Page 23 of Felix (4 Seats #2)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Felix Greyson

A s I button up my jacket, the scent of my cologne mixes with the crisp morning air. Aurora is beside me, her dark eyes scanning the horizon like a hawk.

We slide into the car, the engine growling to life under my foot.

The drive is short, the city’s decay blurring past us until we reach Redfern’s skeleton, the building standing like an old bruise on the landscape.

I’ve brought her here before—a test of trust or maybe something sicker. I never can tell with me.

“Wait here,” I bark, already halfway out the door. She nods, her face unreadable as I dart into the gaping maw of the building.

Dav is lurking in the shadows, his rat face twitching. “You got it?” I snap, no time for pleasantries.

“Right here, Mr Greyson.” He hands over the bag, bulging with filthy cash, and I’m back out, the stink of mould and piss clinging to my clothes .

She’s there, as still as stone, when I throw myself into the driver’s seat, the bag tossed carelessly on the back seat. We don’t speak as we tear through the streets again, the city’s heartbeat pulsating around us.

Fratelli’s is all warm lights and the promise of garlic and tomatoes.

I leave her, engine idling, as I shoulder through the restaurant doors.

The place doesn’t open for hours yet, so only Matteo’s workers are inside.

I throw the bag on the bench, wave at their faces as they walk out of the kitchen, and walk back out the door.

Back outside, shit hits the fan. Aurora’s stiff, her breath shallow, eyes wide as if she’s staring down the gates of hell. I scan the area—nothing but empty cars and the ghost of trash tumbling across the pavement.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” I say, my hand reaching out to clasp her chin, forcing her gaze away from whatever phantom has got her spooked. “It’s just us. You’re safe.”

But she’s somewhere else, lost in the labyrinth of her mind. My gut twists. I hate seeing her this vulnerable—a caged bird thrashing against memories that claw and peck.

“Tell me what you saw,” I press, needing to rip out the roots of her fear before they strangle her completely.

The silence is a screaming siren in my ears.

Aurora’s finger trembles as it points beyond the windscreen, past the fogged glass, to a red Holden Monaro.

It’s just sitting there, innocent to anyone else’s eyes, but I know better.

“That car,” she breathes, a voice so damn quiet it’s almost lost in the tight space between us. “It set me off.”

“Fuck.” The word is a bullet. I whip my head around, taking in the sleek lines of the Monaro. There’s no mistaking the visceral terror lacing her words. My hands clench into fists, the leather of the steering wheel creaking under the strain.

“Let’s get the hell away from here.” My voice is gravelly, rough with the promise of violence. I slam the car into drive and rev the engine—a feral thing ready to pounce. The car lurches forward as I stomp on the gas, tyres screeching their rage against the asphalt.

“Deep breaths, Aurora. In and out,” I bark out the command, glancing at her profile. Her chest heaves beneath the seat belt, a battle raging within her slender frame. I can almost see the tendrils of her dark past wrapping around her throat, squeezing the air out.

“Focus on me, darling,” I snarl, navigating the traffic with predatory ease. We’re a bullet slicing through the city, leaving shadows in our wake. My mind races, a storm of thoughts colliding with every turn of the wheel.

“Talk to me when you can. Anything,” I growl, my need to protect flaring up like a brushfire. The animal in me wants to track down whatever or whoever’s linked to that car and tear them apart.

“Can’t... not yet,” she chokes out, her knuckles white where they clutch the armrest.

“Alright, alright. No rush.” Words are cheap anyway. Actions are my currency, and I’m about to spend them all to keep her safe. My foot hammers the pedal harder, each mile putting distance between her and the trigger.

“Home,” she finally whispers as though the word itself is salvation. And maybe it is. For her. For us. Home is where I can watch over her, where the darkness retreats, if only for a moment.

“Home,” I echo back, letting the word hang between us like a vow. Home is where we fight our demons, together, one nightmare at a time.

The driveway’s gravel crunches under the tyres like bones breaking. I’m out before the engine dies, moving with purpose. I yank open the door and reach for Aurora. My arms are like steel bands as I lift her against me. She is as light as a ghost in my hold.

“Got you,” I grunt out, carrying her past the threshold and into the dimly lit living room. The couch takes her from me, the leather harsh against the reality we’re wrapped in. I crouch before her, my hands on her knees, looking up into those dark eyes that have seen too damn much.

“Talk to me, Aurora. What did that car do to you?” My voice is a blade—sharp, ready to cut through the silence she’s trapped in.

Her lips part, and words tremble on the edge of a precipice. “It was… it was their car. The same model, same colour. Just seeing it, it’s like I’m back there, Felix.” Her voice is a haunted melody, notes of pain threaded through every syllable.

“Back where?” I push, though each word feels like I’m pressing bruises. But I need to know this so I can stand between her and whatever hell is clawing at her mind.

“At their house,” she whispers, and the air in the room gets heavier.

“Fuck.” It’s all I can say—a curse against the ghosts that torment her. My fist clenches, nails digging crescents into my palm. I want to smash something, to shatter the world that hurt her.

“Tell me everything, darling. Don’t leave out anything. I need to understand,” I demand, my tone brooking no argument. This isn’t just about comfort. It’s strategy and survival. Know your enemy, even if it’s a fucking memory.

“The screams… mine, echoing off the walls. The fear. I could taste it, metallic and bitter.” Her eyes are distant now, glazed with the film of the past. “And the belt… he’d take it off slowly, making me watch.”