Page 116 of King of Pain

I miss Lexi and Jen and their snarky banter.

And I miss the one person I’d be talking to about all of this—Ma.

She would hate this. Hate that I’ve been ripped away from the life she fought to give me.

A life that, in the end, cost her everything.

I’ll never forgive myself for that.

This cabin isn’t home. It’s nothing like the place, or the people, who became mine.

Maybe this is what I deserve.

Sure, there’s electricity and running water. But there’s no Wi-Fi. No, internet is not allowed when you’re being hidden. My existence has been reduced to a kitchen with a rickety dining table, a bedroom, an old, overstuffed chair, and a small pile of supplies to last a month until the next drop.

A burner phone sits on the coffee table, its screen dark. It’s not really a phone—not in the way I’d like it to be. It doesn’t receive calls or texts from the person I want to receive them from. That’s not allowed. That one ismyrule. Non-negotiable.

I handed over my phone for data wiping as soon as I got back to Boston. The service was cut the minute I alerted Murph of my plans. I didn’t have a choice. Not if I wanted their help. I didn’t get a choice of location either. Said it was safer that way.

Safer.

I don’t care if it’s safer for me. As long as it’s safer for him.

Yeah, I’d give anything just to hear Ant’s voice again, but I can’t risk it. The Black Crows can never find out what he means to me. Ronan Kelly is out for blood, and he’ll use anything—or anyone—to get to me. I took out his number two man. That kind of thing doesn’t go unanswered.

I wonder what Ant’s doing right now. The reports I’ve gotten let me know he landed an internship and that he moved recently. But the reports don’t give me the good stuff. Is he happy? Does he cuddle with Little G every night? Does he ever think about me?

I’d give anything to know.

The phone buzzes, startling me out of my thoughts. I grab it quickly, unlocking it to read the message.

X:Supplies will be dropped tomorrow before dawn. Be ready.

That’s it. No name, no explanation. Just like always. I know who it is, but everything must remain non-descript.

I toss the phone back onto the coffee table, staring at the screen until it goes dark again. The supplies show up once a month like clockwork—food, firewood, books, and most importantly, fresh paint and blank canvases.

I stand and stretch, the cabin’s cramped walls making me feel claustrophobic. Grabbing my coat, I step outside into the cold night air. The wind bites at my face, and the trees loom like silent judgment in the darkness.

I look up at the sky and ask the stars scattered like shards of broken glass: “How long are you going to keep me here?”

The only answer is the rustle of leaves and the distant call of an owl.

I think about the day I’ll get the message telling me I can leave.

It’s the one thing that keeps me going: the thought of stepping out of this cabin for the last time, of walking away from this isolation and returning to the real world.

Returning to him.

If he’ll even want to see me again.

The thought twists in my chest like a jagged knife. I’ve spent a year reminding myself that I left for a reason. I must protect him. It cost me dearly, but the wrong move could cost him more. I won’t be responsible for losing another person I love. Not again.

I stay outside until the cold becomes unbearable, the stars blurring as my breath fogs the air. When I step back into the cabin, it feels smaller than ever.

I sit by the fireplace, staring into the flames as the wind rattles the windows again.

The burner phone sits on the table, silent and useless.