Chapter 18

In the midst of the swirling chaos in my mind, time becomes a foreign concept, an elusive shadow slipping through my grasp. I”m adrift in a sea of hazy thoughts, unable to anchor myself to the present moment.

I don”t remember when my stepfather left the room. It could have been minutes ago, hours ago, or even days. But the passing of time holds no significance to me now. It”s as if I”ve been suspended in this numb, disconnected state for an eternity.

Every thought that flits through my mind is fleeting, disjointed, unable to take hold. Memories drift in and out like fragments of a dream, tantalizingly close yet just out of reach. I try to grasp onto them, to make sense of the chaos within me, but they slip away like sand through my fingers.

In the ebb and flow of consciousness, moments of lucidity emerge like islands in the fog, only to be swallowed again by the vast expanse of oblivion.

At times, I can feel the cold, unyielding grip of the chair digging into my skin, a stark reminder of my physical confinement. Other times, I drift in a weightless void, untethered from reality, lost in the murky depths of my own mind.

In one fleeting moment, I thought I heard my name whispered on the edge of perception. The tone was indistinct, yet it stirred something deep within me—a primal instinct, perhaps, honed through years of survival in a world rife with danger. It”s a voice I recognize, a voice that belongs to one of the men my stepfather gave me to like a pawn to use.

The voice, faint and distant, triggered a cascade of memories, each more fragmented than the last. Images flashed before my eyes—faces blurred, voices distorted. Then, like a whisper carried away in the wind, they vanished into the abyss once more.

But then, amidst the disorienting haze, I heard it—the unmistakable sound of gunfire, distant yet chillingly real. The echoes reverberated through the recesses of my mind, jolting me back to a semblance of awareness. The gunshots were muffled, almost imperceptible, like the soft thud of a heartbeat fading into the distance.

For a fleeting moment, I was rooted in the present, my senses sharpened by the threat of danger lurking just beyond the shadows yet I can’t force my eyes to open. But as quickly as it had come, the moment passed, and I was cast adrift once more, enveloped in the ethereal embrace of nothingness.

When consciousness returns again a feeling of deja vu washes over me. I’m surrounded by warm soft bedding and there is a fire in the fireplace nearby. I recognize the piercing blue eyes of the man watching me from the armchair by the bed.

For a moment I think I’m back in the cabin, that the weeks held by my stepfather were just another nightmare. But the room isn’t one I recognize and when I shift slightly pain radiates from my arm and the memories and reality slam into me like a freight train.

Using my good arm I frantically scramble away from him, somehow managing to stand as I retreat to the corner of the room. He rises to his feet with a frown, watching me. “Angel?” he asks softly.

The sound of that name ignites a firestorm of rage within me. How dare he? How dare he use that term of endearment, how dare he take advantage of the time they spent using me at my stepfather”s wishes. Every fiber of my being recoils and I tuck myself further into the corner.

”Angel?” he repeats, taking a step closer, his expression filled with confusion. But to me, he”s nothing but a wolf in sheep”s clothing, a predator masquerading as a savior.

”Don”t you dare call me that,” I hiss, my voice laced with venom. ”You have no right. None of you do.” The memories of my captivity, of the pain and suffering inflicted upon me, fuel my anger, propelling me to stand my ground against this man who seeks to exploit me once more.

As I seethe with anger, the door creaks open, and the others enter the room, their expressions instantly shifting to concern.

”So he gave me back to you, did he?” I grit out the question, my voice dripping with bitterness. The other two still appear confused and concerned, but Damon steps closer, his hands raised in a placating motion when he sees me flinch.

”Everly, I need you to calm down and listen to me,” he says soothingly. I bristle at his attempt to pacify me, but something inside me urges me to hear him out.

”We will swear on whatever you want, whatever he said to you is not true,” Damon insists, his voice earnest. I scoff and shake my head, unable to trust his words.

”So you don”t work for him?” I challenge, my voice laced with skepticism. Damon sighs heavily, confirming my suspicions, but he continues to speak, his tone tinged with regret.

”Yes, we do, but we didn”t know he was your stepfather,” he explains.

