Chapter 31
Thirty-One
Melissa
Ican't meet Hella's eyes. The sun beats down mercilessly, and sweat trickles down my neck, but I'm frozen in place, my confession hanging in the heavy air between us.
My daughter peeks out from behind his leg, those familiar green eyes watching me with a wariness that is one hundred percent warranted.
“Start talking.” Hella's voice cuts through the silence. “Now.”
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold the pieces together.
“Richard...” The name sticks in my throat like poison.
“Eddy. Whatever name he used. He found me. Said he knew about her. About my pregnancy.” My eyes flick to the little girl, who's pressed herself closer to Hella's leg.
“He had pictures of me, pregnant, at the nunnery, after the birth.”
“Keep going.” The muscle in Hella's jaw twitches, a storm brewing behind his eyes.
“He made an offer. Said he'd make sure she was safe, give her to Millie along with the bakery. All I had to do was...” My voice breaks, and I have to force the rest out. “All I had to do was die.”
Hella's face goes dangerously still. “What?”
“He wanted to kill me himself.” I wince.
Saying the words out loud makes them feel real.
“That's why I came back. To say goodbye. To make sure everything was set up for Millie, for the bakery, for...” I gesture helplessly at my daughter, who's watching this exchange with wide, scared eyes. “For her.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Hella steps toward me, and I stumble back. He stops, hurt flashing across his face before it hardens again. “So you were gonna let him murder you?”
“You don't understand.” My voice cracks. “He had pictures, Hella. Of her at school. At the park.” Panic rises again, squeezing my chest. “I couldn't risk it. I couldn't risk her.”
“And now?” His question hangs between us, heavy with implications.
I look at my daughter, still clinging to him like he's her anchor in a storm. She hasn't said a word, but her grip on his leg speaks volumes. “Now?” I let out a shaky breath. “Now I don't know what to do.”
“I do.” Hella's voice brooks no argument. “You're not leaving the compound.”
“What?” Heat flares in my chest, defiance pushing through the fear. “You can't—”
“The fuck I can't.” He cuts me off, then softens his tone when the girl flinches. “Look at her, Melissa. Really look. She's traumatized, won't talk, and for some reason, she trusts me. You running off now? That'll fuck her up even more.”
All fight drains out of me when she presses her face against Hella's leg, seeking comfort from a man she just met instead. It stings, but I can't blame her. I'm a stranger too.
“Fine.” I swallow hard, forcing down the urge to run. To hide. To protect them both by disappearing. “He has connections, Hella. Powerful ones. What if—”
“He's dead.” Hella's voice is flat, final. “Ain't nobody coming for either of you now.”
I want to believe him. God, how I want to believe him. But five years of looking over my shoulder, of jumping at shadows, of seeing Eddy's smirk in every crowd, it's not something I can switch off.
“Hey.” Hella's voice gentles, and he reaches out slowly. When I don't pull away, his hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing away tears I didn't know I'd let slip. “I got you both. You hear me? Both of you.”
“I'm sorry,” I whisper, though I'm not sure who I'm apologizing to. “I thought I was protecting her. I thought—” My voice breaks.
“Yeah, well.” Hella's voice is gruff as his hand finds mine. “Sometimes the right thing and the smart thing ain't the same.”
I look up at him, seeing the tension in his jaw, the barely contained rage in his eyes. He's pissed at me, at Eddy, at the fucked-up situation, but he's still here. Still standing between us and the world like a shield.
“Thank you,” I manage. “For finding her. For—” The words catch in my throat as she takes a tiny step toward me, still keeping one hand on Hella's leg like a lifeline.
“Don't thank me yet.” His voice drops lower, meant for me alone. “We got a lot to figure out. But right now?” He glances down at the girl, that softness resurfacing. “Right now, she needs to feel safe. Everything else can wait.”
I nod, understanding what he's not saying. The questions, the anger, the explanations will come later. For now, there's this. My daughter, alive, safe, away from Eddy.
For the first time in five years, I can breathe without feeling like I'm drowning.
Maybe that's enough for now.
