Chapter 58
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Emilia
Zac, Rayden, Sam and a few guys I don’t know argue with the Enforcers for more than half an hour.
Eventually—surprisingly—they give in, allowing us to keep Jace’s body.
Throughout it all, Heidi and I cradle a hysterical Kayla on the pavement, tears streaming down our faces as we attempt to soothe our inconsolable friend.
Once the Enforcers finally leave, Zac orders someone to fetch a sheet. They gently lift Jace onto it, carefully wrapping his body within.
Kayla stumbles to her feet, Heidi and I on her tail as she throws herself to the ground beside her dead husband, sobbing and caressing his face.
I swallow the lump in my throat, unable to look at the bullet hole in the middle of his forehead without bile rising in my throat.
When she starts screaming, Zac tugs her away and hands her to Sam, asking him to take us all to our house. To wait for them to return.
I hesitate, but the absolute rage in Zac’s eyes makes me swallow my stubbornness. I nod, leading them across the street.
Heidi and I settle Kayla in my bed, staying with her for hours as she trembles, shaking and crying before finally drifting into a restless sleep, tears still streaking down her face.
Afterward, I spend half an hour holding Heidi as she sobs, begging me to end this cruel life.
I sit there silently, unable to process any of it, smoothing down her hair with shaking hands, my own face streaked with mascara.
Eventually, we stand, wiping each other’s tears before walking downstairs, her hand in mine.
Rayden sits with his head in his hands, and Sam jumps up from beside him to hug Heidi.
Zac stands in the corner, arms crossed, face like thunder, but when I meet his gaze, his stance and expression soften slightly.
“How is she?” Rayden asks hoarsely.
I shrug. “She finally fell asleep.”
“What did you do... with…” Heidi trails off, leaning her head against Sam’s chest.
“We buried him in Church Cemetery,” Sam says quietly, and she nods, burying her face in his shirt.
I edge across the room, taking the vacated seat beside Rayden. Reaching out, I take one of his hands, gripping it with both of mine and ignoring the amber flecked stare that’s boring a hole in the side of my face.
“Ray,” I say softly. “Are you okay?”
His jaw tenses as his eyes flick up to mine; they’re glassy and brimming with despair, but he’s trying to hold it in.
Jace was his best friend, his roommate, his entire life after the war.
“Don’t hold it in,” I whisper.
He shakes his head, tearing his eyes to his lap. “I’m fine.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“Mils,” he murmurs, eyes closing as his voice breaks. “Please, don’t.”
I just squeeze harder, leaning in and resting my head on his shoulder. Time slips by in silence, the room heavy with grief. Every one of us is reeling, each trying to process what we’ve just witnessed. The horror, the cruelty… the State.
“You should head home,” Zac finally says, voice rough. “Kayla will need all of you when she wakes up tomorrow.”
“Of course,” Sam murmurs. “Let’s go?” he says softly to Heidi. She nods, paler than I’ve ever seen. I pull them both into a tight hug before they leave.
Ray stands, his eyes empty, and I step in front of him, shaking my head. “Rayden.” Lifting a hand, I gently place it against his cheek. His brow furrows, almost pained, as he clenches his jaw. “Talk to Nina, at least.”
“No.”
“Please, Ray, she—”
“She’s not who I want to talk to,” he mutters, covering my hand with his own.
He squeezes, and then pulls it away, letting it drop to my side.
Giving me a weak smile, he steps aside, head dropping as he steps out of our house.
The door closes with a click, and suddenly the silence is too much to take.
Everything inside my body tenses, tightening and tightening until I can hardly breathe.
I spin, face contorting with panic, a ragged gasp spilling through my lips.
Zac’s face instantly softens, and then he’s in front of me, hands grabbing my biceps.
“I’m here,” he murmurs, his grip firm. The warmth of his hands seeps straight through the fabric of my sleeves—grounding me, steadying me, comforting me.
I hadn’t even realised I was shaking until the space between us disappears, and the scent of oil and leather and summer washes over me. My gaze rises to meet his, and my chest heaves. His thumbs shift slightly along my arms, trying to soothe me, even as his own eyes swim with despair.
“We have to do something, Zac,” I cry. My hands curl into his cotton top, balling the fabric in my fists as his arms coil around my back and he pulls me into his chest. My tears immediately saturate the black fabric.
“We will,” he says quietly. “This has gone on way too long.”
“They... they killed him,” I whisper hoarsely.
His hands cup the sides of my face, gently angling it up.
A sob slips through my lips. “They killed her husband. They just… killed him.”
“I know,” he says, voice hollow before he dips his head, resting his forehead on mine.
“They shot him.”
“They’ll pay,” he promises.
“That won’t bring him back,” I utter.
A sudden scream from upstairs has us bolting apart.
I fly up the stairs only one foot ahead of him, my heart hammering.
I burst into the bedroom as Kayla thrashes against the sheets, her eyes open, wide and full of terror.
Zac pushes past me, hands gripping her shoulders and wrenching her upright, giving her a harsh shake.
“Kayla,” he snaps. “Kayla, wake up!”
Her cries continue, hysterical and unending until finally her gaze clears, darting around the room as if trying to make sense of where she is.
“What...?”
“You’re okay,” Zac says, his hands cradling her face. “You aren’t back there. You’re safe.”
“I…” Kayla falters, tears flowing down her cheeks. “I thought—”
“You will never go back there,” Zac vows, so certain that it’s impossible to argue with. “I promise.”
“Where’s Jace? Jace!” She peers around his shoulders, brow furrowing when she only finds me. “Wait…” Her eyes snap back to Zac, face cracking as horror and grief contort her expression. “No! No, no, no!”
She collapses against his chest, her body trembling, sobs wracking her body.
She hardly knows Zac, but they’ve been through something that I have no hope of understanding.
Especially when he refuses to talk about it.
Standing here, watching them, feels wrong.
It feels private—one victim comforting another.
I swallow the lump in my throat as I take a step back, hands curling around the wooden bannister of the stairs as I let them grieve, let them cope, let them… process everything. In peace.