33. Lola
LOLA
I curl tighter in the blanket, eyes burning from the cold and from last night. Brody paces behind me, boots heavy on the warped floor.
He throws another log into the stove with a bang. “Jesus, would you quit fucking shivering? You sound like a dying animal.”
I glare at him over my shoulder. “Sorry I’m ruining your fucking peace and quiet. I didn’t ask to be here.”
His jaw flexes. “You never ask for anything, do you? Just play the victim. That always worked for you.”
I force myself not to look away. My lips are numb, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me small. “Better than playing the monster. Is that how you get off now, Brody? Making sure I know who’s in charge?”
He stalks closer, fists clenched at his sides, eyes wild and ravenous in the gray dawn. For a second, I think he might hit the wall or me. “You think you’re some kind of victim? After everything?”
I fling the blanket off, forcing myself to stand, body trembling. “You kidnapped me. You threatened me. You fucked me like you hated me. And now you’re pissed I’m cold?”
He’s inches away now, face close to mine. “I’m pissed you act like any of this is my fault. Like you didn’t lie. Like you didn’t sell yourself to the highest bidder the second I was gone. Yeah, I’m fucked up, but I thought the worst of you.”
I slap him, hard, hope and malice in one broken motion. “Fuck you. You don’t know what I did. You never even asked.”
His head whips to the side. For a terrifying moment, he’s silent. Then he turns back, voice shaking. “I saw you, Lola. That’s all I needed.”
My voice cracks, high and desperate. “You saw what they wanted you to see. You saw what Marcus made happen. You didn’t even try to save me!”
He grabs my arm, not hurting, just trying to keep me there. “Save you? You didn’t look like you needed saving. You looked pretty fucking comfortable.”
I wrench away, stumbling. “Because I didn’t have a choice! I was alone, and you fucking left!”
He slams his fist into the wall, the sound like a gunshot. I flinch. He bites out, “I came back for you, and all I found was a whore working for your monster of a father!”
I want to scream. My whole body shakes, but not from the cold. “You don’t get to call me that. Not after what you did to me!”
He laughs, but it’s empty. “Yeah? Tell me what I am, then. You think I wanted to be this? You think I wanted to be the kind of guy who drags you out of hell just to throw you in another one?”
Tears threaten but I blink them away, voice hoarse. “I never wanted you to be a monster. I just wanted you to come back. I just wanted you to believe me.”
He’s breathing hard, fists tight at his sides. “I don’t know how to believe you. I don’t know how to stop hating you.”
I drop down by the fire, shoulders shaking, not caring if he sees me cry now. “I hate you too,” I whisper, voice small.
He stands over me, shadowed, silent. Finally, he speaks, voice choked and soft but still hard as stone. “Good. Maybe hate’s all we have left.”
We sit in the frozen silence, broken and burning. The fire crackles, throwing weak orange light. I curl into myself again, shaking so hard I can barely breathe. My fingers have gone stiff and blue. I try to rub them, but it’s useless. There’s no warmth left in me.
Brody paces. His breathing is ragged, fists flexing, jaw clenched so tight it must hurt.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I want to disappear, but my body just keeps betraying me. A violent shudder wracks my shoulders. I fold deeper, biting my lip to keep from begging for help.
There’s a sudden rush. A heavy movement. Brody kneels by my side. The thick quilt slams onto my back, then his hands, rough and hot, wrapping the blanket around me like a straitjacket.
His palm lingers, heavy, pressing me close to the fire. His voice is a growl in my ear. “Stop being stubborn. You’ll lose a fucking toe.”
I can’t look at him, but I can smell him. Dark, angry. The blanket is heavy, trapping the heat and his scent. I shiver harder, the violence of it almost tipping me over.
His hands stay on my shoulders for a heartbeat too long. He pulls me closer, just a fraction, until I’m pressed into his side.
For a split second, I let myself lean into him. I feel the moment he snaps out of it. His muscles tense. His hands go cold and careful, then vanish.
He stands, sudden and stiff, like he’s been burned. “Don’t get used to it,” he mutters. “You’re not my problem.”
Moving to the other side of the cabin, he turns his back, arms crossed, face gone hard again. I tuck the blanket tighter, but the warmth he left lingers, more agonizing than the cold.
I watch his silhouette in the gloom. So close, but so fucking far. My heart hammers. I want to scream, to beg, to break something. I remember how he fucked me last night. It’s so different from when we were together back in the day. I hardly recognize him.
I can’t stay here. I need to go.
“Did you drive here? Could you go into town and pick up supplies? Please? We don’t know how long the power will be out,” I pleaded, hoping he might leave so I can try to make my escape. There must be a road nearby. I can find someone to let me in their car.
He shakes his head. “We have enough. I parked a few miles away. You think I didn’t plan ahead? I brought everything we’ll need. You’re stuck here with me. There is no fucking way I am leaving you here alone. You’re my prisoner, remember? Fucking act like it.”
