Page 16 of Enzo (Redcars #1)

SIXTEEN

Enzo

An explosion of glass, a scream, then the sharp, piercing sound of my phone alarm yanked me from sleep.

Redcars Emergency Alarm Activated.

Cold horror gripped me, and still fully dressed, sneakers and all, I threw myself down the stairs.

Robbie!

Danger!

“Robbie!”

The flashing security lights painted everything in sharp, unnatural bursts of red and white, shadows jerking and twisting around me.

My heart pounded, as I landed at the bottom of the stairs, in a crouch my muscles tight as I scanned the dimly lit garage, searching, desperate. A cool breeze through an open window? Open? No, smashed clean through.

Robbie had triggered the alarm. Robbie screamed.

But I couldn’t see him.

The bright, artificial glow of the alarm caught on the scattered tools and half-finished projects. My gut twisted, and every inch of me was on high alert.

“Robbie!” I shouted, voice raw. No answer. Just the flash of the alarm, the pounding of my pulse. I killed the flashing lights just as the front door swung open again, and I spun to face Logan, who slammed the door shut behind him, panting from running from his place.

“Robbie?” he asked, and I shook my head. “Where is he? Is that glass! What the fuck happened?—”

“I don’t know.” Were we too late? Had someone come for Robbie and taken him?

Jamie and Rio arrived, out of breath, moving in sync as if they were meant for this kind of chaos.

“What’s wrong? Where’s Robbie?” Rio demanded, his voice sharp, scanning for a threat.

“I thought you were looking out for him,” Jamie snapped as his gaze was locked onto every shadow and darkened corner as if he could see through them. If Rio was passion, Jamie was precision.

And me?

All I wanted was Robbie.

Let them handle whoever the hell else was in here—I needed to find him.

“Robbie!” My voice came out raw, desperate. “Fuck! Robbie!?”

By unspoken agreement, we all went quiet, listening, and then I heard it—a muffled whimper, my name barely more than a breath, but enough to have my stomach twisting into knots.

I moved toward the sound, my heart pounding in my throat, the others shadowing me. I scanned the space, my breath sharp, pulse hammering, eyes darting between the workbenches, the dark corners, and shadows. Someone flicked on all the internal lights, and I heard another sound—a sharp inhale. And then I saw him.

Robbie was tucked under a workbench, curled into the smallest space possible, his back pressed to the wall, knuckles white around a wrench. His entire body shook, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts. He looked so small, so damn terrified, and something in my chest cracked wide open.

“Outside,” Jamie said to Rio, and then sprinted past me.

“Robbie,” I breathed, dropping to one knee, hands up in surrender, slow, careful movements like I was approaching a wounded animal. “It’s just us. You’re safe. I swear.”

He was chanting something soft and low, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. It sounded like a name.

John, John, John…

His eyes flicked to mine, wide and unfocused, his entire body rigid with fear. He was lost, drowning in whatever nightmare had dragged him under.

“It’s okay, Robbie,” I said, softer now but firm. “We’re here now.”

I didn’t know if he could hear me, but I wouldn’t stop trying. Not until I got him back.

I spoke again, lower this time, voice steady as my pulse thundered. “Logan, Jamie, and Rio are here too. They cleared the building. It’s just us now, Robbie. You’re safe.”

I saw the briefest flicker of awareness in his eyes, but he was still locked in fear, curled in too tightly.

Behind me, I caught the murmur of Jamie and Rio returned, talking low with Logan, confirming that whoever had been here was gone. But none of that mattered to me right now. The only thing I could focus on was Robbie.

I swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in my throat. “Can I come under there with you?” I asked, although I knew there was no way I’d fit. But if I could wedge part of myself in, get close enough to reach him, to remind him I was here?—

He didn’t answer, but his breathing hitched as though the idea of someone near him wasn’t as terrifying as whatever had driven him under there in the first place. I took that as a yes and, with no real plan, awkwardly forced my way under the bench. I was twice Robbie’s size and it felt impossible to fit in the tiny space he’d folded himself into. But somehow, I managed. My back scraped the underside of the bench, my shoulder wedging against a toolbox, but I didn’t care. I needed to be close to him.

There wasn’t much room between us, close enough he could feel I was here, solid and real. I kept my hands loose, my posture open, making sure he knew I wouldn’t touch him unless he wanted me to. His breath was still coming too fast, too shallow, his knuckles white where he gripped the wrench as if it were the only thing anchoring him.

“You did good, Robbie,” I murmured, keeping my voice soft and steady. “You hit the alarm; you got yourself safe. We’re here now. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

His eyes flickered, another breath hitching, and I could see when the words started to reach him. He wasn’t all the way back yet, but he was listening. That was enough. That was everything. I kept talking, my voice a steady murmur, filling the space between us with words that didn’t have to make sense, something to keep him tethered. I rambled about nothing special, talking nonsense, but it didn’t matter—it was about the sound of my voice, the connection.

And then I played my card. “Frodo is the hero,” I whispered, letting the sentence hang, pausing long enough for him to catch up, focus, and ground himself in something familiar.

