Unlawful Hearts (The Redemption Road #2)

Chapter 1

AVA - VILLAIN IN OUR STORY

The problem with working in trauma counselling is that it makes you see patterns. You notice too much. You flinch at the right kind of silence. You start to feel the storm coming before the clouds even show up.

I had been told a time or two that I saw things that weren't there, saw the worst in people. I liked to see it as I saw the truth, regardless of how ugly, and I could feel things coming because I knew the patterns.

And today? I felt it. There was a storm coming, but I just didn't know why.

The clinic was quieter than usual. Not the good kind of quiet, not the calm after a long day or the hush before a breakthrough. No, this kind of quiet crept up your spine and made your instincts twitch in high alert. It felt like something was holding its breath. Like the universe was bracing.

Remi noticed it too.

She was across from me on the floor of my office, legs folded, munching on a half-stale granola bar, flipping through one of those dog-eared self-help books she swore she only kept around for clients.

Her long, dark hair was down today, curling naturally around her shoulders. She looked off. Fidgety.

“It’s too still,” I murmured, more to myself than her.

She looked up, eyes narrowing. “You feel it too?”

I nodded. That was all it took. We trusted the same instincts. Different temperaments, but the same gut.

I rose, stretching until my spine cracked. “Who’s left on your schedule?”

“No one. I cleared the last slot to catch up on notes. You?”

“Sofia.”

Remi set the book aside. “Is she still doing, okay?”

I hesitated. “Better, since she moved in with her aunt. But her ex hasn’t stopped messaging. Threats. Guilt trips. Promises. Gaslighting. You know the type.”

Remi’s jaw tightened. “I hate that type.”

We both did.

We didn’t talk about it often, but it was always there.

The undercurrent. The knowledge that this job we chose, this life, would keep asking for pieces of us.

And we’d keep giving them. Not because we didn’t care, but because we cared too much.

Because we knew what it felt like to scream into silence.

Every relationship, every moment in our lives, was touched by the work we did.

Whatever the opposite of rose-colored glasses... that is what we wore.

Remi stood and dusted her hands on her jeans. “Brrrr... I’m getting tea. Want one? The usual?”

I smiled. “You better not be trying to bribe me to help with your notes.”

She winked. “That, and to keep you from spiralling over Sofia's file. Five minutes. Don’t move.”

I rolled my eyes but nodded. Watching her leave settled something in me for a breath. I could hear her struggling to get her sweater over her head. I laughed to myself and then turned toward my desk to check Sofia’s file, just to review one last note before her session.

I was lost in my notes when the front door chimed and the crisp, cold November air wrapped around me.

Remi was quick.

But then everything in me locked up. The footsteps were wrong. Too heavy. Too deliberate. Too sure of themselves. The kind that says, 'I don’t care who I have to go through; I’m not leaving.'

I stepped into the hallway.

And there he was.

Six feet of rage stuffed into a stained jean jacket.

Sofia’s ex.

His hands twitched at his sides. His jaw worked like he was chewing rocks. Eyes scanning, zeroed in.

“You, Ava?”

I didn’t answer. Not yet. I planted my feet. Took a breath that didn’t calm anything.

“She ruined my life,” he growled. “That bitch filled her head with bullshit. Told her to leave me.”

I kept my tone neutral. Measured. “I am not sure who you are talking about. But I assure you, we don't force any of our patients. They make their own choices.”

He stepped forward, and I could see it in his eyes, the rage. “You think you can fuck with people’s lives and walk away clean?”

God. That voice. That threat. I’d heard too many versions of it over the years.

I stepped back, heat crawling up my back, heart kicking up, trying to figure out a way out of this.

Then the door opened again. The stifling sensation was replaced with icy dread.

Remi.

She waltzed into the clinic and then came to an abrupt stop.

She had two paper cups in her hands and a furrow in her brow. She took one look at him, at me, at the tension snapping in the air, and didn’t hesitate.

“Get away from her.”

He turned toward her, and that’s when I saw the glint of silver.

A knife.

"Are you Ava?" He growled.

Remi looked me over quickly; in the way she had since we were 16... in the way that begged to make sure I was ok... Whole. A look that would forever be burned into my memory because I had unfortunately seen it too many times.

"You know what, it doesn’t fucking matter which one of you bitches is Ava... this clinic is ruining lives, bitches thinking they can just walk away... and that happened since you came to town."

He turned and lurched towards me.

Remi moved before my brain even caught up.

I felt the wind first; his fingers graze my cheek... trail my hair... a whisper of a touch on my collarbone.

No no no no

Remi moved fast and threw the tea at his face, scalding liquid and all. I turned mine away from him to avoid the splash. He screamed and dropped the weapon, both hands flying up to his face.

The knife clattered to the floor.

He lunged at me again, eyes wild, face red. “You crazy bitch!”

Remi shoved me aside and collided with him mid-swing. They went down hard. I stumbled back, gasping, heart hammering against my ribs as they struggled.

She fought like she meant it. Like she had most of her life.

I watched her wrestle him, adrenaline surging. She got the knife again, a brutal twist, practiced motion.

He came at her one more time.

And swung the blade.

It wasn’t calculated. It wasn’t clean. It was raw, desperate, survival-driven chaos.

Her hand jerked. The blade hit his shoulder. Blood bloomed fast.

He screamed. She dropped the knife as if it burned her.

I fumbled for my phone, dialling 911.

My voice shook, but I kept it steady enough. “Attempted assault with a knife. Carter & Sinclair Trauma Clinic. Send units now.”

Sirens screamed in under four minutes.

I thought I’d feel relief. I didn’t.

Because when the officers burst in, they didn’t see the man who had threatened us. The man who wouldn't have stopped had Remi not stepped in. They saw a woman with blood on her hands.

They saw Remi.

She didn’t fight it. Didn’t explain. Just knelt beside me, hands already raising.

“Hands where I can see them!” A sharp bark echoed in the room.

She obeyed.

The bastard who started it all was crumpled in the corner, crying about being stabbed by a psycho. And then I saw him.

The one who had eyes on the wrong person.

The one making the mistake.

Harlan Gray.

Police Chief. Ex-military. The town’s golden boy.

I tried to get his attention, get him to listen. But he was singularly focused on Remi.

He looked at Remi as if she were a loaded gun, as if she hadn’t just saved my life.

“You have the right to remain silent,” he said, calm as stone, pulling her to her feet.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I snapped, stepping forward. “She saved me! He came at me with a knife!”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look at me. Like I wasn't even there, or worse yet, not worth his attention.

Remi met my eyes. Not afraid. Just… tired. Resigned.

Like this was how it always ended for girls like us.

For those of us who had seen too much and refused to remain quiet.

And something inside me cracked wide open.

No. No, we were done with that.

If this man thought, he was going to treat her like the villain in our story?

He hadn’t met me yet.