He groans, the sound groggy and confused.
I can’t help it. I jump on him, straddling his body like I used to do when we were kids. It drove him nuts back then, but I loved to cuddle, and sometimes he’d let me. Mom would gush over how sweet we were, take pictures, call us her babies.
I hug him tight, my arms wrapping around his shoulders. The tears start immediately, hot and fast, slipping down my cheeks and onto his shirt.
His arm comes around my back, weak but there, and that’s all it takes for me to break completely. I hug him tighter, crying so hard I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t remember the last time we had a hug like this.
“Lex?” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep and drugs.
I wipe my tears with the back of my hand and laugh, the sound wet and broken. “Yeah. It’s me.”
“Fuck,” he grunts. “You’re on my stomach.”
I get off him, rolling onto the bed beside him. “Are you okay?”
“The question is, are you okay?”
I nod, even though it’s not really true.
He shifts, turning his head to look at me. His eyes are still dilated but clearer than before. “Did you see Dad?”
I laugh—an actual laugh this time, confused and sharp. “What?”
“You didn’t?”
I shake my head, completely lost. “What do you mean?”
Axel lays back against the pillow and sighs, long and heavy. “Shit.”
“Axel.” I grab his arm. “What are you talking about?”
He looks at me then, really looks at me, and there’s something in his eyes—something like pity mixed with dread.
“Lex,” he says quietly. “Dad’s alive. And he’s the one who saved us.”
38
Revan
Lexi slams the door so hard the walls shake, the sound reverberating through the cabin like a gunshot. A picture frame rattles on its nail.
Koa’s already moving, halfway through the threshold before I even take a step. He’s been wound tight since we extracted them from the warehouse, guilt eating him alive from the inside out.
Atticus doesn’t move—just watches from his position, arms loose at his sides, head tilted in that way he does when he’s deciding whether something is entertaining or pathetic. Calculating. Always calculating.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, insistent and demanding. I pull it out, already knowing who it is before I see the name.
Gilbert.
I swipe to answer, stepping away from the door. “Gilbert.”
“Where are they?” His voice comes through raw—rage wrapped in the thinnest veneer of control. “Where are Lexi and Axel?”
I can hear the desperation underneath his panic. Desperation makes people stupid, makes them reckless, and I need him thinking clearly.
“I have them safe,” I say, keeping my tone neutral, professional.
“Okay.” He exhales hard, the sound crackling through the phone. “I’m coming. Where are you?”
