Page 50

Kai

Nicole is settling. Finally.

She fought it at first, shifting in the sheets, her body restless, too wired to surrender despite the sedative in her system.

The medic only left an hour ago, after administering a bag of IV fluids and medication for the swelling in her throat. Her oxygen levels are satisfactory now, and she has a series of scans scheduled for tomorrow morning.

I stayed beside her, stroking her hair, pressing my lips against her forehead, whispering whatever the hell I could think of to lull her under.

It worked. Eventually.

Now, she's curled on her side, wrapped in my sheets, her breathing slow and even. The soft rise and fall of her chest is the only thing keeping me sane right now.

But I can't sleep. Not yet.

Not when Lana is pacing the hall outside my bedroom, her presence a ghost I can't keep ignoring.

I can hear the soft whisper of her bare feet against the hardwood, back and forth, like a metronome counting the seconds until this confrontation can no longer be delayed.

I exhale, rubbing a hand down my face, tasting the metallic tang of adrenaline that still lingers on my tongue. My body aches with bone-deep exhaustion.

I don't want to leave this bed. Don't want to leave Nicole.

Right now, I want nothing more than to drown myself in her. To pull her under, lose myself in her body, and push away the rage still simmering in my veins.

But Nicole needs rest.

And Lana needs answers.

I sit up, moving carefully so I don't wake her, but before I can leave, a small hand catches my wrist.

I glance down.

She's watching me, eyes half-lidded, sleep-heavy but clear. Even in the darkness, I can see the silent understanding in them.

"She’ll take it hard. If you want,” Nicole whispers, "I can be there when you tell her."

Jesus. This woman.

I stare at her, marveling at how strong she is. After everything she's been through, she still wants to shield the fiancé of the man who almost raped and killed her.

A slow, aching warmth unfurls in my chest, pushing back against the cold dread of what awaits me in the hallway.

I lean down, pressing a long, lingering kiss to her temple.

"No, love. Rest, because I'll need to drown myself in you tonight."

She exhales a small, sleepy laugh, her lips parting just as I capture them in a deep, slow kiss.

I let it linger. Let it sink into my bones.

Then, with one last look at her, I pull away and step into the hall.

It’s time to face Lana.

The moment I step out, she turns, eyes scanning my face. I notice now what I’d missed before—the way her fingers tremble, the rigid way she holds herself, like she might splinter if she relaxes even a little.

"Is Nic going to be alright?” She asks, her voice tight.

I nod. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth either. Nicole is alive, safe, asleep. But she’ll carry today with her long after the bruises fade. We both will.

"I thought you said you two broke up?” There’s something in her tone I can’t place—not quite accusation, not quite concern.

"I lied."

Lana jerks back as if I slapped her, eyes full of hurt, then she presses a hand to her forehead, like she’s warding off a migraine.

I can’t muster any guilt for lying to her. What I’m about to do will feel so much worse. I step forward, wrapping a gentle arm around her. "Come on. We need to talk."

She tenses beneath my grip but lets me guide her to the kitchen.

I flip on a single light, and Lana settles at the island without being asked. Her fingers drum against the marble countertop, an uneven rhythm betraying the storm beneath her skin.

I reach for the Scotch and pour two generous glasses, sliding one across to her.

She takes a long sip, closing her eyes as the alcohol burns down. When she opens them, there’s something new in her gaze—a steadiness, the kind that comes right before something breaks.

"What the hell did you mean earlier when you said David did that to Nic?"

Her voice is controlled, but I hear the desperation buried beneath it—the need for me to tell her she misheard.

I knock back half my drink in one go, welcoming the burn that spreads through my chest. "He tried to kill her."

A sharp inhale, then she stills completely. "That’s impossible. David wouldn’t . . ."

I drag a hand down my face, exhaling slowly. This is the part that's going to break her. "He killed Sara, Cass, and Elena."

Her glass hits the countertop with a sharp crack. Scotch sloshes over the rim, pooling around the base like spilled blood.

For a second, she just stares at me. Then, slowly, her head shakes, the movement so slight it’s like she’s trying to physically reject the words.

"No,” she whispers, brows knitting together. "No, that’s not true. It’s—” She cuts herself off, pressing a trembling hand to her lips. As if she’s trying to stop herself from believing it.

I give her a moment to process.

Finally, in a voice so small I barely hear it, she asks, "Where is he now?"

I trace the rim of my glass with my thumb, letting the answer settle between us before I give it to her.

"Dead."

Another sharp inhale.

I know the next question is coming, so I answer it. "I walked in on him trying to rape and strangle Nicole. So I killed him."

Lana whirls on me, jaw slack, eyes like saucers.

"You killed him,” she repeats, the words barely forming past her lips. "Because you saw him hurting your girlfriend and you think he killed the rest?” She takes a gulp of Scotch.

"I don't think—I know—he killed them,” I say evenly, "because he said as much."

