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THE PROTECTOR

I ’ll punish her!

Not with rage that burns hot and fast, but with something colder, something deeper. The kind of punishment that doesn’t need to be spoken, but to be felt. She scared me. The kind of gut-level panic is unforgivable, because she is stirring emotions in me, that I didn’t even know I possessed.

I’ve seen men bleed out in front of me, heard the last breath rattle in their lungs, stared down blades and barrels without blinking. But nothing—not one fucking thing—prepared me for the image of her lying out there in those woods. Cold. Still. Half-covered in leaves like the forest itself had given up on her. The image carved itself into my skull and settled deep in my gut like poison.

I try to be calm. Controlled. A man who doesn't let emotions dictate his next move. Yet there’s a part of me, buried just deep enough to be dangerous, that doesn’t forgive people who make me feel helpless, and she—she touched it with her recklessness, her silence, her fucking vanishing act.

If she’d died out there, that would’ve been it. Penelope—gone. My boss—already buried. My brother—frozen in the morgue. Three bodies in a single month, three pieces of me gutted while I’m still walking, breathing, like any of this means anything without them.

So no—she doesn’t get to walk back into this cabin like nothing happened. She doesn’t get to look at me with those wide, hollow eyes and pretend it was just a mistake. She’s going to feel this. All of it. Not because I want to hurt her, but because she hurt me—in a way I didn’t think anyone could.

So now I’m going to remind her who I am.

Not with screaming. Not with violence. But with a quiet kind of fury that seeps into every glance, word, touch that lingers too long. I want her to feel the storm she summoned.

Penelope was only a couple of hours from the cabin, lost and looping in circles, disoriented and desperate. I found her easily. The years of tracking, and training at the Academy, enabled me to read the world when it wants to stay hidden—it led me straight to her.

When we got back, she said nothing, but I could tell that she was starving, because she ate as if she hadn’t tasted food in days. That’s when I knew—she’d been out there too long. Longer than I’d let myself believe.

I’d left her for three days. I knew it would shake her, the silence, the isolation. So I did something I don’t usually do. I stopped for burgers on the way back. A small thing. A peace offering. A reminder that despite the hell I’d been dragging behind me, I could still give her something warm. Something normal. The cabin food is basic, but that meal? That was for her. Because sometimes, I do nice—even if it tastes foreign on my tongue.

She panicked, because I had nothing in my room and she thought that I was planning to leave her.

I’ll tell the truth when the time is right.

I never leave what belongs to me.

And she’ll learn the hard way, Penelope’s mine.

After eating, and half complaining at the same time, I kept my rage undertake as she went to have a long, scalding shower. It was then I left her, I fucking kept it in as long as possible, because I had a hard-on so badly I wanted to bend her over the kitchen table and fuck her until there is no tomorrow.

But I’m not a fucking animal.

I jerked off, as I thought about her sweet lips on the other end of my cock. A hand job which made me want to fucking explode; it nearly took the wind out of me, as I thought about the scent of her beautiful body.

When I got back, the cabin was quiet, with the fire burning and glowing embers casting flickering shadows against the walls. Penelope’s on the rug by the fire with her knees pulled to her chest, a blanket around her. Her hair is damp, curling slightly at the ends, and her eyes meet mine the moment I step inside. She doesn’t say anything—not yet.

I sit across from her, elbows on my knees, hands laced together. I’m calm now. The kind of calm that comes when everything else inside has already burned out.

“I’m no longer an agent,” I say, my voice low. “I turned in my badge. That part of my life is done.”

She blinks slowly, but doesn’t respond.

“I thought it made me who I was. I thought chasing after the worst people would somehow make me feel like I was doing something that mattered.”

I pause, trying to make sense of everything which has happened, realizing that none of it makes sense anymore. Nothing does unless I am with her.

“But it didn’t. Not really.”

She shifts slightly, the blanket falling off her shoulder. I see the way her fingers tighten against the fabric.

“After my brother… after everything… I realized I don’t know what happiness looks like. I don’t think I ever did.”

My brother is the real hero in this story; he changed lives and cared about what happened to his victims after he rescued them. I’d been to court once, which was only because I was summoned as a witness. I didn’t give a shit what happened to the bad guys when I busted them, because that wasn’t part of my job. I never followed up on if they were sentenced or all the bullshit politics which come along with the judicial system, because again, that wasn’t my job.

Leaving me to question whether I was going back to NY for good or not, but from the moment the rental car entered New York, I had the answer to my question.

The answer was no.

“ D o you think I do?” she whispers, barely audible over the crackle of the fire.

I look at her, and for a second, we’re just two people sitting in a cabin in the middle of nowhere.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I think if I was ever get close to it… it’ll be because of you.”

