The city lights smeared across the car window as Asher drove in silence, his hands gripping the steering wheel with a tension I couldn't ignore. Outside, the streets buzzed with life, but inside the car, the air felt heavy, almost suffocating.
I sank into my seat, my gaze fixed on the passing streetlamps. The quiet between us wasn't comfortable; it was taut, like a rope pulled too tightly, ready to snap.
"So…" His voice finally cut through the stillness, hesitant yet deliberate. "What did you eat that made you use the toilet all night?"
I turned my head sharply, catching his eyes briefly before looking away. "A burrito I bought from a deli. Probably because of all the curry," I lied, my tone clipped.
I felt his gaze lingering on me. "But you feel okay now, right?"
"I'm fine," I muttered, still staring out the window, hoping my tone would end the conversation.
"You don't look fine," he said bluntly, his voice calm but probing, as if he refused to let it drop.
"It's just the food and the crowd," I replied, my voice sharper than intended. "I don't like people."
He nodded slowly, his fingers drumming once on the steering wheel before gripping it tighter. "It's not just tonight, though, is it? You've been shutting people out for weeks."
That made me sit up straighter, my muscles tensing. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He glanced at me, his brow furrowed in quiet frustration. "It means you push people away, Khloe. You've been doing it since the day I met you. I get it—everyone has their walls. But you've built yours so high, it's like no one's even allowed to knock."
My chest tightened, a familiar pressure building behind my ribs. The words stung more than I wanted to admit. "You don't know what you're talking about," I said, my voice quiet but trembling with suppressed emotion.
"Don't I?" His tone wasn't harsh, but there was a firmness in it that made me flinch. "You've got this act down—be just nice enough that people don't question it, but not so nice that they'll try to get close. It works on everyone. Except me."
Heat rose to my cheeks as I turned to face him, my pulse quickening with a mix of anger and something I couldn't name. My voice shook as I retorted, "You don't know me, Asher."
"Then let me," he said, his voice softening but no less firm. "Why won't you let anyone in? What are you so afraid of?"
The question hit like a punch to the gut. My mind flashed to the warehouse, the sound of chains rattling, the metallic tang of blood in the air, and further back to the damp, dark place where I lost everything. A place I never wanted to revisit. The sound of my victims as they begged for mercy, my cries as I tried to push the man who raped me. I couldn't let anyone see me—the real me. I was vulnerable, and I knew that.
My breath hitched, and I clenched my fists in my lap, nails digging into my palms. "It's none of your business," I said, my voice low and final.
He sighed, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye before focusing back on the road. "You're right," he said softly. "It's not. But that doesn't mean I don't care."
The words hung in the air, pressing against my chest like a weight I didn't know how to carry. I stared out the window, my jaw tight, refusing to let him see the cracks forming.
"You know," he continued after a beat, his voice quieter now, "people don't just disappear into themselves for no reason. Something happened to you, didn't it?"
My stomach churned violently, and I felt the blood drain from my face. Memories clawed at the edges of my mind, threatening to break free. I swallowed hard, forcing them back into the dark recesses where they belonged.
"Asher, stop," I snapped, my voice louder than I intended.
He glanced at me, concern flickering in his eyes, but he didn't push further. The rest of the drive passed in tense silence, the space between us filled with all the words neither of us dared to say.
When we reached my house, I muttered a quick "thank you" before slipping out of the car without looking back—not after the conversation we just have. The weight of his words still clung to me like a second skin, impossible to shed.
Inside, the darkness felt heavier than usual, swallowing me whole as I kicked off my shoes and headed to the kitchen. My bag felt heavier too, the envelope inside pulling at my conscience like a lead weight.
I set it on the counter, my fingers lingering over the seal for a moment before tearing it open. A flash drive tumbled out, unmarked and unassuming.
Plugging it into my laptop, I waited as the files loaded. A folder popped up, labeled "HARRINGTON." My stomach churned as I clicked it open.
The first image was of a young boy, no older than six, his gap-toothed smile wide and innocent. My breath caught. He was familiar. The boy from the photograph. My pulse quickened as I clicked to the next image.
He was older now, dressed in a school uniform, his expression shy but proud. Each photo was a snapshot of his life, a boy growing into a teenager, then a man.
The last image made my blood turn cold.
It was him. The man from the warehouse. The one i had shot. The one who had escaped.
I stared at the screen, my mind racing. Who was Harrington? Why did Aurielle have his pictures? What does he have against him?
I pulled out Robert's file for what felt like the thousandth—no, millionth time.
The pages were worn from being handled so often, the corners bent, the ink smudged in places where my fingers had lingered too long. Every detail about Robert was here: his record, his background, the people he'd worked with and against. But no matter how closely I looked, there was no mention of Harrington. No link, no clue.
So why had Aurielle hidden this flash drive? What did he have against Harrington?
Frustration boiled over, and I slammed the file shut, rubbing my temples as the questions swirled in my head.
My phone rang, breaking the silence. Ruby's name flashed on the screen. Relief flooded me as I answered, but it was short-lived.
"Khloe," her voice trembled, barely audible. "You need to come to the safe house. Now."
"Ruby?" My heart sank. "What's wrong? What happened?"
"I don't know," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Someone's here—"
The line went dead for a second, followed by a sharp, unmistakable click. A gun cocking.
"Ruby!" I shouted, but the call had already ended.
I grabbed my jacket and keys, not bothering to change out of the clothes I'd been wearing. My mind raced as I sped through the streets, the adrenaline pumping through my veins making my hands tremble on the steering
wheel.
"Not again" My voice shuddered as I drove down the streets. It had happened once with the people I loved, I was not going to let it happen for the second time.
The memory of mom, my sisters, the blood. My eyes were foggy but I had to focus. She was in danger.
Who could it be? Possibly those men stalking her. Or could it be Harrington? What if he broke ti my house to find out where she was?
I kept calling her phone back, the line saying its switched off.
I got frustrated with everything try. I sprinted down as the safe house came into
view.
I parked my car, placing my revolver at the back of my coat.
I headed out, blasting the door open. "Ruby!"
I screamed at the top of my lungs as I scurried round the living room.
"What's going on?".
"Khloe" I heard a faint voice, almost like it was about to cry.
I turned around to see who it was. It was Ruby. Her eyes were so puffy from crying.
A gun aimed to her head and behind her a man stood. He came to the light and I felt
my throat drop to my stomach, my heart skipped a beat.
Harrington.