Page 132 of Shattered In Darkness

We stumble through a field of broken weeds and animal tracks, nothing but endless gray sky, and death-cold blizzard around us. The only light is the orange smudge of a barn half-buried by snow.

Brody curses under his breath, shoulders splintered boards aside, and throws us in.

Old hay, crumbling into yellowed dust floats in the air. My eyes blur. Spiderwebs and rusted metal, the skeletons of tools. There’s a ladder up to the hayloft, but it looks ready to collapse. In the far corner, a pile of splintered crates are stacked, frostbitten, gnawed by rodents.

He slams the door shut and jams a rusty bar through the latch before kicking a broken feed bucket aside. He checks the windows one by one—boards, frost, spidered glass. Then he paces, all muscle and hunger, he appears caged and rabid.

His coat is torn, salt-stiff with snow and blood. His face is bleeding down one side, jaw smeared. His eyes flick to me, then away. Always watching for a threat.

My legs give out. I fold onto a mound of hay, and shivers take over my whole body, down to my bones. Teeth knock together; my breath whistles through them like wind through a ruin. I curl up, try to hold myself still, but it’s impossible. My body won’t obey anymore.

I close my eyes and it all comes back.

The gunshot. That wet, choking sound. A man’s gurgle, his lifeblood pouring out in a hot spray as he fell. Brody’s hands. The wildness in his face. The look in his eyes as he buried a fist in another man’s throat. How calm he was afterward. How careful when he wiped the blood off my cheek with the back of his hand.

The mess left behind us, red and steaming on the perfect white snow.

I can’t stop. It rewinds in my head, over and over. Blood. Bodies. Brody’s hands, Brody’s violence. Violence for me. Always about me. I remember his violence in the cabin. How terrified I felt. How terrified I still feel. He saved me, but that does not erase what he did to me.

What is wrong with me? I should be running. But I cannot run away from him, no matter how badly I want to.

He’s in front of me before I realize he’s moved. Brody’s coat, heavy with ice, lands over my shoulders. His hands, bleeding and shaking, yank it tight around me, hard enough to bruise.

He crouches, knees popping as he starts checking me. Ribs, arms, shoulders. Squeezing, prodding for breaks. His fingers are rough, but the shake in them is more fear than anger.

He grabs my jaw, just like that, his whole hand closing around my chin and cheek, squeezing until I look right at him. His eyes are black, endless. Obsession instead of empathy.

“Did Marcus hurt you?” he grinds out.

I want to laugh.

“Which time?” My lips are numb. “Take your pick.”

He flinches. Barely. Only the little ripple in his jaw, the cold narrowing of his eyes. I know what I’ve done to him, how deep it goes.

Brody’s voice drops. It’s all fury now, nothing soft. “I’m ending him. For everything. He manipulated every fucking thing. If it weren’t for him, my mom would still be alive. We might still be together.”

His hands move off me as he stands and begins pacing, wiping his own blood on his jeans. Shoved up against the wall, he peers through the slats, scanning the white.

Those words ring through my head. We might still be together. He’s right. We could’ve been happy, but Marcus wanted me all to himself. We were both caged to someone else, we were both manipulated and conditioned.

If only we realized it earlier, if only. We could have avoided so much pain. Conditioning runs deep, unfortunately. Once you’re in it, it’s hard to dig your way out of the reality that is set up for you. It was all a lie, but how were we to know?

“The van’s tagged. Marcus will know you’re missing already, and his crew will see the bodies. He’ll figure out I took you the second he finds the blood. He’ll come.” Brody cracks his neck, like he’s warming up for war. “He’ll want to make me suffer before he kills us.”

The words slide into my bones, cold as the air. I can’t stop shaking. I know what Marcus does to people who disobey. I know the kind of pain waiting on the other side of the door. Brody doesn’t care. He prowls the room, checking every angle, every shadow. If he’s afraid, he doesn’t show it.

“He’ll find us. He’ll make me pay. But I’m going to take him out, or die trying. For what he did to you, to us.”

Brody crouches in front of me again. As if the rest of the blizzard isn’t even real, like nothing outside this dirty, reeking barn matters but the truth.

My hands fists in the ruined coat, my knuckles blue. My jaw spasms, but it’s not just cold now. It’s fear.

Survival. Nothing else.

I know Brody is hinting at the night it ended. My voice is shattered. “I was drugged. That night.” It hangs in the air. “I didn’t choose it. I couldn’t remember, not enough. I couldn’t reach you after. I was trapped. He made sure of it.”

I force myself to hold his gaze. If I look away, I’m weak. If I don’t say it now, I never will. All the years of guilt, clinging like rot. All the shame. It’s out now, and I can’t take it back.