She doesn’t answer, but her gaze softens, and the space between us feels heavier than it did a moment ago—like maybe something is forming there. Not an answer. But a beginning.

I don’t regret a single thing I’ve ever done. Not for a second. I don’t waste time on ‘what ifs’ or on wishing things had been different. But the moment I walked away from Penelope, something in me snapped. She’s consumed me, and is all I think about, all I crave, every waking moment. I can’t escape it, and I don’t want to.

When I saw her out in the woods, walking with no sense of direction, I couldn’t help but kiss her. Breaking my rule of not only regretting leaving her, but showing her how much she means to me.

I hardly know the woman.

Yet, she’s in my waking thoughts.

I wonder if Ruslan is punishing me from beyond the grave for me being so close to her. I’m where he didn’t have the balls to be. Now my balls can’t think of anything better than being inside the sweetness of her pussy.

I can’t believe today is Sunday. The day of the funeral, time to bury my brother even though I promised myself that I wouldn’t do it until I found out who murdered him and returned the favor.

It was selfish of me, or rather Noah told me so. He wants to bury Ruslan, because that’s what he deserves, and Noah ensured that he’ll be buried in his name. Something that he has never had since he left Russia so many decades ago.

“He deserves to be buried with dignity,” Noah said as I questioned his choices.

He’s right, Ruslan is the hero, he does deserve to be buried decently. The morning’s cold air slices through the window of the quiet cabin. It’s here, lingering in the corners, drowning out every thought, every breath. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to escape it.

Penelope’s still asleep, or at least pretending to be. I know she’s hurting, just like me, because not only is someone trying to kill her, but she never got to know my brother. The man who saved her, but then he couldn’t save himself.

Maybe this is what’s eating her up inside?

I grab my jacket and throw it over my shoulders, then I glance at the burner phone’s time, which tells me that it’s time to make a move. The funeral isn’t until later, but I want to make sure we get there in time, besides it’s a long drive to Indianapolis.

I check my other phone to see if there has been an update from the sheriff’s office. No calls, no messages. Nothing.

I’m not surprised. I already know what they’re going to say. No leads. Just one big dead end, but I know why everything is dead, because there’s no active investigation.

Now, I don’t have to worry about work, which was really the last thing on my mind. I will keep Penelope by my side, she is the only thing on my mind.

Noah’s outside, leaning against his car with that look on his face. His eyes are tired, his jaw clenched. He doesn’t need to say anything; I know what he’s thinking. He’s been working on the same thing, trying to dig up something—anything—to make sense of it all. But it doesn’t. It all just leads to dead ends.

“Anything?” I ask him, my voice rough.

He shakes his head, with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Nope. Nothing. They said there’s no evidence, but we both know it’s not true.”

My fists clench at my sides, and for a moment, I feel the anger boiling up in my chest.

“I hate dirty Sheriffs. Now, let’s get this funeral out of the way so we can find what we’re looking for. The Sheriff’s got something to hide."

Noah meets my gaze. “I know. I have a feeling that it’s all linked to organ trafficking.”

We stand in silence for a moment. The more I think about it, the more I realize Noah looking into organ trafficking isn’t a bad idea. I checked out everyone in relation to Penelope’s old case, yet nothing. Everything checked out there; those who were imprisoned are still in prison, and their relatives wanted nothing to do with the case. One wife committed suicide because the press kept hounding her, asking her all sorts of stupid things.

“Did you know your husband was a pedophile and a rapist?”

“What was it like living with one?”

“Oh, and how would you feel if one of your kids were attacked by a man or one of your husband’s friends?”

The answers to the questions were obvious, but then when the kids were being bullied in school, instead of their mom protecting them, she took her own life.

I remember Ruslan used to say most of the predators who were married, he assumed that most of the wives knew about their husbands extra activities. I’m not sure what he used to back his theory but he used to be confident about his theory.

At times, I think about these types of conversations. There weren’t many between Ruslan and I. He would do the talking, and I would do the listening because I didn’t have anything to contribute—and, well, we never really talked. Not the way Noah would tell me things Ruslan had told him or the conversations they’d had. There was so much, I think, that should have been said, but it’s too late now.

Noah pushes off the car, straightening up as if he's making a decision.

"Let’s go," he says, his voice steady, but I can tell he's feeling the same heat, the same fire which is consuming me. “Let’s go and bury Hunter.”

I spin on my heels to get Penelope, but she’s waiting outside the cabin. She looks stunning with her dark hair flowing and a black dress and matching heels. I assume Noah bought it for her. I shouldn’t be admiring her today of all days, but she looks at me, stares for a second, then I spin around seeing as we’re all ready and jump into the front of the car.

