Page 36 of All Ghosts Aren’t Dead (The Forgotten #1)

“Bailey,” he growled, sitting up straighter even though it made his jaw go tight with pain. “I swear to God?—”

“I didn’t go alone,” I said quickly. “Bay came. Bishop, too. Just for safety.”

“That’s not the same as me.” His eyes were hard now, but his hand still held mine. “You don’t walk into the basement where your abuser is tied to a chair like it’s a fucking field trip. ”

I wilted. “But I need to see him, Daddy. I need to make him hurt in the ways he?—”

“Blue.” He hauled me in close, wrapping me up against his bare chest. I felt the thump of his heart under my ear, steady and fierce. “You don’t need to keep proving anything. You’re not what he made you.”

“But I want him to bleed.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He kissed the crown of my head. “You can make him bleed as often as you need to, but not without me. Do you understand? I don’t care if I’m sleeping, bleeding, or halfway dead. You do not go see that man without me next to you.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

I nodded against his shoulder, but my mind drifted down the hall, past the third stair that always creaked, down to the basement with the bad lights and the stone walls that echoed.

We zip-tied Ezekiel’s hands in the tunnel and used a chain to drag him back to the van. Rune had wanted to attach him to the van’s bumper and pull him across the pavement, but I wasn’t ready for him to die.

Not like that.

Hiro strung him up in the basement—wrists secured to an overhead beam and ankles bound to the floor grate. We never let him sleep—it was Bay’s idea. Bishop helped him rig up a caffeine drip, and they kept it pumping into Ezekiel at all hours of the day.

They said sleep deprivation made monsters easier to peel.

The first time I went down there, he looked at me with the same smug, unkillable calm, and I lost my ever-loving mind.

I punched him until my knuckles split and my fingers swelled—screamed until my voice disappeared.

The second time, I made a lash. A real one—thick and leather-wrapped, the handle short enough to grip tight, the rest long and coiled. Bishop helped me taper the ends into sharp little strips of hide that split off like fingers.

There were six in total—the knots at the tip were my idea—tiny, mean things I tied myself. I liked the sound of them when they hit skin. Not sharp like a slap but a thud —like the pain was going to sink in and stay forever.

I studied the bruises Daddy had when we got back from the mission, mapped the ones Ezekiel gave him, and marked the same places on his body.

Except, I hit harder. Longer.

Because he deserved it.

My fingers curled tighter against Daddy’s ribs, the clean edge of his bandage brushing my palm.

He didn’t flinch—he never did when I touched him.

Tucking my nose into his chest, I let myself breathe him in.

I could still smell the soap from his shower, and the hint of something coppery beneath it that never quite went away. His heart beat beneath my cheekbone.

“I love your heart,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest. “It’s the safest sound in the world.”

His hand curved around the back of my head, fingers stroking my hair. “I didn’t even know it could sound like that until you,” he whispered. “Every beat is for you now.”

I stayed right there, cheek pressed to his skin, counting each one. It was my new favorite thing to do.

Our bedroom was warm and quiet—just me and Daddy and kisses—but my chest still felt a little tight. Like something was folded wrong inside it.

“Daddy?” I called, nose brushing his sternum. “Do you think Jonah’s okay?”

The words came small, barely there, but Daddy still heard.

“He’s barely come out of his room. He doesn’t want to see Ezekiel. I thought he’d want to, but Amir says he has to process.”

Daddy’s fingers traced the back of my neck. “Processing looks different for everyone, sweetheart. You hurt things. Jonah goes quiet.”

I frowned against his chest. “But I want to fix it. I want him to feel better.”

“I know, baby, but he spent years thinking you were dead. Years thinking he failed you. That doesn’t come unknotted in a week.”

“He didn’t fail me.”

“No, but someone made him believe he did.”

I shifted closer, curling a little tighter around Daddy’s side. “I told him he could stay with us even if he didn’t want to join the program.”