”Like that would have stopped you from accepting your reward when he gave me to you,” I sneer, my bitterness seeping through my words. But before Damon can respond, Killian interjects, his voice calm and steady.

”He didn”t,” Killian states simply, his gaze meeting mine with unwavering sincerity. I arch an eyebrow, incredulous at his claim.

”A snowstorm gave you to us,” Killian elaborates, his tone matter-of-fact, his gaze unwavering. ”It was him that took you away. Until yesterday, we didn”t know who you were or how to find you.”

The weight of his words sinks in, and I find myself grappling with conflicting emotions—anger, betrayal, but also a glimmer of hope. Could it be true? Could they really be innocent in all of this?

I cast a skeptical glance at each of them, searching for any hint of deception. But their expressions remain steadfast, sincere. Damon”s eyes hold a glimmer of remorse, while Rayth”s features are etched with concern.

I feel a flicker of hope ignite within me, a beacon of light amidst the tumultuous storm of confusion and anger. Perhaps there is more to this situation than meets the eye, layers of deception woven into a tangled web of deceit.

The fire crackles softly in the background, casting flickering shadows across the room as I grapple with the turmoil raging within me. Damon”s pleading gaze meets mine, his hands still raised.

”We didn”t know,” he repeats, his voice tinged with remorse. ”We didn”t know who you were, or what he had done.”

I want to believe him—I want to believe that they are not the monsters my stepfather tried to convince me they are. But my wounds run deep, carving scars into my soul that refuse to fade.

”And now?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. ”What now?”

It’s Rayth who answers, a glimmer of hope shining in his eyes. ”Now, we fight,” he says, his voice steady. ”We will fight for you, Everly. We will fight alongside you. We will fight to make things right.”

I want to scoff, to dismiss his words as empty promises—but something in me yearns to believe. Slowly, tentatively, I allow myself to take a step forward, away from the safety of the corner. The others watch me with cautious optimism, their expressions a mixture of concern and relief.

”I don”t know if I can trust you,” I admit, my voice trembling. ”But I want to try.”

Damon”s eyes soften, his gaze unwavering. ”We”ll earn your trust, Everly,” he promises, his voice filled with sincerity. ”I swear it.”

Tentatively, I lower myself back onto the soft bedding, my muscles tense with apprehension. I steal a glance at Killian, whose eyes betray a longing to be closer to me, but Damon gestures to the armchair, and I”m grateful when Killian obediently sits there as instructed.

Rayth approaches from the right side of the bed, and I flinch instinctively when his hand reaches out. But instead of causing harm, he gently lifts my arm, which I hadn”t even looked at in my panic. I can now see it”s tightly bound with bandages, and as he turns it slightly and a sharp twinge of pain shoots through it.

”I don”t think you opened any stitches. How is the pain?” Rayth asks.

”I”ve had worse,” I respond, attempting to downplay the pain, but Rayth”s frown tells me he sees through my facade.

”That wasn”t what I asked,” he chides gently.

”It hurts, but I”ll survive,” I admit with a scowl.

Rayth lays my arm back down gently before retrieving a pill and a glass of water from the nearby table. ”Stubbornness won”t get you anywhere with us,” he says as he holds them out to me.

Reluctantly, I accept them, swallowing the pill and draining the glass in one gulp. The cool water soothes my parched throat, a reminder of the neglect my body endured during my captivity.

”You are safe here,” Damon interjects, his voice calm and reassuring. ”No one knows about this apartment but us. However, we do need to go back to headquarters.”

I shoot him a skeptical look, incredulous at his words. ”You”re seriously expecting me to trust you, but you”re telling me you’re going back there?” I snap, my frustration boiling over.

”Until we have a plan to take Owen out, we need to keep up appearances,” Rayth explains patiently. ”If we don”t go back in right now, he will know it was us who killed his guard and broke you out during the night. He may suspect it was us but with no evidence he can’t prove anything to get others to come after us, and some of them are more afraid of us then him. As it is, he”s probably in there punishing our tech guy when, in reality, it was him who helped us rescue you.”

Guilt washes over me at the thought of others being hurt because of me. As much as I don’t like it, I recognize the necessity of them returning to their headquarters—for now, at least.