2. Chapter 2

2

Clara

I wake up to the smell of… lavender?

What the hell?

My head throbs. It’s like my brain is too big for my skull, pounding against it with every slow beat. Fuck, what did they drug me with this time? I blink, trying to focus, but everything’s fuzzy. The light pouring into the room is too damn bright, making my eyes sting.

I scan from the ceiling down to the bed, then land on Elijah, sleeping next to me, curled up in the blankets. His little hand is clutching onto my shirt.

Thank God. Oh, my baby.

I gently pull him closer to my body, pressing my lips to the top of his head. The familiar smell of him, the warmth—it calms the panic clawing at my chest. He stirs a little, letting out a soft murmur, but doesn’t wake up. His tiny fingers twitch against my shirt.

I need to move. I need to think. I need a plan. Slowly, I slide myself apart from Elijah, careful not to wake him.

My head spins, a wave of dizziness hitting me the second I sit up. I wince, pressing my palm to my forehead, trying to will the pounding to stop.

Focus, Clara.

There’s a weird taste in my mouth—chemical, bitter. I try to swallow it down, but it sticks in the back of my throat like poison. Shit . I run my tongue over my teeth, but it doesn’t help.

I glance at the door.

Closed.

Locked, no doubt.

I don’t even need to try it to know. The room is bigger than the one they had me in before. Lighter, too. The pale walls are a soft cream color, like something out of a hotel.

My eyes flick to the wide window across the room . Daylight. I close my eyes for a second, trying to ground myself.

Breathe, Clara.

I slide out of the bed, feet hitting the wooden floor. The warmth from the sunlight contrasts sharply with the cold fear twisting in my gut. How long do I have? My eyes dart to the door, listening for footsteps. Silence. For now.

I pace to the window. My fingers twitch, wanting to yank it open to see if there’s a way out. But, of course, it’s locked tight. Figures. I lean my head against the cool glass and close my eyes. Trapped. Again.

Just as I turn back to the room, the door clicks. My whole body tenses, ready for whatever’s coming. But it’s not Leonid or one of his goons.

It’s her.

Kayla. She’d helped me escape once.

She steps inside, a tray in her hands.

Food.

Her eyes scan the room quickly before landing on Elijah. She freezes, staring at him like she’s seen a ghost. Her face tightens for a second—shock?

She doesn’t say a word, just moves toward the small table in the corner, her steps slow, deliberate. She sets the tray down carefully, but I can see it. The way her hands tremble. She knows something. I can feel it in the air.

Her eyes flick back to Elijah again. He’s stirring now, probably from the smell of food. Kayla’s face softens, but there’s sadness there, too, something that pulls at her features. She glances at me, then back at him. Her lips part like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she picks up a plate, bringing it toward us.

“Eat,” she says quietly, holding it out to me. Her voice is gentle, but there’s something heavy in it. Like she’s carrying a weight I can’t see.

I don’t take the plate. I stare at her. Now’s my chance. If anyone’s going to help me, it’s her .

“You have to help us,” I say, voice low but urgent. Elijah sits up now, rubbing his eyes. He looks at the food, then up at Kayla, but doesn’t say anything.

My heart clenches.

He’s hungry . I can see it in the way his gaze lingers on the plate, cautious but hopeful, like he’s afraid to reach for something he might not be allowed to have. It’s the kind of look no child should have.

Not mine. Not my boy.

I take a small, hesitant step toward Kayla, my eyes searching hers for any hint of sympathy.

Right now, I need to try to get out… even if I need to beg.

Kayla’s eyes meet mine for a split second. There’s a flicker of something—guilt, maybe—but then she looks away. She shakes her head, lips pressed into a thin line, before setting the plate on the table.

“No puedo ,” she whispers, shaking her head.

“ Sí, por favor ,” I blurt out. Please. I take a step toward her, my hand reaching out like I can pull her back to reason, back to helping us.

Just fucking help me.

But Kayla backpedals, her movements quick, almost panicked. Her face tightens with something unreadable as she turns toward the door. She doesn’t look back. The door clicks shut before I can take another step.

I stand there, staring at the door, feeling the cold grip of reality closing in. The lock clicks from the outside . Of course. My chance slips away just as fast as it came.

Fucking useless.

“Mommy?” Elijah’s small voice snaps me out of the anger building in my chest. I turn to see him staring at the plate of food, his lips pressed together in that way he does when he’s too afraid to ask for something.

“I’m hungry.” He looks up at me, eyes wide, a nervous wrinkle on his forehead as he glances at the plate, and it breaks something inside me.

Elijah finishes the last of his breakfast, crumbs on his fingers as he licks them clean.

He sits cross-legged on the bed, eyes wide, waiting for whatever comes next.

He doesn’t get it yet. Not fully.

I put the empty plates back on the tray, stacking them slowly, trying to buy time. How do I explain this without scaring the hell out of him?

“Elijah…” I start, my voice low as I kneel in front of him, wiping a crumb from his cheek. He looks at me with those big, trusting eyes, and my stomach tightens.

I hate this.

“These people,” I say, struggling to keep my voice calm. “They’re dangerous. We’re in a bad place, but you listen to me, okay?” I grip his hands tight, maybe a little too tight, but I can’t help it. “No matter what, I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. Do you understand?”

Elijah nods, his little hand squeezing mine back, trying to match my strength.

“I’ll protect you too, Mommy,” he says, his voice so small but so damn determined.

I force a smile. “I know you will, baby.”

But inside, I’m screaming.

How do I protect him from men like Leonid? From whatever the fuck this place is?

Before I can say anything else, a sound from outside the door makes my blood run cold.

Footsteps.

Heavy.

That’s not Kayla.

I shoot up from the bed, yanking Elijah up with me. My heart slams against my ribs as I pull him toward the far corner of the room, putting my body between him and whatever’s coming through that door. Fuck.

“Elijah, stay behind me,” I whisper, my eyes locked on the door, my body tense, ready for a fight. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out everything else.

The footsteps stop.

I grip Elijah’s arm tighter, his small body pressed against my leg .

Be ready. Be ready for anything.

The door swings open.

A figure fills the doorway—huge, broad-shouldered, casting a shadow that seems to swallow the whole damn room. It’s not Leonid. It’s the biggest one, the giant.

Fuck. I’m not someone who scares easily, not after all I’ve been through. But this man— monster —he’s different . There’s something about him—the way he carries himself, the sheer size of him—that twists something cold in my gut. He doesn’t even have to say a word, and I can feel it—the danger rolling off him in waves.

Stay calm. Just fucking stay calm.

But my body isn’t listening. My legs tremble, heart racing. He’s too damn close, fear gripping my spine, paralyzing me. Shit. I want to fight, but right now, I’m trapped—by him and by my own fear.

I open my mouth, ready to shout, to demand that he back off. “Get… away from us,” I hear myself say.

It’s supposed to sound strong, threatening. Instead, it comes out small.

Pathetic.