It would barely fit a person. Someone would have to stand perfectly still or risk knocking into the walls.
To someone who found the bathroom tight enough to make her skin clammy, this would be like absolute hell.
“No.” The word escaped before I could stop it.
Not to her—to myself. To the fucking universe that had brought her here, to this moment where I had to choose between her trauma and our lives.
But there was no choice. There never had been.
“Forgive me,” I whispered, grabbing her arm. Different words from before. Not sorry—that was too small for what I was about to do. “God, Mia, please forgive me.”
Her eyes widened when she realized where I was steering her. The understanding hit her in stages—first confusion, then recognition, then pure terror that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with whatever had happened to her in those missing years.
“No.” She tried to pull away, but I held firm. “Ryan, please, not?—”
“I know,” I said, hating myself with every fiber, hating the mission, hating the men on the other side of these walls. “I know, baby. But it’s this or they kill us both.”
Survival was always the most important thing. But it didn’t feel like it in this second.
I shoved her inside. Not hard, but firm enough that she stumbled past the threshold. My hand shook as I pushed the door closed, and for a moment, I held it there, not latching it, giving her one last second of knowing it could open.
Then I locked it. The click of the latch was the loudest sound I’d ever heard.
For a heartbeat, nothing. Maybe she’d be okay. Maybe whatever had happened wasn’t that bad. Maybe?—
Her fists started pounding against the door, frantic, desperate. The thin wood shook with each impact. And then the scream came. It tore through the room like breaking glass, like something being ripped from her soul. Raw. Terrified. Absolutely real. The kind of scream that would haunt me for whatever was left of my life after this.
“There we go!” Diesel’s approval boomed through the wall. “Coop knows how to handle them!”
Tommy whooped like he was at a football game. Even from outside on the porch, I heard Snake’s low chuckle carry through the window—the sound of a man whose suspicions had been laid to rest.
I stood with my forehead pressed against the closet door, her screams driving into my skull like nails. My hand rested on the handle, every instinct howling to let her out. But I counted. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Had to make it believable. Had to let her terror run long enough that they’d stop listening, stop caring, move on to their own entertainment.
Three Mississippi. Her screams had turned to sobs, muffled thuds as she slumped against the door.
Five Mississippi. The pounding had stopped. Just crying now, broken and defeated.
Ten Mississippi. I could hear her panting, hyperventilating, the panic attack in full swing.
Fifteen seconds. That was all I could stand before I yanked the door open.
Mia tumbled out like a corpse from a standing coffin, gasping, tears streaming down her face. Her legs gave out immediately—complete muscle failure from the panic. I caughther before she hit the floor, pulling her against me as sobs racked her body. She was so small in my arms, folded into herself like she was trying to disappear.
“You’re safe,” I whispered into her hair, over and over. “You’re out. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Lies. She wasn’t safe. Not here, not with me. But I said them anyway because what else could I do?
She shook against me, fingers twisted in my shirt like she was trying to anchor herself to something solid. Her tears soaked through the fabric, hot against my skin. Every sob was an accusation. Every shudder was a reminder that I’d used her trauma as a weapon.
“Good show, Coop!” Diesel yelled. “But pace yourself—we got all night!”
I guided Mia to the bed, still holding her as she cried. Had to make it look good in case anyone decided to barge in or peer through the window, but I also couldn’t let go of her. Her whole body trembled with the aftershocks of panic. I’d seen it before in soldiers after IED explosions—that full-body response to surviving something the brain had been convinced would kill them.
She curled against me exactly like she used to after nightmares, muscle memory overriding the years and betrayals between us. My hand found her hair, stroking it the way that had always calmed her before. Her breathing slowly steadied, though tears still tracked down her cheeks.
We stayed like that, her crying quietly against my chest while I held her and hated myself for what I’d had to do. For what I might still have to do before this was over.
Outside, Snake’s footsteps finally moved away from the window. The immediate danger had passed.
