Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Renata

I wish he had more time to show me how to really use it, but we'll have to make do. I can tell he's reserved, but he's trying, and God, if that doesn't mean fucking everything to me right now.

Maybe loving someone doesn't mean perfection or never failing. Maybe it means showing up. Maybe it means learning, time and time again, how to keep going despite even really knowing the steps to take or the moves to make. Maybe loving someone means not giving up, regardless of the odds you face together.

Thankfully, Ollie nods. He pushes out of bed and walks to the dresser, pulling open the bottom drawer. When I see what he's offering, I gasp but quickly stifle it. Yes. Now we're playing with the big guns.

"Take this," he says, handing me a compact, handheld canister that's about the size of a tube of lipstick. "There's a nozzle and safety cap to prevent accidental discharge. You hold it firmly in your hand with your thumb on the safety, point the nozzle directly at your attacker's face, and aim for the eyes. A single burst should be enough to disable. As soon as you pull it, step back so you don't inhale the air around it."

"What will it do?"

"It'll cause temporary blindness, difficulty breathing, and intense burning, giving you enough time to get away."

His voice is steady, but I can see the tension in his eyes as he watches me.

I take the bottle, my hand trembling slightly as I place it on the table beside me. "Thank you."

"If you ever need to incapacitate a man, go for the balls," Ollie says, his tone deadly serious.

"Seriously?" I ask, my eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"Seriously," he repeats. "A hard strike with two fingers, a kick—it doesn't take much. Just don't hesitate. That's the key. You'll only have seconds to act, but that's all you'll need to get away." He shakes his head. "Swear to fuck, my balls are aching just from the thought of it."

I snort and shake my head. This is an easy one.

Ollie continues. "If he's standing close to you, balance your stance. The knee strike is one of the most effective ways. Aim for the center of the groin, be quick and forceful, and drive your knee upward. This is something you can do if your attacker is directly in front of you or you're being held or grabbed. If there's more distance, you can aim for a front kick or even pick something up and whack him with it, but make sure your aim is solid."

"Okay, alright, I've got it." I nod, my mouth dry. I have a sudden, sharp headache I know is only stress, but I still feel nauseous.

I nod, trying to absorb everything he's telling me.

"After you hit someone's nuts, he'll double over. It could also make him disorientated or nauseous, but it's a rare guy who will be able to walk for long if you strike him where it hurts."

I nod, feeling a bit more prepared, when he reaches into the drawer again and pulls out a small, slender knife.

"Go for the exposed, soft parts of the body," he says, handing it to me. "And don't hesitate, Renata. Women may not be as strong as a man, but that isn't the point. I just gave you three weapons you can use against an attacker. What makes you most vulnerable is your unwillingness to use them. You have to be willing to hurt someone to save yourself. Jab, twist, do whatever the fuck you need to do. This is also useful if you're ever restrained. Got it?"

I nod again, taking the knife and tucking it into my sleeve. I've dressed in form-fitting clothing, something that will allow me to move quickly if I need to. I have a feeling I will.

Ollie turns to me, his expression softening as he looks into my eyes. "I don't know what's going on in your head right now, but I know this—you're a survivor. You're fiercely determined." He pauses, his gaze steady and unwavering. "Your greatest weakness here is remembering who your brother was to you. Know this, Renata—that man no longer exists. That doesn't matter anymore. Hold onto the memory of who he was, but don't delude yourself about who he is now."

His voice grows husky with emotion, and it takes everything in me not to break down. "Sometimes, relationships fade, and people change. We need to remember what we had with them instead of lying to ourselves about the way things are now."

His words cut deep because I know they're true. I've been lying to myself, hoping against hope that my brother isn't the monster I know he's become. A part of me still hopes that Carlos loves me the way I once loved him, but Ollie is right—that's my greatest weakness. If he shows even a hint of caring, if he apologizes, I know I might cave to him.

It's hard to describe the bond between a brother and sister—something no one else can understand. No one knows what I went through growing up like Carlos does. No one knows the threads that wove the fabric of my being the way he does.

I could tell Ollie everything, but he'll never understand the way Carlos would. Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood… Eventually, I'll have to give myself space to grieve what once was—to mourn the death of the brother I grew up with.

For now, I have to survive.

I stand quietly, going over the instructions he just gave me as I watch Ollie get ready.

I wish for all of this to be over. I'm ready.

So is he.

We head downstairs as if we're in the middle of an active shooting situation, inspecting every crevice, every corner. His guards are stationed at various places—in doorways, by windows. He doesn't trust this situation, and neither do I. Where could Carlos be?

Or maybe we are mistaken?

Did the man Ollie killed lie to us?

I sigh. I know the truth. I know when people lie, and he spoke the truth.

Carlos is here.

Not in New York. Not in The Cove.

Carlos is in this house, and he's here to kill me.