Page 145 of Shattered In Darkness

Sophie draws in a breath so shaky it makes my own lungs ache. “He was my dad,” she whispers. “He was supposed to love us. He was supposed to keep us safe.”

I force myself to sit on the edge of the coffee table, ignoring how my body hurts in too many places. “You didn’t know, Sophie. Nobody did.”

Her hands tremble around the mug in her lap. “You knew. Brody knew. Everybody but me.”

“I didn’t know everything,” I say, but it’s weak, and she knows it.

The silence returns, thicker than before. I can feel panic rising in my throat. I glance over my shoulder, desperate for a way out, and see Brody standing in the doorway, eyes shadowed.

He looks at me, then at Sophie, and back. “Should I call Lucas?” I mouth the words, not trusting my voice.

Sophie picks up her phone, stares at it, and then nods with the tiniest motion. “Will you?”

I text him. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely type.

Sophie needs you. My house. Now.

He’s here so quickly it’s like he’s been waiting outside for this moment. He comes in quietly, not saying anything, just kneeling beside the couch.

Sophie doesn’t even try to pretend she doesn’t need him. She falls into his arms and sobs, and all I can do is watch as Lucas holds her, arms around her shoulders, her face tucked against his neck. He doesn’t try to fix it. He just lets her cry.

I slip out with Brody, my chest tight. I hear them walk out the back door to the patio. I want to believe they’ll be okay. I want to believe we all will.

In my room, I sit on the edge of my bed, fingers twisting in the blanket. My skin is still cold from the night before. I can’t stop replaying it.

Marcus’s face as he died, the taste of blood, the sound of my own heart beating like I might never hear it again. He’s really gone. I say it in my head, over and over. Marcus is dead. I am free.

But my body doesn’t believe it yet. Every noise makes me jump. Every footstep in the hall feels like a threat. My wrists ache from old bruises, my ribs are sore.

I keep remembering things I wish I could forget. His hands, his voice, the way he said my name like it belonged to him. Even now, in daylight with the door locked, I feel him watching.

Brody sits across from me, his face closed off and unreadable.

I can’t hold it in any longer. “Why did you take me, Brody?” My voice comes out cold. “Was it really to save me, or were you doing Richard’s work? Did you want to protect me or just keep me for yourself?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He rubs a hand over his jaw, eyes haunted. “Both,” he says, finally. “I wanted you out of everybody’s reach. I couldn’t let him or my father touch you again. But I didn’t know who to trust. I didn’t know what to believe. I just knew I needed you with me.”

The anger arrives like a wild hurricane. I spent so long pushing it down because there’s that scared voice in my head telling that I need to stay compliant and quiet to avoid punishment. I cannot let my anger show, I need to be good. I’m done being good. “You think I was safe? You think I felt saved? You pulled me out of one prison and shoved me into another. You didn’t ask me. You didn’t give me a choice. You were just as obsessed with control as they were.”

He flinches, but his own voice gets hard. “You don’t get it, Lola. You weren’t the only one breaking. I watched you get hurt again and again. I watched you choose to go back to him because you thought it was safer than fighting. I lost my mind. I lost everything. I did what I had to do. Maybe it wasn’t right. But it’s done now.”

I stand, hands clenched, voice rising. “You don’t get to decide what I needed. You don’t get to claim me just because you were hurting. I’m not a fucking prize, Brody. I’m not your atonement.”

He matches me, toe to toe, eyes blazing. “I never claimed to be your hero. I can’t fix what’s broken in you or me, but I won’t apologize for wanting you alive. Those men that Richard sent, they would’ve done so much worse.”

I snarl, louder than I mean. “You didn’t have the right. Nobody gets to decide what I need. What I want. I wasn’t yours to take. Not yours to save, either. Do you even hear how fucked that is? You just put me in a new cage—your fucking cage, Brody! You tortured me!”

He jerks, jaw flexing. I see the anger light up in his eyes.

“I did what I thought was right!” His voice shakes. “I was so angry, and so confused, Richard put all these fucking theories into my head. I couldn’t—” he cuts himself off, breath harsh. “I was losing my fucking mind, Lola. Watching you suffer and pretending not to care. But also thinking that you were on his side, the man who killed my mother. I needed you with me. But I needed you ruined. Maybe I’m sick, maybe I’m selfish, but I won’t pretend it was about being a hero.”

I shove at his shoulder. “I hate you for it, sometimes. I hate that you’re the only thing that makes it stop hurting.”

He grabs my wrist, holding me in place. “You don’t hate me. You hate what’s been done to you. I’d burn the world down before I let anyone do it again.”

It’s screaming, not talking now. Pain ricochets off the drywall.

“Everyone acts like they fucking know me,” I spit. “Like I’m some object to be kept safe, like I’m a trophy, not a person. How can anybody love something they don’t even trust?”