“No. Sam,” he whispered, voice so faint I almost missed it, but it was there. A thread of recognition, something real.

I nodded. “Frodo,” I half teased.

Robbie swallowed hard, blinking at me, still shaking. “Sam’s the hero,” he murmured. His hand relaxed on the wrench, then, with a shaky exhale, he laced our fingers together, holding on like I was the only solid thing left in his world. His skin was cold, unsteady, but he didn’t let go.

“He was here.”

“Who, Robbie? Who was here?”

“John. He was here. I can’t, Enzo,” he murmured, voice raw and exhausted, little more than a whisper. His breath shuddered, and I felt every ounce of weight behind those words. “No,” he keened, his eyes glassy.

I squeezed his hand, firm and steady, letting him take whatever he needed. “I got you, Robbie. Always.”

He leaned into me, his breath still shaky but evening out, blinking under the harsh light. The wrench slipped from his grasp, clattering on the concrete floor. The sudden noise made him flinch, and in an instant, all eyes were on us.

Logan was the first to move, crouching in front of us, his expression equal parts concern and caution. Rio and Jamie stood behind him, attempting to look as unthreatening as possible, although Rio had his knife out, and Jamie was flicking his lighter.

Logan’s voice was steady, but I barely registered it over the blood pounding in my ears. Robbie shook, his grip tightening on my shirt, his breath uneven against my chest. I kept my hold steady, not pushing, letting him feel I was there, solid and real.

Robbie swallowed hard, his throat working as he tried to form words. I felt him tense again, the tremors in his fingers growing stronger before he forced them to loosen their death grip on my shirt. His voice cracked when he spoke.

“I thought… it was John… the window… there was a face.”

My stomach turned to ice. My grip tightened around his hand, steady but firm. “What face, Robbie? John? Who is John?”

He shook his head, his free hand pressed to his throat, fingers curling into the collar of his sweatshirt as though he was trying to hold himself together. “Not him. I don’t want it to be him,” he said over and over, and then his breath hitched again, and it killed me that he was struggling like this—so fucking terrified, so rattled. “The lights outside didn’t come on… a cat… I saw…”

“No lights at all?” Logan asked.

“No… then when they did, I saw him right there, and the glass… he broke the glass and he tried to get me,” he whispered, his voice breaking, staring down at his shirt as if he could see a handprint there. It was torn—that fucker actually put hands on Robbie?

His voice wavered, and he sagged into my arms, his forehead pressing into my chest.

“You’re sure the lights didn’t come on?” Logan asked him to clarify.

“No,” Robbie murmured.

“No lights,” Jamie repeated to Rio, who swore under his breath, his grip on his knife tightening. Jamie didn’t move, but his entire body went rigid, his jaw tight as he processed what that meant. Logan’s expression darkened, sharp, and calculating.

“No lights means someone’s tampered with security,” Logan said.

I didn’t listen to them, not when Robbie was in my arms. His fingers twisted into my shirt, clinging as if I was the only thing keeping him grounded. I didn’t hesitate. I held him tighter, tucking him in, my hand pressing his head, letting him feel every breath I took.

“It’s okay, Robbie,” I murmured, my lips brushing his head. “You’re safe. We’ve got you. No one is touching you.”

“I’ll stay until we’ve got some daylight,” Rio said.

“Same,” Jamie added, and the two of them exchanged meaningful glances.

Logan nodded at them, then held out a hand to help Robbie and me out from under the bench. It was easier for me to get out once Robbie had moved, but he was back against me as soon as I stood, fucking small and clinging to me.

“And I’m staying with Robbie,” I announced, leaving no room for argument. He sagged and I held him tighter.

“We’re gonna watch a movie,” I said.

Robbie blinked up at me, dazed, crying hard. “We are?”

“Yeah,” I murmured, squeezing his hand. I tugged him toward the stairs, guiding him to the loft space above the garage. I could still feel the tremor in his fingers, but he followed without hesitation, trusting me to hold him together.

I settled onto the sofa, pulling him down with me, and before I even had time to think about how close we were, he curled into me, tucking himself to my chest. No hesitation. No second-guessing, simply seeking out warmth and comfort as if he belonged there.

I hooked my foot around the quilt folded at the edge of the bed and pulled it over us, tucking him in and ensuring he was warm. Downstairs, I could hear Jamie and Rio murmuring low, discussing next steps, security, and whoever the hell had been out there watching. They had this covered.

And Robbie? Robbie had me.

He was quiet for a while, his fingers twitching where they fisted in my T-shirt. Then?—

“He found me,” The words were broken, as if they’d scraped their way out of his throat. He clung to my shirt like it was the only solid thing left, his body rigid with fear one second and trembling the next. I pulled him closer, but he didn’t relax—he just shook harder, like something in him had snapped and couldn’t be put back together.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered, but he wasn’t hearing me. He was somewhere else—back in whatever hell John had dragged him through. His breath hitched, short and sharp, and then the tears came fast, wild, no control left. Full-on panic.

