Chapter 22

STEVIE

The hot water cascades over me, but it does nothing to wash away the guilt that's tormenting me. I stand under the shower, eyes closed, letting the steam envelop me. The loss of Micah and Jesse is a weight I can't shake off. Their deaths replay in my mind, a constant, torturous loop. I should've run. I should've known better than to stay. Listening to Lennox was a mistake, not that their deaths are on him. It's all my fault. I knew the danger, and I ignored it.

I put them at risk, and in the end they paid the price for it.

They're lying cold and lifeless on a table while I get to live.

It's a fate they didn't deserve. One that befell them simply for being important to me. Now, as much as it kills me, I know I have to push Lennox away, too. I can't let him get hurt because of me. I need to ignore the feelings I have for him, and push him to accept that we can never happen, before he ends up dead as well.

I reach for the eucalyptus and lavender soap, inhaling deeply as I lather it onto my skin. The scent is supposed to be calming, but today, it only serves as a painful reminder of the life I can never return to. I scrub harder, as if I can cleanse myself of my mistakes. The selfish choices I made kept them close to me, even when I knew the risks, but it doesn't. The soap creates a thick lather, its creamy texture a stark contrast to the roughness of my emotions.

I turn off the water and step out of the shower, grabbing a towel. As I dry off, my thoughts are still churning. The towel is soft, but it offers no comfort to my now scrubbed raw skin. I rub it over my body, trying to focus on the present, to ground myself, but the memories are relentless and unforgiving. I dry my hair and wrap the towel around my body, securing it tightly before stepping out of the steam filled bathroom.

The second I leave the bathroom, I know something is wrong. The air feels different, tense. Grim isn't in the usual spot on bed. He always greets me after my showers, wanting to lick the water from my legs as it trickles down my body, but now he's nowhere to be seen. My heart rate spikes as I move quietly to the nightstand, scanning the dark hallway with my eyes before turning my back to it and opening the drawer. I pull out my pistol, a compact Beretta 92 FS, smooth and cool in my hand.

Safety.

Before I can react, the floorboards creak behind me. The faintest sound, but one I'm expecting. I spin around, but a sharp pain explodes in my head as something hard smacks against my skull. The impact causes the gun to slip from my grasp as I'm tackled to the floor.

The intruder is a hulking man, his build solid and intimidating. He reeks of sweat and cigarettes, a nauseating combination that fills my nostrils as we grapple on the floor.

"Who the fuck are you?" I snap, my tone sharp as I wince at the pain now radiating across my head, but he ignores me. His hands are rough and strong as he tries to pin me down. I fight back with everything I have, unwilling to be an easy target. I'm not that innocent and helpless child they stole all those years ago. The one who has no chance to fight back. Now, I can defend myself. I can fight back, and if it ever proves not to be enough, at least I know I fucking died trying.

We roll around, exchanging blows, my fists and elbows landing wherever I can reach. He finally overpowers me, pinning me on my back to the floor. My towel has come loose, leaving me exposed from the top up. He grips my throat with one hand, his eyes leering at my naked body. His gaze makes my skin crawl, a feeling of utter violation washing over me. Despite everything I've been through, this is something I can't stomach. His free hand reaches for the gun, and my heart pounds as he grabs it.

His eyes lock with mine, a coy smirk painting his face as he tightens his hold on my throat, and trails the barrel of the gun down my body. "Pretty little thing you are, aren't you. No wonder they sent so many of us after you,"

"Fuck you." I spit, my words barely a whisper with his hand firmly squeezing my windpipe. My vision begins to blur with the lack of oxygen filling my lungs. He laughs with amusement, as he shuffles down my body, and rips open the towel until I'm completely exposed to him.

He traces the gun over the crescent moon branding on my hip, following the curve of the shape. "Yeah, I can see why Jensen is so eager to get you back. Maybe we should have some fun before I take you in though, eh?" he whispers, as he moves the gun lower along my body.

He presses the cold barrel of the gun to my pussy, a sick grin on his face. "Let's see how good you can take this barrel, then I'll decide if you're worthy of my cock," he sneers, his voice dripping with malice, "Don't you fucking move, or I'll blow a hole right through you, bitch."

The thought of him touching me makes me sick. Memories of the way I was used flood back, vivid and relentless. I see myself as a child, sold and traded, my body a commodity for men like him. The fear is overwhelming, but it morphs into something else—rage.

I can barely breathe, his hand tightening around my throat as he starts to push the barrel inside me. At first, I want to panic, but I don't. I show no reaction. Keeping my face stern and free of emotion, because thats what these sick fucks like. It's what gets them going. The fear of their helpless victims is what gets them off, and I'd rather fucking die than give that to anyone, ever again. Let alone this piece of shit. My hands grip the arm holding my throat, in one last desperate attempt to free myself and I remember something crucial: the safety is still on. I didn't even have a chance to flick it off.

I let out a laugh, a dark, humorless sound. Puzzled by my reaction, he cocks his head to the side as his gaze meets mine, "You idiot," I choke out. "The safety's on."

His expression shifts to one of rage. He pulls the trigger, and nothing happens.

"You fucking sneaky bitch─" Enraged, he raises the gun to strike me but with out thinking, releases his hold on my throat, giving me just the opening I need. I headbutt him with all my strength. My forehead crashes into his nose with a sickening crunch. He howls in pain, dropping the gun as blood pours from his shattered nose.

