Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
EMMA EASTON
I’m walking down a hallway that never ends. The walls are dark, swallowing light rather than reflecting it. There are no doors. No windows. Just a narrow stretch that keeps going, no matter how far I walk. My footsteps make no sound, but my heart is loud.
“Jude?” I call, my voice disappearing almost immediately into the void. Panic surges inside me, and I break into a run. My breath burns, but the end of the hall finally comes into view, and I freeze.
Jude. He's…
He's on his knees, chains digging into his wrists, bolted high into the wall behind him. His head hangs forward, hair falling into his face. His shoulders are slumped, like he’s been holding himself upright for too long and finally just gave up.
“No—” I whisper, already dropping to the floor in front of him.
I scramble the last few feet, knees hitting the ground hard. My hands fly to his face, cradling his jaw, my thumbs brushing his cheeks.
“Jude. Jude, look at me.”
He lifts his head.
I recoil so fast I fall back onto my ass.
His eyes aren’t right. They’re open, but there’s nothing in them. No light. No warmth. Just a dead, nearly black stare that doesn’t recognize me at all. It’s like looking into a body that’s already been abandoned by its soul.
“Oh my god,” I choke.
He’s covered in blood and bruises. Dried streaks darken his skin, splatter his chest, his neck. His lip is split. He looks exhausted.
I desperately reach for him again. “Jude, can you hear me? Please. Please tell me where you are.”
Nothing. It’s like I’m talking to a wall.
“I’m here,” I sob, crawling closer again. “I’m right here. I can help you. Just tell me how.”
I grab his face again, gentler this time, afraid I’ll hurt him if I’m not careful. “Where are you?” I whisper. “How do I get to you?”
For a moment, nothing happens. Then his eyes finally focus and lock onto mine. My heart leaps, hope flaring painfully in my chest. But there’s no warmth in their depths. “Forget about me, Em.”
The words gut me right there. “No,” I cry, shaking my head violently. “No, no—don’t say that. I won’t. I can’t—”
Suddenly, his body jerks. Violently. He convulses in pain, ripping out of my grasp as his back arches, chains rattling loudly against the wall. His head snaps back, a sound tearing from his throat that doesn’t even sound human.
“Jude!” I scream, lunging for him. “Stop! Please, stop!”
But his body keeps seizing. Over and over. Like something invisible is ripping him apart from the inside. I’m screaming. I’m begging. I’m sobbing so hard I can’t breathe.
And then—
It stops, his body going slack. His head falls forward, and the chains stop moving.
“Jude?” My voice breaks completely.
He doesn’t move...or breathe anymore. His eyes stare ahead now, unfocused and lifeless. He’s...he’s…
The silence around us is suffocating, and I scream again, my heart shattering under the force of the pain.
I jolt awake with a strangled cry, my body lurching upright, hands clutching at my chest like I can somehow pull the air back into my lungs.
“Emma—Emma, hey—”
Hands are on me. Real ones. Warm. Micah is there, kneeling beside the bed, panic etched across his face. He grabs my shoulders gently, grounding me as I shake. “You’re okay,” he says urgently. “You’re here. You’re safe. It was just a nightmare.”
I’m still gasping, tears streaming down my face, the image burned into my mind. Chains. Blood. Dead eyes.
Forget about me.
I press my hands to my face, my whole body trembling. I’m sweating, but Micah doesn’t hesitate. He brushes the damp strands of hair back from my face. Moonlight spills through the window, painting silver over the scattered tattoos on his bare skin.
Heather appears a second later, climbing into bed, her eyes wide and worried. She’s wearing her pink pajama pants set. “Emma,” she says gently. “What happened? Are you alright?”
It takes a moment to get my breathing under control. My chest still feels tight, like something is sitting on it. When I finally look at her, my throat closes. “He died,” I whisper. “I dreamt that Jude died.”
Micah’s body tenses instantly. He doesn’t say anything.
He just crawls fully into bed with me. Heather does the same, and suddenly I’m trapped between them, held on both sides.
And even though I don’t want to, I break.
I’ve never cried about anything as much as I’ve cried about Jude throughout my life.
He’s the source of my greatest heartbreaks and my greatest joys.
Micah wraps his arm around me, pulling me back against his chest until my spine rests against his warm chest. Heather takes my hands, facing me.
“It’s okay,” she says softly, eyes shining. “I love you. I love you so much.”
A small, broken sob slips out of me then.