She looks up sharply. "He confessed to it?"

I nod, then refill both our glasses.

Her hand trembles as she reaches for hers, like she needs something to hold onto. "What exactly did he say?"

I hesitate, not because I don’t want to tell her, but because some truths cut too deep and leave scars that never fully heal.

"A lot. Bottom line is, he hated me enough to want to destroy every slice of happiness I had,” I say simply. “He poisoned each one of them.”

She exhales a slow, shuddering breath.

"I—” Her voice breaks as a single tear slips down her cheek. She doesn’t wipe it away. She just stands there, arms wrapped around herself, staring at nothing.

I stay where I am, giving her the space to unravel because sometimes, the truth is a slow collapse.

And I know what that looks like—feels like. The moment before everything comes undone. Those fragile seconds before the ground gives way beneath you.

I take a step closer to Lana, leaning against the counter to watch her face when I ask. "Did you know what David was doing?"

She turns to look at me. A sharp, jerky movement—like I yanked her out of whatever place she’d disappeared to. "Of course not.”

There's something about the way she's taking this. Lana looks pale as a sheet, but her breathing is deep and even. He lids flutter closed as she takes a swallow of Scotch, as if relishing the burn.

I’ve seen enough grief, pain and panic to know this is something else. Lana may be devastated, but she’s also relieved he’s dead.

Suddenly the air is too thick.

"Nicole was right, wasn’t she? David was hurting you that night. And it wasn’t his first time."

She snorts, shaking her head as she spears me an unreadable look.

"He, um . . .” She says, picking her words carefully. "Shall we say, he just had . . . a lot of rage in him. And with good reason. Sometimes . . . he needed an outlet."

Something inside me snaps. The next moment, the bottle of scotch shatters against the far wall. Lana doesn’t even flinch.

"How the fuck could you let that sonofabitch put his hands on you?” I roar. “You not only hid the fact, you were going to marry him! You let my nephews near him!”

"Because he was there!” she hisses, her voice breaking with something raw. "He’s always been there. You were never there! First it was Minnesota. Then the Olympics, then Gstaad."

I stare at her, a slow, sinking feeling in my chest—a realization that I have no clue who this woman standing in front of me is. “You’re telling me you took his abuse because I didn’t stay glued to your side all your life?”

“I was four years old, Kai!”

The kitchen light flickers once, casting strange shadows across her face. For a moment, she looks like she did the night I left. For a moment, I see the little girl again—the one who stood in the doorway the night I left, clutching a stuffed rabbit missing an ear.

"Do you think I had a fucking choice?” My voice is rough. "Our father was an asshole who cared more about his union than his own kids."

Her lips part—a half-formed protest—but I don’t let her interrupt.

"I was a child too, Lana,” I say, my voice quieter now. "I was six years old when our mother walked away and never looked back. I had to live with a father who punished me for it. I had to learn to look after an eight-month-old when the babysitters suddenly stopped coming.”

The next words feel like glass in my throat. "I was always confused and ashamed. Never understood how grown ups could just look the other way while a child begged for food."

Silence crashes between us, thick and suffocating as Lana continues to stare at me.

In the harsh kitchen light, I see every emotion crossing her face—hurt, rage—but most of all, betrayal.

"You were all I had, Kai, and you left to become America’s dream, while I suffered.” Her voice wavers. "You have no idea what I went through."

I snort. Short. Dry. Humorless. If only she knew she knew the hell I endured. How I let them nearly destroy everything that made me human—turn me into a machine for the glory of medals. Just so she could have a better life.

"No,” I say quietly. "Because you never told me."

She looks at me now. Searching. Waiting. Hoping. For regret? An apology?

I hold her gaze and I tell her the truth. "But if I had the chance . . .” My voice drops lower. "I’d leave again."

She flinches as if she felt the words like a slap. Pain flickers across her face, raw and unguarded.

I regret the words the second they leave my mouth, but before I can take them back, her lips lift in a mocking smile. “You know, that’s exactly why I never told you what happened after you left.”

Cold slivers of dread start to wind themselves around my chest. “What happened?”

She shakes her head in disgust. "You stole David’s life and ran off. Did you, for a minute, stop to wonder who bore the brunt of his rage, his envy?"

Understanding dawns with nauseating clarity. "You were four,” I whisper.

She lifts her chin, her mouth twisting into something bitter, her voice eerily steady now. "He waited until I was eight."

A full-body rage erupts inside me. I turn away to stare out at the ocean. My entire body trembles with the need to find David’s unmarked grave and kill him all over again. Tear him apart, piece by fucking piece.

As if to twist the knife deeper, Lana takes a step toward me. "At least he stayed,” she whispers. "And when my foster parents kept returning me for having nightmares. For being too clingy, he was there. Yes, he had issues—"

"Issues!” My voice cuts through the air like a blade. "He molested you. He beats and kills women."

