Chapter 62
Chapter Sixty-Two
Emilia
Through the living room window, I can see Kayla and Jace’s house. The lights are on in every room, shadows moving violently within. Crashes echo down the street as the Enforcers tear it apart, turning it upside down.
My stomach won’t settle. My pulse won’t calm.
Jordan walked me to my door before sprinting back to his own house, leaving me alone with the mess.
My boots were discarded by the front door, the smashed plate and uneaten toast swept up with shaky hands and dumped in the bin.
The photos of Kayla and Zac—the propaganda from when they were in Killmoor—were ripped from the shelf, shredded until nothing recognisable remained, the scraps tiny and impossible to reassemble.
They can’t know that she’s my friend. Can’t know that we helped her last night.
I’m wearing my navy jeans and one of Zac’s hoodies, the loose sleeves covering the shakiness in my fingers as I sit in the armchair, lamp on, pretending to read. Pretending I’m not terrified.
A sudden, fierce, heavy knock sounds at the door.
It’s so loud that I jolt, nearly falling out of the chair.
My breath catches in my throat, and for a second, I can’t move.
Shakily, I force my legs to work and cross the room.
My hand trembles around the door handle and I swallow hard, but fear coils around my heart, tightening and tightening until I can hardly breathe.
I open the door.
Two Enforcers stand on the street, their expressions hard, hands hovering above batons and their other weapons.
“Hello,” I say quietly.
“May we come in?”
I blink, but force myself to nod and step back.
They shoulder past me, eyes scanning the room as their boots dirty the carpet. I leave the door open, turning to face them as my heart batters against my ribs.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, voice raspy.
They ignore me, one heading straight for the kitchen and the other stands sentry, glaring at me. Pots clatter and a chair scrapes across the floor. Something metal clatters to the floor, and a dish smashes in the sink.
The man returns, jogging up the stairs without sparing me a glance. Up there, he’s even louder. Something heavy crashes, and I flinch, unable to stop myself.
In front of me, the other Enforcer lifts a brow. He doesn’t speak, just watches me with a focused, intimidating stare, as if waiting for me to crack.
A shadow fills the front door, and my heart jumps into my throat. For a second I think it’s more of them, that they know—
The figure that steps into the light has my chest loosening in a surge of relief that almost makes my knees buckle.
“What the hell is going on?” Zac takes another step, his furious eyes finding mine before snapping to the Enforcer with such fierce rage that I’m surprised it doesn’t kill him.
“Zac,” I whisper, the word trembling.
“What the fuck are you doing in my home?”
The Enforcer doesn’t bother answering but yanks out his baton with a violent jerk. His attempt to scare us works and Zac falters—even if he tries to hide it, tries to deny that it doesn’t affect him. He endured their cruelty for over a month, and that’s left scars, even if he won’t admit it.
Before he can react, or do something that gets him taken again, I reach out and grab his arm. My fingers curl around his bicep, and I pull him, guiding him into the living room, away from the baton. My knuckles are white, terrified of what he—or they—might do if I let go.
“Earlier today, Kayla Thomson murdered an Enforcer,” the man snaps, his voice sharp and cold.
My stomach twists as his words land like a blow.
He’s familiar—the Roman nose, the mole on his right cheek.
I dig through my memory, trying to place his face.
“She was aided in escaping and has since disappeared.”
“And you’re here because?” Zac fires back, his jaw tight.
I glance between them, heart pounding. And then it clicks; he’s one of the twats who held Zac back from saving Jace. Rage, fear, and helplessness all collide in my chest, and my hands tighten around Zac’s arm. He’s tense too, coiled and ready, and the thought of what he might do makes my gut drop.
“We need to find Kayla,” the Enforcer replies. “And last night, you seemed very intent on helping Mrs Thomson.” His brow lifts. “A little too intent, perhaps?”
“Her husband was my friend,” Zac lies through his teeth. “I haven’t seen his wife since last night when she was crying on the floor.”
“Oh, really?” The Enforcer smirks. “Isn’t this the same wife who you were caught in an act of infidelity with? A crime which cost you a month in prison?”
One of my hands drops to the hem of the hoodie, fingers tracing the elastic bottom as bile rises in my throat. I quickly swallow, trying to keep my expression clear.
“What’s your point?” Zac snaps. “That doesn’t mean I’ve spoken to her since.”
“It gives you a motive to hate the State,” he replies. Slowly, he paces the floor in front of us just as the other Enforcer descends the stairs, looking between us.