“He heard you, sweetheart.” Daddy kissed the top of my head. “He’s just learning how to hear things with his heart again. You’re not the only one who’s been rewired.”

“You promise Mr. Ben said he could stay even if he doesn’t want to join?”

“I promise.”

I nodded slowly, but my fingers tugged at Daddy’s blanket like they needed something to do.

Mr. Ben had looked furious when he showed up that morning, shoulders stiff and fists clenched like he was ready to burn the place down. Daddy had barely gotten out of bed, still bruised and stitched with no shirt, and a low voice he only used when he meant business.

They disappeared into his office and closed the door behind them. I waited in the hallway, knees tucked to my chest, just in case Mr. Ben tried to yell at him again. I’d decided I’d knock real loud if he did, or crawl in through the vent if I had to.

But I never heard shouting, just low voices and measured words, and when Daddy came back out, he kissed my head.

“Nobody died,” he’d said. “That’s all Ben really cares about.”

And then, like he knew exactly what I needed to hear,“Jonah can stay. Even if he never wants to join.”

That part stayed with me, because even if Jonah never trained, never fought, never healed—not all the way—I still wanted him here. I wanted him to know he belonged.

Just like Daddy made me feel.

“I think Jonah is scared if he joins, it means he belongs to something again.”

Daddy nodded against my hair. “That’s probably true.”

“But it’s not like that, Daddy,” I said. “This place—it doesn’t own you. It arms you.”

“It’s supposed to, but healing doesn’t wear the same skin for everybody. Some boys grow teeth. Some just want to sleep through the storm.”

His fingers traced slow circles against my back, like he wasn’t in a hurry to fix anything, just to hold me through it.

“It’s not always about getting stronger,” he went on. “Sometimes it’s about staying soft, even when the world tries to turn you inside out.”

I pulled back a little, just enough to squint up at him. “You sound like Amir.”

He smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I did warn you the man was rubbing off on me.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Gross, Daddy. Don’t say it like that. I like it better when I rub off on you.”

That made him laugh.

His palm slipped up to cradle my cheek, and I leaned into the warmth, chasing the sound of his laughter.

“Do you think Jonah will ever feel safe here?”

“I think he already feels safer with you around, baby. He’s just figuring out how to breathe again.”

“I could sleep in his room with him,” I offered, hopeful. “Just for a night. Not the whole night, though. I’d miss you.”

“Baby, if you think I’m going to let you sleep anywhere that isn’t right beside me, you’re crazy.”

“What if Jonah needs me?”

“Then I’ll be there too,” Daddy said. His hand smoothed over my back. “But he’s not alone, sweetheart. He actually talked to Amir yesterday. Not a lot, but more than nothing.”

My eyes widened. “He did?”

“Mmhmm.” Daddy nodded. “It’s a big step. He talks to you, too—you know that. Even if it’s just a few words here and there, that’s more than anyone else gets.”

Oh.

“He just feels safest in his room right now, and that’s okay. Sometimes the body needs to feel walled in before the soul starts to come out.” Then he muttered, almost to himself, “Christ. I visit Amir one goddamn time and suddenly I’m a therapist.”

I snorted against his chest. “You’re a really good one.”

“Don’t tell him that,” he grumped. “He’s smug as shit already.”

I tucked my head against his neck, breathing him in. “Did you know Jonah only eats when Simon brings him stuff? I think they’ll fall in love.”

Daddy made a quiet sound—half sigh, half laugh. “God help Simon.”

I grinned into his skin. “He’d like it. JJ’s really strong. He could carry him around.”

“Great,” Daddy said. “One of my most competent staff falling for a feral mountain of unresolved trauma. What could possibly go wrong?”

I giggled. “You fell for me.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Exactly.”

Then he kissed the top of my head like that sealed it—a promise that love was allowed to be messy too.

I stayed curled against him, quiet for a long time, just listening to the steady thump of the heart that had never once turned away from me.

Maybe love didn’t fix everything, but it stayed.

And for boys like us, that was enough.

That was everything.