Chapter 17 #2
And he's holding me like I'm the most important thing in the world.
I don't know how long I stare at him. Minutes, maybe. Long enough that when his eyes finally open, I'm caught.
His lips curve into a slow, lazy smirk.
"You're staring," he says, his voice rough with sleep.
I feel my face heat, but I don't look away.
"It's hard not to stare at the man who saved me," I say, trying to keep my voice light. Teasing. "The man who proved his heroism."
I laugh softly, but it comes out breathless.
Silas's expression shifts. The smirk fades. His eyes darken.
"I'm no hero, Bec's," he says quietly.
His hand tightens on my stomach.
"Just a man on a mission."
"And you just so happen to be a bigger part of that mission."
I frown. Turn in his arms so I'm facing him.
"Why?" I ask. My voice is smaller than I want it to be. "Why did you make me so important, Silas?"
"I'm a nobody."
"Just a girl who made it out of the city chasing a dream that's now become a nightmare that's chasing me."
Silas looks at me for a long moment. His hand comes up to cup my face. Thumb brushing across my cheekbone.
"Because you walked right into my life when I didn't know I needed you the most," he says. His voice is low. Steady. Like he's been holding onto these words for a long time.
"I connected with you during the conversation we had at the fundraiser."
"Something about you caught my mind and I haven't been able to shake it."
He pauses. His jaw tightens.
"But it wasn't until I saw you with Izzy that it clicked."
"I was meant to save you from him."
"I knew he was fucking with Jenna."
"I know the Lionetti family."
I sit up too fast. Pain shoots through my ribs and I wince, but I ignore it.
"Why watch me?" I demand. My voice is sharper now. Confused. Frustrated.
"Why not just come talk to me?"
"If you know me so well, you should know I would sit and listen to what you had to say."
Silas sits up too. Slower. More controlled. He leans back against the headboard, watching me with those dark, unreadable eyes.
"Did you listen to all of Cody's warnings about him when you started talking to him?" he asks.
The question hits me like a slap.
I freeze.
"How do you know about that?" I whisper. My heart is pounding now. "That was before I met you."
Silas's smirk returns. Faint. Almost apologetic.
"Do you really want to know?"
I stare at him, my mind racing.
How much does he know? How long has he been watching? How deep does this go?
I shake my head slowly.
"Not really," I mutter.
I look away. Down at my hands.
The guilt crashes over me like a wave.
"I feel terrible," I say quietly. My voice cracks. "Guilty."
"My friends are nowhere to be found."
"It's been days."
"And yet here I am, laid up with you, having sex like I really am on vacation."
Silas opens his mouth to respond, but before he can say anything, there's a hard knock at the door.
Loud. Urgent.
"SILAS!"
Jace's voice cuts through the room like a knife.
"We got something!"
Silas is out of bed in seconds. He grabs his pants from the floor, pulling them on with quick, efficient movements.
I watch him, my heart racing.
Something's wrong.
I can feel it.
Silas crosses to the door and yanks it open.
Jace is standing there, breathing hard. His eyes are bright. Intense.
"We found her," he says without preamble. His voice tight with barely contained energy.
"We found where they're keeping Inez."
The world stops.
I hear the words, but they don't register at first. Not fully.
And then they hit me all at once.
Inez.
They found Inez.
I'm already moving. Scrambling out of bed. Ignoring the pain in my ribs. The soreness in my legs. I grab the first clothes I can find—a t-shirt. Sweatpants.
I don't care that they're not mine. I don't care about anything except getting to her.
"Where?" I demand, my voice sharp. Frantic.
Jace glances at me, then back at Silas.
Silas nods once.
"Talk," Silas says. His voice is calm. Controlled. "She knows everything."
Jace steps into the room.
"Miami," he says quickly.
"We've been getting word that a shipment of girls was being brought in."
"So, I planted one of our guys in Lionetti's ranks as a guard."
"He found her."
Silas goes still. His jaw tightens.
"You planted someone?" he says slowly. His voice is measured. Not angry. But questioning.
"Without running it by me first?"
Jace meets his eyes directly. No apology. No flinching.