“I’ve been at work all day. You can check that with Yolanda Hudges at the depot,” Zac says, voice clipped.
The Enforcer pauses, eyes locked on my husband for a beat before nodding.
Stepping back, he gestures to the door, ready to leave.
I release Zac, shoulders sagging, a shaky breath tearing its way out of me.
“And you?” The first Enforcer suddenly spins back to me, his eyes daggers, lips quirking at the corners.
The second man stops, crossing his arms over his chest with a scowl.
“What were you doing this evening?”
“Me?” I choke out. “Nothing.” My hands clutch tight to Sam’s hoodie that I’m still wearing, trembling.
He raises a brow at my answer. “Convenient—”
“I’ve been reading,” I say quickly, gesturing to the book on the couch. “I finished work at four.”
“So you haven’t seen Kayla?” the Enforcer pushes.
I quickly shake my head. “I haven’t seen her since last night.”
“I think you’re lying,” the Enforcer hisses, stepping closer, each movement deliberate and threatening. Zac reacts instantly, sliding an arm across my chest and pushing me behind him.
“I think you saw her earlier today,” the enemy accuses. “And I think you’re the one who helped her escape.”
“Based on what?” Zac snaps sharply.
The Enforcer tilts his head, a small smirk on his lips. “She has no one to back up her claims that she was here, does she?”
“Nor does half the fucking street, I expect,” Zac spits back. “She doesn’t even like Kayla. Why would she help her?”
“Is that true?” the Enforcer asks, and my grip on Zac’s arm tightens.
“You said it yourself,” Zac says. “I fucking kissed Kayla. Why would Emilia like her?”
“I was asking Emilia.”
“N-No,” I manage to stutter out. “I don’t like her.”
The man raises an eyebrow as he continues to smirk. “You don’t seem so sure.”
Zac scoffs. “Because you’re scaring her shitless.”
“Maybe that’s because she’s guilty.”
“I’m not!” The protest bursts out of me, shaky but louder than I expect.
“No,” Zac fires back before the Enforcer can even open his mouth. “Maybe it’s because you put innocent people in the fucking Cell when they’ve done fuck-all wrong.”
“You’d better watch your mouth,” the Enforcer warns lowly.
Zac steps towards him, shoulders rigid with defiance. “Or what?”
“Zac,” I gasp, throwing every ounce of strength into yanking his arm back. Panic surges through my veins as I think about how Jace was dragged outside just yesterday…
Zac looks back at me, and something in my desperate eyes seems to sink in. His jaw flexes and his chest heaves, but he swallows whatever fight threatens to erupt and closes his mouth.
“You didn’t leave the house this evening?” the Enforcer asks, quickly losing patience.
I quickly shake my head. “No.”
“We’ll be back,” the Enforcer snarls. He jerks his head at the other, and they both turn, boots leaving dirty marks before they step outside.
Zac slams the door behind them so hard the walls rattle before twisting the lock.
When he turns back to me, his eyes are still blazing, but the instant he takes in my face, something cracks.
The fire extinguishes, and he closes the distance between us in two long strides, hands reaching for my forearms, anchoring me just as my legs are ready to give out.
“I…” I trail off, eyes wide with panic as they flit around the room, trying to find any scrap of evidence, any indication that Kayla was here.
“Emilia,” he says, his hands lifting from my arms to cup my face, thumbs gently brushing against my cheeks. “Breathe.”
His words force me to look at him. My gaze lifts to his, pulled by sheer instinct.
“They thought…” I trail off, voice shaky. “They knew…”
“They didn’t know anything,” he retorts. “They’re using scare tactics.”
“What if they come back?”
“They won’t.”
I shake my head. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do,” he insists.
Without thinking, my hands fist the front of his top, dragging him closer. I need the contact and the comfort more than I need air.
His arms wind around me. “Kieran found me outside the truck depot when I finished. Told me what happened,” he murmurs against my hair. “You did what you could—”
“But what if they—”
“They won’t find her,” he cuts in. He pulls back, holding my head in his hands, and forcing me to look up at him. “And they won’t find out it was you.”
There’s something in the way he says it, so sincere and final that I’m almost convinced.
It’s the influence he has on me, how deep and low and warm his voice is, sinking straight through my defences and leaving my heart racing, stomach fluttering…
core pulsing. I cling to every word, every inch of me begging to believe him.
Slowly, I nod.