T he drive to the funeral home is quiet. No one says a word for the four hour drive, Penelope doesn’t ask for a bathroom break, no one does. It’s as if we are all sitting in our grief unable to share our thoughts and sorrows of the day. Our silence isn’t even broken by Noah playing music.

Ruslan is being buried with three people turning up to the funeral. The streets should be lined with all the people he saved. Noah parks his car, but we don’t get out just yet. We continue to sit in silence, just for a little while longer.

Penelope’s in the back of the car, her face hidden by the tinted windows. I glance at her, but she doesn’t look at me.

Then, she starts to open the door, to leave the car. Noah grabs my arm before I can open the door, his grip firm. “You sure about this?” he asks, his voice softer than usual.

I don’t answer right away. I just nod and pull the door open, stepping out onto the gravel.

“She wanted to come. He saved her life, she wanted to pay respects. So, it’s fine,” I confirm.

“True. That’s the whole point of not burying him in Maplewood, and I covered the tracks so we can bury him in peace,” he says.

Noah follows me, but we don’t talk much as we enter the funeral home. The air smells of flowers and incense. It’s then I see how sad and lonely death can be.

I stand alone. Well, not completely alone. Noah and Penelope are here, standing a few feet away, in silence.

Then from the side of my eye, I see someone walking toward us. Someone I never expected to be here. Molly. She is in black and heading toward Noah. It’s as if she is a ray of sunshine, the comfort he needs, as she wraps her arms around him and he slowly cries into it. The tears he was holding onto, are now out as he completely releases them.

I’m confused, because I thought there would be a service before they bury him.But then I remember Noah said there was no need. Ruslan didn’t believe in God, and he told Noah how he wanted his funeral to be, and everything which was happening now, was going according to his plan.

My brother’s casket sits there, lowered into the ground, dark and heavy like the weight pressing against my chest. A single wreath of white lilies rests at the head of the grave—one. One fucking wreath. The irony is suffocating.

At our mother’s funeral, there were so many flowers you could barely see the ground beneath them. Roses, orchids, tulips, arrangements so elaborate they probably cost more than most people make in a year. People who barely knew her, who didn’t give a damn about her when she was alive, showed up in their designer suits and black dresses, dabbing at their dry eyes with silk handkerchiefs. My mother’s death was a performance, a grand spectacle staged by society’s finest orchestrated by my stepfather.

Ruslan probably has more money than all of them combined. If wealth dictated worth, this cemetery should be overflowing with people, with tributes, with bullshit eulogies about what a great man he was. He lived underground, in the shadows, beyond the reach of their polite, hypocritical admiration. And now, he’s being buried with nothing but dirt and silence.

Noah exhales sharply, scuffing his shoe against the gravel. I can feel his frustration, but he says nothing as Molly holds on to his hand and rubs it. He smiles at her, and she wipes away his tears. She lifts her hand to signal to me. I nod back at her. She thinks of me as Noah’s Dad’s twin. It’s fine, we haven’t really spoken properly, we just exchanged a few words when we first met. She seems…nice. I watch her comfort Noah. As I see how she tries to take the pain away, I realize this is what it means to be loved. This is what it means when someone gives their heart to someone else. Something I’ve never done.

I notice that while I’m watching them, someone is watching me.

Penelope.

It’s almost as if she’s trying to read my mind. Trying to figure out if I’m distraught with the loss of my twin, or relieved.

I clench my fists until my nails bite into my palms. He was a king in his own right, a warrior we know for sure.

Noah steps up beside me, his face hard, but I see the pain in his eyes. He’s not okay. He’ll never be okay.

The secular officiant gives the last rites, his words washing over me like static, like noise I can’t comprehend.

As your final chapter draws to a close, we do not send you away — we carry you forward.

In memory, in laughter, in stories told long after this night fades.

May you rest in peace, not through prayer, but through the deep knowing that you were loved, that your life had meaning, and that you mattered.

A fter the ceremony ends, Noah and Molly leave whilst she puts a hand on his arm, offering a quiet comfort as he breaks down. I watch them for a moment, with a pang of envy. He has someone to hold him. Someone to lean on.

I don’t.

I’m alone in this.

So, I grab Penelope’s hand and lead her toward the car. I want to say something to her which will fix everything—but the words don’t come out.

“I want to stay for a while by the gravesite,” she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

I nod, but I can’t bring myself to drive there. Noah left the car for us to get back to the cabin.

Not yet.

“Wait a little while,” I tell her.

We should go and grab something to eat, because it has been a long day. As Molly tells me she’s taking Noah to a hotel so they can be alone. I’m back to where I was only yesterday, only with Penelope.

It is just me and my butterfly.

I have so many questions on my mind, and this time I’ll make sure she answers them.