They have a key.
The door swings open as if it’s just another evening, like they belong here. But the truth hits like ice in my veins.
Four men in suits step into the room—two of them all too familiar. Men I once trusted. One is the triplet’s father, Uncle Dean. Another, Emerson’s father, Uncle Bryce. And two others I don’t recognize.
They stand there, surveying us like predators in tailored armor. My fingers continue fumbling across my phone screen, still open to Ronan’s last message. I jab desperately at the keys, trying to typeHELP—trying to summon him like a lifeline.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Uncle Bryce’s voice is cold and final as he snatches the phone from my numb hands. He glances at the screen, lips curling in amusement before tossing a knowing look toward Uncle Dean. Whatever I managed to send...it wasn’t enough.
Across the room, Reign is barely conscious, slumping on the floor in a tangled heap of limbs and whispers. Her lips form the wordno, over and over, so softly I almost miss it.
Dean looks down at her, like she’s an inconvenience. His own daughter. The sneer on his face curdles something in my gut.
Without a word, he nods, and the two strangers converge on her. I want to scream, to throw myself between them and her, but I can’t move. I’m frozen in my skin, limbs heavy, heart pounding against a wall of panic and nausea.
They lift her like she weighs nothing—like she’s a rag doll—and position her carelessly, cruelly, on the other side of the room. My stomach twists.
I can’t save her. Not alone.
But I swear to everything that matters—I’ll try.
And if Ronan saw the message... if he’s on his way... please,pleaselet him get here in time.
“No!” I shout, my voice cracking as I struggle to move, my legs heavy and uncooperative beneath me. “Don’t touch her! Stay away from her!” The words tumble out, slurred and desperate, as the room spins faster around me. My legs no longer hold me, dropping me to the floor, thwarting any hope I have to rescue her.
Dean crouches beside me, his voice disturbingly calm as he brushes my hair behind my ear. “Easy now,” he murmurs, like this is some twisted lullaby. “You’re going to wear yourself out. And I want you alert... at least for a little while.”
His words land like ice in my veins. My pulse hammers in my ears as panic claws up my throat. Reign is barely conscious across the room, and I can’t get to her—can’t protect her.
I’m not giving up. Not now. Not ever.
Laughter—low and cruel—echoes around the room, warping as my hearing flickers in and out. Time slips sideways. One blink stretches into forever, and when I come back to myself, I’m no longer on the floor. I’m bent forward over Reign’s bed, disoriented and foggy.
My vision clears just enough to make out the couch.
And I wish it hadn’t.
Reign—my best friend, my sister in everything but blood—is slumped over the cushions. Her clothes disheveled, her body limp. Two men flank her, one behind, the other in front, and even in my haze, I can see the violation written in every angle of their movements, every sickening sound that reaches my ears.
It’s a nightmare. One I can’t wake up from. One I should never have to witness—let alone survive. My stomach twists as bile rises, my muscles scream to move, but the drugs hold me hostage.
I can’t scream. I can’t fight.
A broken whimper slips from my lips—the only sound I can manage, even though my mind is screaming, begging for it all to stop.
A rush of cold air hits my skin, and dread tightens in my chest like a vise. I’m exposed. Vulnerable. Stripped of everything, even the chance to fight. Two sets of hands grip and drag, groping without care, without consent, and I can’t move enough to stop them.
Hot tears stream silently down my face, soaking into Reign’s bed sheets. My mascara stains the fabric like evidence of everything I can’t say out loud. There’s pressure—unwelcome, terrifying—but the drugs dull the physical edge of it. That numbness, however twisted, is the only mercy I have.
I focus on breathing. On surviving. On remembering every detail so that when this nightmare ends, they won’t be able to hide from what they’ve done.
I must’ve drifted out again—whether from the drugs or the shock, I don’t know—but the sharp rise of angry voices yanks me back. Bryce and Dean are arguing now, their words sharp and accusing, cutting through the fog in my head like jagged glass.
“I thought you said she was a fucking virgin, Bryce! It was your job to watch her.” Dean throws out the accusation, his voice low and venom-laced.
“She should be! The only people she’s been around were our kids...”The words hang for a beat—then realization slams into both of them. “One of the boys got to her.” Bryce lets out a low, furious growl, frustration crackling beneath the surface.
“The agreement was clear—you take Reign, I take Berkley,” Dean snaps, his voice tight with anger. “I kept my end. So, tell me—how exactly do you plan to fix this mess?” Dean’s tyrant comes and goes with my hearing but refocuses quickly when a sudden pressure pushes against me, followed by Dean grunting. “Damn, she’s still plenty tight enough.” The pressure jostles me against the sheets, the soft cotton, the worst feeling in the world.