Three weeks.
Three weeks of watching my daughter cling to another man like he's her lifeline while I exist on the periphery of her world. As if she knows I betrayed her in the worst way possible.
I press my back against the wall outside Hella's bedroom, the hardwood floor cold beneath my ass. It’s two in the morning. I should be fucking exhausted, but sleep won't come. Not when she's beyond that door, so close I could touch her.
The first few days were torture. She wouldn't look at me.
Wouldn't acknowledge I existed beyond the occasional glance that hit harder than any punch I've taken.
She'd bury herself in Hella's side whenever I got too close, her whole body going rigid, fingers clutching at Hella's shirt like I was the monster who'd kept her in that bunker.
Maybe I am.
I drop my head back against the wall, closing my eyes.
Down the hall, Beast's voice rumbles through the walls, probably on the phone handling club business. The compound never really sleeps, but these hours between midnight and dawn feel different. Heavier. Like the air itself knows all the shit we're not saying.
The doorknob turns.
My eyes snap open.
I scramble to my feet, heart hammering as Hella steps out, closing the door softly behind him. He's shirtless, wearing a pair of low-slung sweatpants that shouldn’t look as hot as they do.
“She's asleep.” His voice is barely a whisper, rough from exhaustion. “You gonna stand guard all night again?”
I hug myself, suddenly aware of how thin my tank top is, how vulnerable I feel in these early morning hours. “Can't sleep knowing she's in there.”
“Could sleep next to her.”
“She doesn't want me there.”
“She doesn't know you yet.” He leans against the doorframe, studying me with those sharp blue eyes that see too much. “Give her time.”
“Time.” I laugh, but there's no humor in it. “You mean like the five years I already gave her? The two weeks Eddy had her in that—” My voice cracks. “In that hole?”
Hella's jaw tightens, and I know I've hit a nerve. He's been affected by what he found in that bunker, even if he won't admit it.
He stretches his neck. “That ain't on you.”
“Isn't it?” All the guilt and rage I’ve been swallowing for three weeks tear out of me in two words. “I gave her up. I chose to—”
“You were eighteen and traumatized.” He says the words as if they’re that simple. As if haven’t recited the same words to myself since I landed on my sister’s doorstep. “You did what you thought would keep her safe.”
I turn away, unable to hold his gaze.
He sighs. “Go to bed, Melissa.”
My lip trembles. “I can't.”
“You're no good to her running on empty.”
“And you are?” The accusation slips out before I can stop it. “You who takes her on your bike every day, who she whispers to instead of me, who—”
“Who she trusts.” His words land like a blow. “Yeah. I know it pisses you off. But you know what? She needs someone right now, and if that someone is me, then deal with it.”
I flinch, the truth of it stinging.
He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “That came out wrong.”
“Did it?” I wrap my arms tighter around myself. “Because it sounded pretty fucking clear to me.”
Silence stretches between us, thick with all the things we're not addressing, with all the tension that's been building since I ran back into his arms when shit got hard. Not to Zane, not to Blake, not to men I’ve known all my life, but to him. To this club. To people I connected with enough to trust that they’d take care of my sister, of my daughter, when I’d be gone.
“I'm sleeping here tonight.” I point toward the floor. “Whether you like it or not.”
“Never said I didn't like it.” Something shifts in his expression—heat bleeding through the exhaustion. “Just said you should take care of yourself.”
“I am.” I slide back down the wall with deliberate slowness. “This is me taking care.”
He watches me, and I can see the war playing out behind his eyes. Don't look at me like that. Not now. Not when everything's already fucked. Then he shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Stubborn woman.”
“You knew that when you fucked me in the garage.”
His jaw flexes. We don't talk about that night. Don't talk about any of the nights that followed. Don't talk about how my body still burns for his touch even though I know it's the worst possible timing. Especially because of the timing.
“Yeah.” His voice drops, rough and private in the darkness. “I did.”
He turns back toward the bedroom, leaving me alone with the weight of everything we're not saying and the memory of what we could've been if I had just been honest.