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Izel only cries harder; her body shakes as I hold on to her. My arm presses against her beaten stomach, and anger threatens to take over. Only her soft snores fill the room, and I’m reminded she trusts me. She’s finally getting the rest she needs, and it’s in my arms.

29

Zion

Idon’tliketheidea of us leaving the hospital so soon. But after being in there for a week and a half Izel is persistent on wanting to leave. It wasn’t until she ripped her IVs and began throwing a fit like a toddler that Gabriel told me it was probably best if we went home.

Home.

That’s what it is now. The house I built, the house I spent a lot of lonely nights in, is now home to a teenage boy and a girl I found myself wanting to spend the rest of my life with.

So here we are, four days later, driving from Texas back to North Dakota. Izel lays in the back seat, my jacket covering her while she holds my mask against her face. Gabriel sits in the passenger seat, munching down on donuts while humming along to the radio.

She’s been sleeping most of the drive, every so often gasping awake before she’s falling asleep again mumbling, “He’s going to kill you all.” I have yet to ask her who she's talking to or about. I’m afraid to. She’s too fragile and I’m scared I’m going to say something that’s going to cause a breakdown. And I don’t know how to handle that.

I’m no good with emotions andwhenshe breaks down, I’m not sure how I’m going to handle it.

Holding my breath, I pull into the garage. Gabriel sighs before climbing out and closing the door. The moment it slams shut, Izel shoots up and screams.

“Hey, hey, Red.” I’m out and climbing into the backseat. Gently pulling her into my chest, she tightens her grip on my mask, eyes squeezed shut.

“He’s going to kill you.”

“Who, Red, who’s going to kill me?” I ask, grinding my molars.

She pauses, pressing her nose against my chest before working her way to my neck. Taking a deep breath, her body relaxes suddenly.

“I’m okay,” is all she says, wiggling her way out of my grip. I don’t say anything, I don’t want her freaking out. Nodding my head, I help her out of the truck and into the house.

“I want to lie down,” Izel mutters, stepping away from me. Gabriel and I watch as she leaves the kitchen until we hear the faint sound of the bedroom door closing.

My phone starts to ring, thankfully breaking the awkward tension between Gabriel and I. Holding it up, he nods his head before I head off to my office.

“I found him,” Aziza says before I can even say hello.

“Where?” I ask, gripping my desk.

“Z, I… I don’t really know how to say this.”

Rage burns through me. I don’t have time for this.

“Spit it out,” I snap. Pacing around the office, I hold my breath waiting for her to answer me.

“From the looks of it he followed you. I’ve been tracking your whereabouts and his. He checked into a rental about an hour outside of town. I don’t know how or–”

“Give me the address,” I growl, making my way to the closet. I rip the door open, pulling out my weapons.

“Zion, I don’t think—I really don’t think you should go there alone. Who knows what type of person he is?” Aziza sighs, and for the first time I can hear the fear in her voice.

“Then give me the fucking details and the address. I’m not letting him live!” Putting her on speaker, I begin my process of checking my guns. Magazines are full, knives sharp.

“He was in the military for ten years before he was discharged for multiple allegations. But the main one when he was on deployment, he… he, shit, Z. He raped and murdered countless girls over there, and not just girls, children. He murdered and raped children, Z.”

"Yeah, and Izel was one of them.”

She might not have come out and said the words, but I know.

“Z, are you saying?”