Page 10 of Enzo
I pushed myself forward, dragging my aching body along the cold floor. My breath came in ragged gasps, each one burning my throat.
Enzo’s voice—calm, steady—followed me. “It’s okay,” he kept saying, over and over like a chant. “It’s okay.”
It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Nothing was ever okay. Jamie and Rio were there too—two solid figures blocking the exit. I knew they were trying to help, but panic twisted my thoughts. I couldn’t tell the difference between safety and threat, and all I saw were bodies in my way—people who might grab me and trap me. Rationally, I knew theyweren’tJohn or the other two. But fear doesn’t listen to reason, and I couldn’t stop the instinct to run. I flinched back, barely hearing their words. Were they helping me? Stopping me? I couldn’t tell. My head swam, and nothing made sense.
Then I saw it—an open door, a small dark room no windows, one door—a mess of boxes stacked high in the corners. I staggered inside, something shifted, and I was somehow safer. The chaos of outside was gone, or at least muffled. I sank to the floor, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I let out a breath that didn’t catch in my throat.
“I’m safe! I’m safe!” I yelled at Enzo, though nothing about this felt true. His face blurred in front of me, distorted by fear and confusion. I curled up tight in the corner, pressing my back to the wall. My breath was too fast, too shallow, as the shadows swallowed me whole.
“Robbie—”
“Shut the door!” I gasped, forcing the words out as though they’d been torn from my throat.
Enzo nodded slowly, his face a mask of concern, and pulled the door shut with quiet finality. I scrambled forward, hauling myself to my knees and dragging boxes in front of the door with what little strength I had left. The scratching of cardboard on wood seemed deafening in the silence.
Then came the pain—deep and jagged, tearing through my chest as if someone had reached in and twisted something vital. Memories flooded in with it—John’s face contorted in rage, his knuckles bloodied from beating me—the cold of the concrete floor beneath my cheek. The taste of copper in my mouth was sharp and metallic. I remembered lying there, unable to breathe, hearing John mutter something about how weak I was, how I was nothing. How I owed him for being alive.
“What did you do!” He screamed over and over, the snap of iron around my neck.
He’s gripping me.
“You’ll kill us both!” he’s screaming at me. The ache in my chest wasn’t just pain—it was fear, helplessness, and the awful certainty no one was coming to save me. That moment felt real, my body curling in on itself to brace for another blow that wasn’t coming. I wrapped my arms around my knees, and sobbed. The tears came hard and fast, and I let them. I was too tired to fight anymore.
FOUR
Enzo
“What the fuckdid they do to him!” Rio snapped, and I gestured for him to lower his voice. “He’s barely conscious, but he throws himself down the fucking stairs?”
“Do we need to call someone?” Jamie asked.
“Who?” I snapped, suddenly exhausted and scared. “He said no.” I knocked on the thin door, my knuckles rapping on the wood. “Robbie?” I called, keeping my voice low. “There’s meds out here and food.” The silence stretched and scraped my nerves. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, my fingers grasping the door frame. I should go in. I should open the door and demand to know how he was, shove the meds and food into his hands, and sit there until he took what he needed. Because if I didn’t, my mind would keep spinning, dragging me back to memories I tried to forget.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that if I let too much time pass, if I gave him too much space, Robbie might be taken from me. Or worse, killed.
I wouldn’t let that happen.
“I’ll make him let me help,” I snapped to Jamie, who winced.
“Maybe not a good approach?” he said. I hated when he was sensible when what I needed now was his fierce need to get things done.
“Jesus.”
Rio tapped the wall gently. “Like, what if he’s asleep in there? What if he woke up panicked and thought you were a threat?”
I knew that. What if me pushing my way in did more harm than good? My hand hovered over the handle.Just open the damn door, I told myself.Just open it.
I knocked again. Still silence.
I hated that Robbie was in that room where I couldn’t see him. He could be unconscious, bleeding out on the other side of that door, or trapped in a spiral of pain so intense he couldn’t tell if he was awake or dreaming. Maybe he thought we were the enemy, convinced opening that door would be the final mistake he’d ever make. Or perhaps he was lying there, too weak to move, too broken to cry for help. Robbie was as safe as he could be in whatever state, with the four of us watching his back. That was one thing we all agreed on. No matter what happened next, no matter what threats came knocking, Robbie wasn’t going anywhere. We wouldn’t let anyone touch him again.
Robbie was now under Redcars’ protection.
The door opened a little, and Robbie peered around it, gaunt and hollow-eyed. Bruises darkened the skin beneath his eyes, his lips were cracked, and he couldn’t hold himself upright. He was bent at the waist, one hand braced on the doorframe as if it were the only thing keeping him from collapsing. The light from the garage spilled into the cramped space behind him, revealing a clutter of files, cabinets, and boxes—barely enough room to sit, let alone rest. The only chair in there was forced up against the door, and although I could have pushed through if I wanted, I let him be. The air smelled stale, like paper and dust, and there wasn’t a single comfort in that space. He needed blankets, something to lie on, and more.
My heart clenched. He shouldn’t be in there.
“I brought food.” I nudged the plate closer. Snacks, his pills, and two bottles of water — all the essentials I could think of.