"There wasn't time," he says evenly. "The window was closing."
"I made the call."
The silence stretches between them. Tense. But not hostile.
Silas studies Jace for a long moment. Then he exhales slowly.
"How deep is he?" Silas asks.
"Deep enough to move freely," Jace says. "But not so deep he can't extract if it goes sideways."
"He's solid."
Silas nods once. Sharp. Decisive.
"Good," he says.
Then his expression shifts. Harder.
"But next time—"
"Next time I'll have more than thirty seconds to brief you," Jace cuts in. His tone is firm. Respectful. But challenging.
"You would've made the same call."
Silas's mouth twitches. Almost a smile.
"Yeah," he admits. "I would've."
Jace's shoulders relax slightly.
"So, we are good?"
"We're good," Silas says. "But I want a full debrief on this guy before we move."
"Already prepped," Jace says. "Waiting in the war room."
I don't care about their debrief. I don't care about protocol or strategy or whatever the fuck they need to discuss.
I'm already pulling on shoes.
"Let's go," I say. My voice is hard. Determined.
"Let's go get her."
Silas turns to me. His expression shifts. Softens. But there's steel underneath.
"Absolutely not," he says.
I freeze.
"What?"
"You're still in no condition to leave and fight," he says. His voice is firm. Final.
"Me and my men will handle this."
I stare at him, disbelief flooding through me.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I snap, my voice rising.
"I told you I'm not a damn damsel!"
"I told you I want in!"
"This isn't up for debate!"
"I wasn't high when I said it—I remember saying it—so what's the problem?"
Silas's jaw tightens.
"I never called you a damsel, Bec's," he says. His voice is calm. Too calm.
"But you're not trained."
"Not trained?" I repeat, my voice sharp. Incredulous.
Jace shifts his weight.
"You're not trained in weapons, military precision or combat" he says carefully. His tone is gentler than Silas's. But just as firm.
"Or hand-to-hand combat."
"Nothing you need to move in this world."
"It's not about courage, Becca."
"It's about survival."
I turn around, and I laugh. It's not a happy sound. It's bitter. Angry.
"Do you think I can't shoot?" I ask, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
"You point and shoot."
"It's not that hard."
Silas steps toward me, his eyes locked on mine.
"It's not about pulling a trigger, Becca," he says. His voice is low. Intense.
"It's about staying alive when bullets are flying."
"It's about knowing when to move and when to stay down."
"It's about not getting yourself killed because you don't know what the fuck you're doing."
I glare at him, my hands curling into fists.
"She's my best friend," I say, my voice shaking now.
"She's been missing for days."
"And you think I'm just going to sit here and wait while you go get her?"
"Fuck that."
Silas's expression doesn't change.
"Yes," he says simply.
"That's exactly what you're going to do."
The silence that follows is deafening.
I can feel the rage building in my chest. Hot. Suffocating.
"You don't get to decide that" I say. My voice is quiet now. Dangerous.
"You don't get to tell me what I can and can't do."
Silas takes another step toward me. Close enough that I have to tilt my head back to look at him.
"I'm not telling you what you can and can't do," he says. His voice is soft. But there's steel underneath.
"I'm telling you what's going to keep you alive."
"And right now, that means staying here."
I open my mouth to argue. To scream at him. To tell him he's wrong.
But the words won't come.
Because deep down, I know he's right.
I'm not trained.
I don't know how to fight.
I don't know how to move in a firefight.
And if I go with them, I'll be a liability. A distraction. Something they have to protect instead of someone who can help.
But that doesn't make it any easier to accept.
"I can't just sit here," I whisper, my voice breaking. "I can't."
Silas's expression softens. Just a fraction.
He reaches out. Cups my face in his hands.
"I know," he says quietly.
"But you have to trust me."
"I will bring her back."
"I promise."
I stare up at him, tears burning in my eyes.
I want to believe him.
I want to trust him.
But the fear is too strong. The guilt too heavy.
"What if you can't?" I whisper.
Silas's thumb brushes across my cheek, wiping away a tear I didn't realize had fallen.
"Then I'll die trying," he says.
And I know he means it.