Johnathon doesn’t slow as he cuts straight through the crowd, the men around us carving a path as people spill aside—some annoyed, some wary, others too intoxicated to care.
My chest aches with every step as the weight of thirteen days presses down on me, and I fight the tremble rising in my throat. Crying has never helped. It only earns cruel looks and quiet mockery from Johnathon’s men.
Who is he really?
When Trey spoke of his father, there was always pain in his voice, never this cold authority, never this calculated control.
My stomach churns.
I have no phone, no money, no identity that matters anymore. Johnathon has made it clear that Gideon is still hunting me, that I am never truly safe.
So, I’m trapped, dragged from place to place like a piece on someone else’s board, waiting for Johnathon to decide when I’m allowed to see Trey…or hoping Trey will somehow find me first.
“Keep your dogs under control,” Johnathon says without turning around, his tone smooth but edged with steel. “If they step out of line, I’ll put them down.”
I’ve heard the threat too many times in the last few days.
“Stop threatening them,” I say quietly. “I’m already going with you, Johnathon.”
Every time I think he might show even a shred of civility, he reminds me exactly who he is, like cruelty is etched into his bones.
How Trey came from a man like this feels like a miracle.
A low growl hums in Artemis’s chest while Klause presses closer against my leg.
I nod once, not trusting my voice.
We continue through the sea of strangers, the crowd closing behind us like water after a ship’s wake, until we reach another elevator waiting at the far end of the casino.
The doors close with a muted thud, sealing us inside mirrored walls and silence. I catch my reflection—drawn, hollow-eyed, hair loose around my shoulders like I forgot how to care for myself. Johnathon doesn’t look at me. He rarely does. He checks the floor count, the security feed on his phone, the men behind us.
He hasn’t hurt me. Not once.
Yet even with him, I never feel safe.
The guns don’t change that. Neither does the number of men surrounding us or the careful routes Johnathon chooses. Safety is an illusion he wears like a tailored suit—sharp, convincing, and empty beneath the surface. Every place he has dragged me through has only reinforced it. Motels with flickering lights and stained carpets. Abandoned shacks where the wind slipped through broken boards like whispers. One night spent in the back cargo area of a hunting supply store, a fold-out cot wedged between shelves of dehydrated meat and boxes of ammunition, the smell of iron and dust thick in the air.
Now this.
The elevator doors open onto a dim hallway where the carpet has been worn thin by years of footsteps, its once-rich color dulled to something gray and lifeless. We move quietly, the casino’s roar sealed away behind us like a world that doesn’t exist. Johnathon guides us toward what looks like a linen closet, opens the narrow door, and reveals a hidden stairwell tucked behind shelves of folded towels and cleaning supplies.
We descend one flight, the air cooler here, quieter.
At the end of the corridor, faint city light spills in from a window, painting long shadows across the floor. The silence feels unnatural.
Johnathon stops at an apartment door and keys his mic.
A moment later it opens, and a uniformed worker nods quickly, eyes downcast. Johnathon hands him an envelope thick enough to bend under its own weight. The man doesn’t count it. He never would. He simply steps aside and disappears down the hall without a word.
The apartment beyond is massive, but tired.
Once-grand wealth that’s gone untouched too long. Dust softens every corner, dulls the shine of polished surfaces. The air carries a faint stale scent, like rooms that have forgotten whatit means to be lived in. Johnathon walks me through without ceremony, pointing nothing out because he doesn’t need to.
A sprawling living area with heavy furniture. A kitchen that looks expensive but unused. An office filled with dark shelves and locked drawers. Rooms meant for people who once mattered.
Everywhere I look, I feel like a ghost passing through someone else’s forgotten life.
Then he opens a door.