“What do you mean; you planned this?”
He takes a moment to answer. His jaw clenches, and his hands shake.
He looks at me, almost as if he’s bleeding from the inside out.
“I heard my father talking. He hired men to take you somewhere. He wanted to use you as leverage or revenge.” He takes a deep breath.
“I couldn’t have him take you away, I would never see you again, so I planned to intercept. You’re mine to break, Bambi. Mine.”
I blink in surprise. My head feels like it’s stuffed with snow and static. I stare at Brody, the words echoing so loud I wonder if the cabin will split open. “Your father set this shit up? Oh my god.”
I hold my head in my hands. The men that took me.
They were hired by Richard? The same Richard that allowed me to eat family meals with them.
The same Richard that allowed me to go on beach trips with them.
The same Richard who sat at the table and asked about my grades.
The one who smiled at my mother and poured her wine.
I can barely force out a whisper. “You’re telling me your father is the reason I’m here. That he… what? He sent people after me like I’m a thing, not a person?” I laugh, wild, but it dies in my throat. “What the fuck, Brody? Why?”
He paces, rubbing his face hard enough to leave red streaks. For a moment, I almost see the boy I used to know, lost, desperate, but then he shuts down again, a shadow hunched against the wall.
“He’s not who you think he is,” Brody says quietly.
“He’s not just a lawyer. He’s something darker.
Powerful, cruel, obsessed with control. When my mother died—when she was killed—he swore it was Marcus’s people, that Marcus wanted her gone because she was getting too close.
Or maybe he wanted me gone. He’s been at war with your stepfather ever since.
I got dragged in whether I wanted it or not. ”
A chill sweeps through me that has nothing to do with the cold air.
“You think Marcus had something to do with your mom’s death?
” My voice is barely more than a croak. “I didn’t know.
Brody, I swear, I never knew any of this.
Marcus keeps everything in the dark. He always has. I’m not part of any of it. I’m not—”
His glare slices through me. “Don’t. Don’t play innocent. Not after everything. You lived in his house. You did his jobs. You let him—” His voice breaks, jagged and angry.
I feel the sting in my eyes again. “Let him? You think I had a choice? You think I ever wanted any of this?” My hands ball into fists, nails digging into my palms. “You don’t know what goes on behind closed doors. You don’t know what he’s done to me.”
He stares at me, searching my face for lies. I see the war flicker in his eyes. He wants to believe I’m just another piece on the board, another traitor, but something cracks at the edge of his mouth.
“What did he do?” he asks, voice rough.
I flinch. “You want all the details? He’s kept me locked away for years.
He puts his hands on me in ways that fucking shatters me.
He controls where I go, who I see, what I wear.
If I step out of line, I pay for it. He says I’m his, that I should be grateful he didn’t break me worse.
I’m not part of his war, Brody. I’m just a casualty. ”
He sits down, hard, as if the confession knocks the breath out of him. For the first time, I see doubt in the set of his shoulders, the way his fists unclench, knuckles white. He looks smaller, folded in on himself.
Silence fills the room. The fire pops. The wind claws the window frame.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” he asks, voice thin. “Back then. Why didn’t you let me in?”
I swallow. My throat aches from all the words I’ve never said. “Because he threatened to kill you if I did. Because he made sure you’d never come back. Because he made me say things, do things, so you’d hate me enough to stay away.”
He shakes his head, but it’s not denial. It’s disbelief, world-shattering. For a long time, neither of us speak. I stare into the fire, wishing I could crawl inside the flames.
Brody’s voice is low, almost lost in the storm. “I thought I could hate you forever. It was easier. Safer. But if what you’re saying is true—if you really never had a choice—”
My voice is shaky. “I never did. I’m still fighting to have one.”
He doesn’t answer. He wraps his arms around himself, looking everywhere but at me. For the first time, I see him uncertain, hollowed out, not the monster he plays for my benefit but someone wounded and tired and just as lost as I am.
The dread in the cabin thickens, but something else swirls beneath it: the beginning of understanding, or at least the end of blind hatred.
“Tell me the rest,” I say, voice barely above the crackle of the fire. “Tell me what your father is, what you’re part of now.”
Brody’s eyes are black, haunted. “Richard will do anything to win. He keeps files on everyone. He makes people disappear. Threatens, manipulates, buys loyalty or ruins lives when he can’t. He taught me how to survive, how to fight dirty, just like Marcus did with you.”
I let the words sink into the silence.
“We’re both just property. Two people trapped in a cage,” I whisper.
He laughs, but the sound is cracked. “Not to me. Not anymore. I don’t know what you are to me now, Lola. But you’re not nothing.”
Rain rattles on the window. The fire eats the last of the wood.
Our shadows stretch longer, ragged and thin, reaching for each other across the frozen floor.
We sit together, not close, not touching, but the distance between us is different now.
Not hate. Not quite trust. Just two people, broken by the same hands, waiting for the next blow to fall.