She shakes her head so violently, her hair comes loose from its careful arrangement, falling around her face in disarray.

"You don’t get it! You made him take the helpless rage he felt out on me! And David didn’t kill them,” she snaps. "I don’t care what anyone says."

My vision blurs with rage. The kitchen’s edges soften as blood rushes in my ears. "Anyone? The woman I love almost died at his hands today, Lana."

Lana laughs, a harsh, broken sound that doesn’t belong to the sister I thought I knew. "Because she provoked him! She’s a liar, Kai. David is a good man. He doesn’t kill women. You’re the cold-blooded killer, Kai. You’re the emotionless control freak, the one whose taste runs to psychotic bitches—"

“Lana—”

She points to her face. "Your pyromaniac girlfriend did this to me. And Nic? That sneaky bitch has completely turned you against your own family. She points at whoever she wants you to maim or kill, and like a fucking puppet, you do her bidding!"

“Enough, Lana.”

"Who are you?” she hisses. Then—she screams. "WHO ARE YOU?"

She suddenly throws the glass in her hand at me.

I duck and it shatters against the wall.

"Are you her weapon?"

Another projectile—a mug this time—clips my shoulder and crashes against the counter. The ceramic explodes into shards.

"Her lackey? Her fucking slave?"

She’s raging now, grabbing anything within reach. A framed photo of the boys. A bowl of fruit.

Each one crashes against walls, floor, countertops—a violent percussion accompanying her breakdown.

"Lana—"

"No! Tell me who the fuck you are right now because you’re not my brother. Not anymore. You’re—"

I go to grab her wrists before she can reach for another weapon. I bite out coldly. "I’m the man who’d give my life or anyone’s life for the woman he loves."

She thrashes wildly against me, sobbing and fighting to break free.

"Fuck you! He loved me!” she shrieks. "He was the only man who loved me!"

Her whole body wracks against me, muscles taut with grief and fury.

"He stayed with me when you didn’t!” she sobs, choking on the words. "He wasn’t perfect, but he loved me. He wanted only me. He protected me. And you killed him just because of her, you fucking traitor!"

“He was a monster and a predator, Lana.”

“Well, so are you!” Her voice splinters into something broken. Raw. “You’re a monster!”

She wrenches free. Grabs a ceramic canister and hurls it at my head. I don’t dodge this time.

And then she’s gone, storming down the hallway, leaving nothing but destruction in her wake.

I grab a dishrag and press it to the warmth trickling down my temple.

The kitchen looks like a war zone. Shattered porcelain crunches under my feet as I survey the damage. Scotch seeps across the floor like blood, soaking into scattered photos that will never dry the same. It feels poetic somehow—a physical manifestation of the wreckage of our lives.

Yet among the chaos, only one thing makes sense anymore: the woman sleeping upstairs. Suddenly that's all I want—to wrap myself around my reason for being, the one thing I'd kill anyone for right now.

I'm halfway to the stairs when a shadow moves in the darkened lounge.

"For fuck's sake, Uncle!” I start, heart lurching. "What the fuck are you doing awake?"

He sits in his favorite armchair, barely visible in the darkness. Only the whites of his eyes catch the faint moonlight through the window. He hasn't turned on a single lamp, as if he's been waiting in darkness for hours.

"You expect me to sleep through that thirty-year-old ruckus?” His voice carries an unsettling calm, like he's discussing the weather.

"Look—"

"I understand, Kai.” He leans forward slightly, his weathered face emerging from shadow. His eyes hold mine with unnerving intensity. "More than you know. You two are like the sea. Too many ships have sunk in you. It was time for a typhoon."

A cold prickle runs down my spine. Manny has always been beyond strange, but tonight, there's something in his gaze that feels too knowing. As if he's seeing not just me, but everything that led to this moment.

"Watch the waters closely, though,” he adds, his fingers tracing an invisible pattern in the air. "Some storms leave debris you don't see until it's too late."

“Fucking hell. Just go to bed,” I snort, too exhausted for his cryptic bullshit, and head upstairs.

Nicole lies prone on the bed—as if she's been waiting for me, even in sleep. The sight of her hits me like a physical ache. I strip off my clothes and lower myself over her, covering her body with mine the way I always do—the way that makes both of us feel whole.

"Kai,” she croaks, shuddering at the feel of me, moaning sleepily without fully waking. The sound goes straight through me, settling something wild and dark in my chest.

Fuck. This right here is my piece of heaven in hell.

I bury my face in her hair, breathing her in. My fingers find hers under the pillow, entwining until I can't tell where I end and she begins. I know I won't be sleeping for days.

Maybe never again.

Certainly not until I can pull Lana out of the hell I had no idea she’s been willingly residing in.

As I drift into an uneasy half-consciousness, Manny's words echo. Watch the waters closely. And somewhere in the house, I swear I hear footsteps, too light to be real.