Chapter 34 Halo
Chapter thirty-four
Halo
"What's Left of Me”
The man I was after today was Eric Saunders.
He used to run recovery for a bigger player in the network before splintering off.
Like Wire had told me, he thought of himself as a tech guy…
talked a big game about encryption and dark web logistics, but the reality was he sucked at it.
He barely knew his way around a burner phone.
Now, he was freelancing for whoever didn’t know better than to hire him.
Middle-tier scum with a reputation for getting results without asking questions.
The type that could facilitate a drop, scramble records, reroute a van of stolen kids and still sleep at night because he wasn’t the one touching them.
His conscience was as absent as his spine.
Zero morals. He was exactly the kind of shit I had built my life destroying.
I was parked at an old feed store that I had followed him to, waiting to see where he was headed next.
But I wasn’t seeing him. I was seeing her: Eden, curled on the bathroom floor; Eden, pretending not to tremble in the passenger seat; Eden, looking at me like she didn’t know what I was anymore.
She had been the one person who had looked at me like I was human, and now that was sliding like sand through my fingers.
That look had lodged in my heart like shrapnel.
This was how people got killed. Distractions led to second-guessing, dulling your instincts.
I’d survived this long by being cold and detached.
I had a mental vault where all the faces went, all the names, all the red-stained moments.
I filed them away and kept walking. But her face wouldn’t go in the vault.
It just kept showing up. That wasn’t safe. Not for her. Not for me.
I thought I wanted her to be afraid of me because that meant she would distance herself and she wouldn’t get hurt when I had to disappear.
I thought it would mean that I wouldn’t be as hurt either.
I had never dealt with something like this, but I could tell that it was going to destroy me to let her go.
Now that she was afraid, now that she had pulled back, I couldn’t take it.
I wanted to fix it, and I didn’t know how.
The damage I’d done to myself was one thing, but the damage I’d done to her? That might be permanent.
Someone left the feed store, walking to the only other car in the parking lot as they pulled away.
Not Eric. Just a decoy, or maybe, one of his lookouts.
I waited, scanning the lot again. Empty.
I took my handgun and knife and headed to the front door.
It was locked, with a sign that said they were closed until Monday.
Eric had no business in a feed and farm supply store.
This was a front, a fake business he was squatting behind.
I went around the back of the building and found the back door unlocked.
No surprise. Guys like Eric didn’t expect someone to get this close.
He thought staying off the grid and paying a few tweakers to play lookout would keep him safe. It didn’t.
I slipped inside. I could hear someone moving in the next room over. They were loud, unaware. I wasn’t sure if Eric was actually alone in here, so I drew the knife. The grip felt wrong in my hand today. Heavier than usual, or maybe I was just too aware of it.
Eric’s voice carried from the back room. He was arguing, sniveling about a drop going wrong and someone being late with payment. I edged closer, steps silent, senses sharp, despite the weight in my chest.
He didn’t even hear me approach until my hand was at the back of his neck and his face was against the wall. The phone clattered to the floor, and I smashed it with my boot.
“Wait, wait! I—” He wheezed and flailed like a rat caught by the tail. I slammed his head against the drywall hard enough to make him shut up.
I stood there with the knife raised in my hand. I was ready. I should’ve been ready. But something didn’t click. Eden’s voice came back to me.
That was new. I’d never heard guilt in my own head before.
I hesitated, and that had never happened before.
Eric reached out to grab a box cutter. The blade snapped out with a click, and he swung wide, catching me along the ribs.
The pain was white-hot, a line of fire under my jacket.
I didn’t flinch at the sensation. I slit his throat, letting the blood spray across the wall as he fell to the floor.
I reached down to touch my side. Just a graze, but it made me furious with myself. I hadn’t gotten sloppy like that in years. I wiped my hands and the knife on his body.
I went through the building with a fine-toothed comb, finding the office with surveillance pretty easily. This man didn’t know what he was doing. I erased the footage with two clicks.
Then I was driving back with one hand pressed to my side and the other gripping the wheel like it might run away, and all I could think about was whether Eden would look at me the same way when I walked back through the motel door.
Whether she'd see the blood and close off again.
Whether she'd already decided this was too far.
I was bleeding, but it didn’t matter. I had been bleeding for years. The difference now was I didn’t want her to see it.
When I pulled into the lot, I sat in the car too long, staring at the dim rectangle of light in our window.
I used to believe survival was about elimination: remove the threat, erase the evidence, repeat. But now… survival was keeping her soft in a world designed to kill softness. And I didn’t know how to do that without teeth.
I got out of the car too fast, and the pain in my side flared. I caught myself on the door, cursing under my breath. It wasn’t deep, but it was messy. My jacket was soaked through with blood on one side.
I didn’t knock when I got to the door. I just shoved it open with that same weighted creak.
Eden was sitting cross-legged on the bed, knees pulled to her chest, wearing a hoodie over her clothes.
It was oversized, one of mine. Something about that comforted me.
She looked up from whatever she was staring at on the floor, and froze when she saw me.
Her eyes tracked instantly to the blood on my side. She stood up, slow and stiff, like her body wasn’t quite sure if it should move toward me or away.
“You’re hurt.”
I didn’t answer, but not because I didn’t want to. Because I couldn’t. Her voice was soft, but there was steel in it. She still cared.
“Sit down,” she said, already moving past me to grab the first aid kit from the bathroom.
I didn’t sit. Not until she came back and pointed at the chair by the table.
“Take off your jacket.”
“Eden, I’m fine.”
“Now.”
I obeyed. It was stupid how fast I listened to her voice, how even that small command went deeper than it should’ve.
Like I was waiting for her to tell me what to do and who to be.
I slid the jacket off, and she hissed as the fabric pulled at the gash.
She knelt in front of me, pulled my shirt up carefully, and studied the wound.
Her face was blank, but her hands weren’t shaking.
“What happened?”
“Got sloppy…”
“I thought you said you didn’t get sloppy.”
“I don’t.”
Her eyes flicked up to mine.
“I hesitated.”
“Because of me?” she asked quietly.
“No,” I whispered. She didn’t flinch. She just turned back to the wound and started cleaning it with alcohol and gauze.
“There’s some liquid bandage in here. I think I can just squeeze it together…”
She grabbed the bottle and dabbed the skin glue onto the wound. She pinched it closed, her own fingertips sticking to my skin with it. She finally looked up at me, sitting back on her heels.
“Thank you.”
“This doesn’t mean I’m okay with it.”
“I don’t need you to be okay with it,” I said, voice low. “I just need you safe.”
“I don’t want to be safe if it means watching you—”
She didn’t finish, but it silenced me. For once, I didn’t have a comeback.
I just sat there, wounded and entirely emotionally dismantled by a girl who had nothing but honesty left to give me.
She stood up and turned away, wiping her hands on a towel.
Her shoulders were tight, her breath uneven.
I reached out without thinking, fingers brushing the hem of the hoodie she wore.
I whispered her name.
She turned slowly, her face unreadable.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admitted, “with you. With any of this.”
Her arms folded across her chest like she was trying to hold something in. She stared at me for a long time. Then she walked forward, quiet and slow, and leaned down to kiss my forehead. It was soft and unhurried, but it hurt.
“I don’t want to lose what’s left of you.”
When she stepped back, I felt the absence like a knife. For the first time since I’d started this war for her, I didn’t feel like the predator in the room. I felt hunted by my own goddamn heart.