Micah lowers his chin to my shoulder, his breath warm against my skin. “Shhh,” he murmurs. “Go back to sleep. Close your eyes. You’re safe.”
I do. I let myself sink into the comfort of their bodies, reminding myself that I will never be alone. Heather shifts closer, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe. The words barely exist as they fall from my trembling lips.
“It’s okay,” she whispers back. "Emma, it's alright."
My muscles finally loosen, and the shaking fades. My heartbeat slows, dragging me back from the edge. There’s nothing else for them to say. But they’re here, and I love them for it. Even if I feel weak in this moment.
I wake slowly, cocooned in heat. Micah’s arm is heavy around my waist, my cheek tucked against his chest. I can hear his steady heartbeat. Heather is pressed against my back, one leg draped over mine, her breath warm against my shoulder.
For a moment, I don’t move. I just lie there, letting myself exist inside this.
Then I sense movement. I crack my eyes open just in time to see Adela pause in the doorway.
She’s still in thin gray sweats and a dusty rose satin tank, hair swept loosely out of her face, wispy bangs soft against her blue eyes.
She takes in the scene of me sandwiched between my best friends, all of us tangled together, and smiles.
She catches my eye, lifts her brows in a silent good morning, then turns and heads downstairs.
Even though I could lie here all day, the smell of coffee reaches my nostrils.
Carefully, I ease out from between Micah and Heather, trying not to wake them.
Micah grunts once, arm tightening reflexively before loosening again.
Heather murmurs something unintelligible and burrows deeper into the pillow.
I smile at that.
Downstairs, the cabin is bright with morning light. The sun reflects off the river, and the entire place smells like espresso. Adela is already in the kitchen, pulling a mug from the cabinet like she knew I was coming.
“Morning,” she says quietly.
Rafe is on the couch, one ankle crossed over his knee, coffee in hand, scrolling through his phone.
“Morning,” I echo, my voice still rough.
I glance around. “Where are Kieran and Nico?”
Rafe answers without looking up. “Basement bedrooms.”
Adela snorts as she sets the mug down and starts the machine. “They wanted to be as far from us as possible.”
I grin. “Why?”
Rafe finally laughs, lifting his mug to hide it.
Adela doesn’t even hesitate. “My husband and I,” she says sweetly, “have very unique tastes in the bedroom.”
“Often including you screaming and fighting me,” Rafe adds, deadpan.
I freeze. Like, fully short-circuiting.
Adela slides a latte toward me, completely unfazed. “I like it when he chases me and gets rough,” she says with a shrug. “We’re very open about our sexual relationship because it’s simply the best. And unfortunately for both of our friends, they’ve heard us a time or two.”
Rafe huffs, already back to his phone. “It’s their fault for coming into the townhouse unannounced. They now text us when they’re coming over.”
I stare at them, then down at the latte in my hands, then back at them. I could definitely tell that they were extremely sexual people, considering at their place in NYC, I saw them making out in the hallway like he wanted to devour her. “I…haven’t done anything like that,” I manage.
They both laugh.
“It’s really fun,” Adela says with a wicked grin. “It’s the dark romance books I read.”
Rafe rolls his eyes playfully, and they exchange a glance that tells of some inside joke. “It’s too early in the day to traumatize the sweet girl,” he says.
My chest loosens at their easy energy, and I take a sip of the latte. "Yeah, this is far too much to hear when I just woke up."
“Anyway,” Adela says lightly, setting her mug down. “We might have something.”
My spine straightens instantly.
Rafe stands and joins us in the kitchen as I slide onto a barstool. He leans his hip against the counter. “I was able to confirm that Alexei submitted Jude for a performance,” he says. “Masked ball. Private. High-profile kind of thing.”
My heart kicks. “When?”
“Two weeks.”
“That’s too far away,” I whisper yell before I can stop myself. “Rafe, he—”
“If we rush,” he cuts in, calm but sharp, “people will die.”
The words punch me in the face.
“People you care about,” he adds, eyes locking onto mine. “This is the only clean line we have to Alexei himself. He doesn’t appear in public unless it’s controlled. This is controlled. Being smart doesn't always feel the best.”
My hand drifts to my sternum without me realizing—pressing, grounding, trying to keep the panic from taking over my body.
Rafe’s gaze flicks there instantly. “You have medicine for that?” he asks.
I blink, caught off guard. “Um. Yeah. I try not to take it much. But recently I’ve…had to.”
He nods once. “I get it,” he says quietly. “I spent years trapped in that shit.”
Adela stays silent beside him, letting him speak.