I scramble for the gun, my vision swimming from the impact. Blood drips from my own nose as I unlock the safety, aim, and pull the trigger. The bullet hits him square in the forehead. His body slumps to the ground, blood splattering all over me and the room.

I drop the gun to the floor and I sit there for a moment. My chest rising and falling with slow panted breaths as I fill my lungs with much needed air as I try to calm myself.

It's over.

I'm okay, and it's over.

Grim slowly emerges from under the bed, meowing softly. I pick him up, holding him close against me as he starts licking the blood splatter from my face. I exhale a shaky breath, relieved to see him unharmed. "I'm glad you're okay, Grim," I say, my voice trembling. "I knew something was up when you weren't on the bed, such a good little alarm kitty you are."

I glance down at myself, still naked and covered in blood yet a grim sense of satisfaction washing over me. "Guess I need another shower," I mutter, as I push myself to my feet. I set Grim down on my bed, and he curls up into a ball in his usual spot. I take one last glance at myself in the mirror before picking up my phone. My fingers shake as I dial Lennox's number, but I steady myself, reminding myself I did it. I'm okay, I survived.

Lennox answers. His tone is panicked, "Stevie?"

"Lennox, I need you," I whisper, my tone coming out softer than I intend.

I can hear the car door close in the background. Like he knew something was wrong the moment he saw my name on his phone. He fucking knew. "What happened? Where are you?" he asks impatiently.

"I'm at my apartment," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "I was attacked─"

"Fuck!" he shouts. I can hear his hand as he slams down on the steering wheel and the familiar roar of his engine as he starts it up. "Yeah, I'm okay, but he's dead, and I─I don't know what to do,"

He's in a frenzied rage. "I'm on my way, lil spark. Don't leave and lock the fucking doors." he commands.

"Okay," I reply, "Hurry, please," I whisper. Hating myself for being vulnerable, but if there is one person I know I can be with, it's him.

"Don't worry, babe. I'll be there before you know it. You did good, I'm proud of you. Now lock the fucking doors,"

"But how will you get in?"

He laughs, "Don't you worry about that," and with that he hangs up.

Tossing my phone on the bed, I give Grim a little pat on the head and lock the doors before heading to the shower. I thought I'd be more upset about taking another life. I mean, it's not my first time, but with each one it's becoming unexpectedly easier. Maybe it's because I'm hungry for blood. For revenge for my friends.

Or maybe it's because of my own traumas. Whatever it is, I'm thankful for it.

The last thing I need is more bullshit to fuel the relentless nightmares that plague me.

As I step back under the hot water, I feel the fire inside me burn hotter. It pours over me, washing away the blood but not the memory of what just happened. The scent of eucalyptus mingles with the metallic tang of blood, creating a bizarre, almost surreal atmosphere in the small bathroom. I scrub myself furiously, trying to erase the feeling of his hands on me, the violation. But no matter how hard I scrub, the memory of his leering eyes, his sneering voice lingers. Unwilling to dissipate so easily.

The steam curls around me, and I close my eyes, trying to drown out the memories of tonight.

I killed him. I had to. There was no other choice.

My mind drifts back to Lennox. Like the heated water of the shower, relief washes over me knowing he's on his way. The moment I called him, he already knew and wasted no time rushing over. He always knows when I need him, as if he's attuned to my distress. My trauma. He cares for me, more than anyone ever has. It scares me sometimes, how much I depend on that, especially lately.

Grabbing the loofa, I scrub my skin harder, unsure of why I feel so dirty? He didn't even manage to do anything to me, not really. Just tried. And I've been through so much worse. So much fucking worse. Yet, this time, it feels different. Maybe it's because I'm letting my guard down. The walls I've built so high and so strong for years are beginning to crumble.

I'm letting go, little by little.

Because of him.

Whatever it is, I remind myself that I did it. I handled it. I remind myself I'm not that helpless little girl anymore. I'm not the same Ember who flinched at shadows and lived in fear. No, I'm stronger now.

Tougher.

And they can't break what's already broken.

I open my eyes and watch the water swirl down the drain, carrying away the blood, the grime, the remnants of what just happened. But it can't wash away the feeling. The sense of violation, even if it was just an attempt.

I run my hands over my arms, scrubbing furiously, trying to rid myself of the sensation. But it lingers, mocking me, reminding me. I want to scream, to cry, to rage against the unfairness of it all. But I can't. I won't.

I used to be able to tell myself I'm not alone. That I had people who cared about me. Micah, and Jesse. And while I might've lost them, I still have him.

Lennox cares. I can feel it in the way he looks at me, the way our games infuriate him but also thrill him. That glint in his playful eyes. We may have just met, but he'd die for me. He'd go to war for me, and I for him, because there is no one else like us.

He was right when he said there was no one else for me. That no one else would understand my needs, the way he does.

And it's that thought that finally allows me to take a deep breath, to steady myself.

I'm not alone. I'm not weak. I'm not that little girl anymore. And I won't let anyone make me feel like I am.

I did it. And I'll keep doing it. Because Ember is dead.

Buried in the field of forgotten children.

I'm Stevie Shepherd, and I'm not going down without a fight.