“Don’t let him take me,” Robbie gasped, his voice cracking. “Please. Please don’t let him?—”

“I won’t,” I said, firm, fierce, holding him like I could shield him from everything. “I swear, Robbie. He’s not getting near you.”

But the words felt hollow.

Because I’d failed him.

I held him now, whispering promises like they could stitch him back together, but a brick had come through our window. A man had reached in—tried to grab him. Tried to take him. And I hadn’t stopped it. I hadn’t seen it coming. I hadn’t protected him.

How could I say he was safe when I didn’t even see the threat until it shattered glass and tore through his world?

I squeezed my eyes shut, guilt crashing over me in waves. I was supposed to be the one who kept him safe. I’d told him he could trust me. I’d told myself I’d be enough. But tonight proved I wasn’t. I couldn’t undo what happened. Couldn’t take away the terror. All I could do was hold him and hate myself for not being faster, stronger, smarter.

I kept saying I’d protect him. But how many times could I say that before it became a lie?

And if I couldn’t keep this promise…

What did that make me?

Sobs broke loose, his fingers gripped like claws, and my shirt bunched in his fists, damp with sweat and tears and panic. I rocked him, helpless against the storm ripping through him, only able to be the anchor.

His terror was alive, thrashing, choking. And all I could do was hold him tighter and promise things I’d die to make true.

“We’ll find him, and I’ll kill him. I mean it Robbie. I’ll tear him to pieces.”

That promise wasn’t made lightly. It came from somewhere deep and raw, from a part of me that hadn’t known fury like this until now. If I ever laid eyes on John again, he’d die. Simple as that. No second thoughts, no hesitation. That man had reached through the broken glass into our world, into Robbie’s trembling, shattered space, and tried to steal him back into hell. He’d touched him.

He’d made him bleed terror.

So yeah, I’d kill him. Because what else was left to do? What justice could possibly match what Robbie had been through? This wasn’t rage—it was something colder. Steadier. A storm building silent and relentless inside me, and John? He was the center of it.

I held Robbie as if I could fuse us back together. My arms around him, my cheek pressed to his hair, his tears soaking into me. He clung to me, smaller than he should’ve been, wrecked, wrecking me.

Hours passed like that.

“He touched me,” Robbie said every so often, broken, his breath hitched, unsteady, and he held himself rigid against me, as if he moved too much, he’d come apart.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Robbie.”

His sobs didn’t come all at once anymore—just the occasional hitch in his breath, the soft tremble in his chest. He hadn’t said anything in a while, and I didn’t ask. I just kept holding him, kept promising silently that I’d never let him fall again.

And finally, finally, the tears stopped.

He was quiet. Still. Not asleep, not calm. Just emptied out.

And he hadn’t let go of me.

“John had me,” he whispered. “He and two others…” He stopped. “One of them had a really gruff voice, tall, dark hair skinny, old, and the other one was always angry, he was short, had blond hair, and he was drenched in aftershave. But it was John who l-l-let them…”

His voice broke, and I felt something hot and wet soak through my shirt. The tears had started again, but he kept going as though the words had broken the dam and were spilling through the cracks.

“I wanted to go home. I didn’t even know where that was anymore. I didn’t know my name. I didn’t know if I was alive. And he’d laugh. He’d tell those other two that I was a good one, that my brain was good, told them not to hurt my head, that’s why I had the collar—they could hold onto it and…”

Fuck. FUCK!

“I tried to stay quiet. Obedient. Told them to keep me alive as if he was on my side.” His voice cracked again. “But he wasn’t.”

“Robbie…” I breathed, arms tightening around him.

“They didn’t know what he made me do, remembering the money trails, the evidence he had on them, the deals he made behind their back, and I wanted to live, but I fought,” he said, eyes wide and staring somewhere far away. “The first time. And the second. More… but then, I stopped fighting. And that’s worse. That’s worse, Enzo, because I just… let them hurt me.”

“You didn’t let them,” I was fierce. “You survived them.”

“I don’t feel like I did.” His whole body shook. “I feel like they’re still inside me. Like I never left.”

I kissed the top of his head. Held him tighter. “But you did. You’re here. You’re safe. And I swear to God, anyone who tries to take that from you again?—”

He buried his face to my chest and sobbed. Raw, awful tears that soaked through fabric and skin and dug into my bones.

“I’ll find them. I’ll keep you safe. I promise you.” As his world shattered, all I could do was hold him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, “I’m so tired.”

“I’ve got you. You can sleep now,” I whispered into his hair, running a slow, careful hand up and down his back.

And he did. Before I could even start a movie, his breath had evened out, his body melting into mine as exhaustion dragged him under. I held him close, listening to the steady sound of his breathing and feeling the faint, almost absent-minded way his fingers curled against my shirt.

I should have stayed awake and thought about what this meant, the name that had left his lips—John—and the other two he’d described.

I should have been thinking about how someone had tampered with Redcars’ security and gotten their hands close to other half of my heart.

But instead, I sat there with Robbie safe in my arms and somehow, I slept too.