Page 15 of Blackwood

He sits down and lets out a quiet breath as he leans his narrow shoulder against mine. His hand finds mine beneath the gleaming stone island, fingers brushing hesitantly at first, then gripping tighter, steady and sure.

We don’t look at each other, we don’t talk. That quiet pressure of his hand says everything:I’m here. I’ve got you. We’re not breaking today.

And that’s when it hits me, Dylan doesn’t feel so little anymore. Eight, almost nine, and already holding the weight of too much. He should still be clinging to stuffed animals, not bracing someone else’s heart. Not learning how to be brave in the dark. Not growing up this fast.

“I hate him,” Dylan whispers.

“Yeah,” Zeke says quietly, still focused on my hand. “We all got scars ‘cause of him. But he doesn’t get to win. Not while I’m still breathing. Not while we’ve got each other.”

Chapter 8

BELLA - Age 13

Miami, Florida

The air is thick with summer, the heat suffocating. The sun had finally slipped below the horizon, bleeding pink and gold across the sky, too beautiful for a night like this. Too soft for the nightmare we live in.

It’s late, Zeke and I are sitting in my room talking as a scream tears through the house. High. Sharp. Terrified.

“Dylan,” I gasp, already on my feet.

Zeke moves faster than I’ve ever seen, ripping open my bedroom door, sprinting down the hall. I’m right behind him, heart racing, lungs already burning.

We hit Dylan’s room at the same time.

He’s cornered. Pressed against the wall, eyes wide and bloodshot, body trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. His little hands are clenched into fists, but he’s too small. Too frozen. And behind him, looming and smirking, is Vince. I’ve seen him around the house before. That piece of shit. He is too close. His hands too low. His eyes gleaming with something vile.

“Back the fuck off him!” Zeke roars, voice tearing through the air.

Dylan whimpers.

I scream.

Zeke launches.

He hits Vince like a wrecking ball, fists flying with years of rage behind them. They crash to the floor, Zeke on top, punching, snarling, wild with fury. Blood spraying with every hit, Vince trying to cover his face, but Zeke isn’t letting up.

I don’t wait to see more. I bolt forward, grab Dylan’s arm, and pull him into motion. He’s shaking so hard he can barely walk, legs stumbling under him, but I get him down the hall and into my room. I slam the door shut behind us and turn to face him.

“Dylan listen to me.” I grip his shoulders, trying to get him to focus. “I need you to stay here. Don’t leave my room, no matter what.”

His chest is heaving, eyes still wide and wet. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know yet,” I say, trying to stay calm even as panic claws at my throat. “But I’m going to go get Zeke, and then we’re getting the hell out of here. Do you understand?”

He nods fast and terrified.

“You’re safe here in my room,” I say, brushing a curl off his forehead. “I’ll be right back. Just stay here, Dylan.”

Then I slam the door shut and run. When I get back to Dylan’s room, Zeke is still on Vince, covered in blood, face twisted in a rage. Vince is coughing, groaning, his arms limp. Zeke’s knuckles are raw, one eye swollen shut.

“Zeke, stop!” I scream. “You’ll kill him!”

He doesn’t even hear me.

Carlos bursts in “What the fuck is going on in here?!”

Zeke’s fist slam down one more time right as Carlos lunges. He grabs him by the shoulders, yanking him off Vince like he weighs nothing. “Get off him, goddamn it!”