyway comes into view.
I know next to nothing.
Not what the State’s planning, nor Claudia or Jordan or Anna or Bridget.
Not what the conditions are like at Killmoor, or what’s likely happening to Zac and Kayla.
Instead, they’ve wrapped me up, treating me like something fragile, too delicate to handle the truth.
But the reality is, I’ve been shoved into The Cell.
I’ve been beaten and starved. I’ve watched nurses blown apart metres from my hospital bed.
I’ve seen bodies burn, buildings collapse, and patients scream as bombs tore at their limbs.
I’m not as pure or breakable as they think.
Which is why I’m here.
Staring up at the three-storey Safe House.
My feet stumble as I walk through the wild garden and around to the large, padlocked door. Hesitantly, I lift my hand, letting it hover over the wood.
They have answers.
I can’t spend another day letting these nightmares ravage my mind. I’m done being patient… and I’ll apologise to Claudia later. Princess Petty will probably shoot me with one of their guns if she sees me here.
This is a terrible idea.
Fuck it. I can take her.
I should go home.
My fist hits the wood, knocking before I’ve fully thought it through. I suck in a breath, heart pounding hard beneath my ribs. Stepping back, I fiddle with the hem of my satin top.
Half a minute passes. Another thirty seconds. Silence gnaws at my nerves, and I start forward, ready to knock again—
The door bursts open and Bridget and Kieran stand there, guns in hand, barrels pointed at me. My mouth dries and my eyes widen, arms shooting up.
“It’s me!” I say quickly.
“Emilia…” Kieran breathes out, the guns instantly lowering. His brow furrows.
“Where’s Claudia?” Bridget asks, trying to peer around me.
“She isn’t here,” I say.
Her eyes widen, grip tightening around the weapon. “Is everything okay? Claudia—”
I really didn’t think this through.
I lift my hands, shaking my head and glancing between them. “Everything’s fine! She’s fine!”
Bridget frowns. “Then, what…” she trails off, her eyes flitting to Kieran.
“I need your help,” I say softly. “For Zac.”
Kieran’s expression softens, his emerald eyes clearing. Slowly, he steps back, gesturing for me to come inside. Bridget exhales, the tension in her shoulders easing as she retreats, setting her weapon down on the counter with a dull thud. The door shuts behind me, sealing us into an uneasy silence.
“He’s in prison,” I start.
Kieran nods. “We know.”
“Right,” I mutter before nodding, more to myself than anyone else. “You’re his friends.”
Bridget leans a hip against the counter, crossing her arms across her baggy grey top. ‘We would have made it to the trial if they’d given enough time to know it was happening.”
A sudden clattering comes from the staircase at the far end of the room. Bridget doesn’t turn, but Kieran spares a glance, and I follow.
Anna’s long brunette hair is wound into a neat braid, tiny shorts covering her upper thighs, a pink vest on top.
She’s comfy. At home. She stumbles to a stop midway down, eyes narrowing and ridiculously plump lips pursing as soon as she spots me.
Bridget’s mood seems to brighten instantly, crossing her arms as a smirk spreads across her lips.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” Anna spits.
“Anna,” Kieran mutters.
“She wants our help,” Bridget says.
“Why would we help her?”
“Because she wants to help Zac,” Kieran answers.
Anna’s eyes narrow, fixing on me as she descends the final few steps. “How?” She scoffs.
“She’s—”
“I’m his wife,” I say loudly, cutting Kieran off. Her mouth opens, then closes.
“This is brilliant,” Bridget murmurs, jumping onto the counter, the smirk morphing into a grin.
“Zac doesn’t believe in the State system. You’re as much his wife as I am,” Anna snaps. “Get out!”
She strides towards me, fury plastered over her face. I arch a brow and straighten, squaring my shoulders, ready to meet her head-on.
“Anna!” Kieran snaps, stepping between us.
“I’m just looking for some help,” I say honestly, turning my attention back to the two sane people in the house.
“Help with what, exactly?” Bridget asks.
All three of them wait for my answer—two with curious expressions, and the other glowering.
“You know about the State. About whatever twisted plans they have up their sleeve. More than the rest of us anyway,” I reply. “I want to know what you know.”
Anna scoffs, stepping back and letting out a low chuckle. “If Zac thought you could handle it, he would have told you.”
“He was planning on it—”
“Bullshit.” Anna scoffs. “He said you wouldn’t do too well in our world. That he wanted to keep you as far away from it as he could.”
Her words hit like a slap. For a moment, I just stare at her, heat flooding my chest and my cheeks, throat tightening. That Zac would even say that… even if we didn’t get off to the greatest start, a pang of hurt echoes through me before the fire inside burns it away, reminding me who I am.
“Then Zac clearly doesn’t know me well enough,” I snap.
Anna seems to like that answer, grinning before she opens her mouth. “That’s true. He never did want to spend much time getting to know you.”
A wave of anger swells and I take a step towards her. She smirks, and Bridget lifts an eyebrow, watching from afar.
I’m done. I’ve had it with this absolute—
The front door slams open with a deafening bang. Bridget lunges for her gun, Kieran’s own already raised, and Anna’s eyes go wide. I spin on my heel, stumbling away from the doorway.
“Kieran?” Jordan’s frantic voice cuts through the room. “I need your help! It’s Emilia again, she’s—” He stumbles inside, words dying in his throat at the sight of me. His eyes nearly fall out of his head, widening in sheer disbelief.
Kieran grins, gun lowered. “Don’t panic, Jord. Emilia’s here.”
Jordan doesn’t answer him. Instead, his eyes blaze, and he straightens, spine rigid as he asks, “What are you doing here?”
“I came to them for help.” I decide to be honest. “Seeing as you won’t tell me anything.”
His shoulders drop. “Emilia…”
“You might not believe me, but Zac did plan on telling me about all of this.”
“Then he can tell you when he gets out.”
“Can he? Will he be well enough to be able to do that?” My voice cracks, betraying me.
Jordan’s expression softens. “It’s going to be okay—”
“Is it? Do you know that for sure?” I snap.
“This is why you should be at home—”
“How is me lounging around and doing fuck all going to help Zac?” I argue. Jordan inhales, and Bridget slides to the edge of the counter, dropping to her feet.
Anna scoffs. “What exactly is you being here going to do?”
My hands curl into fists, and I take a deep breath. Don’t punch her. Don’t punch her. Not right now.
“I saw your paperwork last time I was here,” I reply. “I was hoping you have information on Killmoor.”
Jordan frowns, a fierce, dark cloud drifting across his features. “Last time?”
“Why?” Bridget asks.
“Emilia, knowing what Zac’s going through isn’t going to help you sleep at night,” Kieran says softly.
I shake my head. “That isn’t what I want to know.”
‘Then what—”
“I want to go to Killmoor,” I say, my tone sharp, but clearer than it’s been all day. “I’m going to break Zac and Kayla out of that godforsaken place even if it fucking kills me.”