Page 137 of Drowning in Darkness

Camryn stomps on Christopher’s foot and drives her elbow into his middle. The knife clatters to the ground, and he shoves her hard with a roar. She falls, hitting the corner of a cell with her spine before crumpling in a heap.

A mercenary tackles Christopher, grabbing the box from his hands and tossing it to the floor before stomping on it, eliminating one of the threats. But Christopher is quicker than he looks, and while he’s distracted with destroying the box, Christopher scoops up the knife and stabs him in the neck. He falls to his knees, his hands clamped around the blood spurting through his fingers.

Christopher’s lips curl into a sneer, his gaze meeting me. “You stupid fucking⁠—”

Camryn swipes her foot out, tripping him. He hits the ground, and she reaches into the holster strapped to her ankle, pulling out her backup gun. She levels it at him and pulls herself to her feet with a groan while he glares up at her with hatred brimming in his eyes.

“Don’t fucking move.” Camryn gestures her head at the door. “Get them out of here. Now!”

The remaining mercenary gathers up the girls and heads for the door, leaving the four of us behind—Camryn with her gun pointed at Christopher, and me with Stephanie in my arms. I lock eyes with him. “You’re done. You’re not leaving here.” I’m content to leave the cleanup to Camryn. I know she’ll do it because there’s no other path forward for scum like him.

I carry Stephanie toward the door, planning to get the hell out of this basement with her and go straight to a hospital.

“Wait.” Stephanie sounds hoarse, but I stop, brow furrowed as I look down at her. “Put me down.”

My eyes widen. “What?”

“Put me down.” She says it more firmly, and I listen. After everything she’s been through, everything she’s done to get here, I listen to her.

I can see and hear the pain as she shuffles toward Camryn, but I don’t step in to help her. I can already tell this is something for her. Something that I can’t trample over by trying to swoop in and protect her.

Stephanie places her hand on the gun, imploring Camryn with her eyes to hand it over. After a moment, she does, and Stephanie palms the weapon while Christopher sneers, still so damned pleased with himself, even in the face of his destruction.

The seconds drag on as the woman I love wraps her fingers around the pistol and shakily approaches Christopher. She raises the gun, pointing it at his head. Even without good aim, she can’t miss from that distance.

“Are you really going to pull that trigger, sweetheart? Come on now. I think—” Christopher’s words end abruptly as Stephanie fires, the sound of the bullet going through the barrel ringing off the concrete walls. I stare down at the small hole punched through the center of Christopher’s skull, and a quiet pride fills me. That’s my girl.

Stephanie hands Camryn the gun before turning to walk the short distance into my waiting arms. I lift her up once more and head toward the door, leaving this terrible place behind. Stephanie clings to me and murmurs, “Only you get to call me that.”

FORTY-NINE

STEPHANIE

Being someone’s safe place means knowing when to follow them into the dark.

My physical pain recedes day by day, but my yearning grows. It’s quiet in my brother’s apartment, but that allows the nightmares to come once more, and the fear that the man who stole my heart will never see me again.

When he’s here, Hunter watches me with an intensity that makes me itch, like I’m a ticking time bomb he’s going to have to disarm at any given moment.

I flick through the news channels, finding scattered reports of men in high places being taken in for questioning, but the prevailing headline is the FBI Assistant Director who has been arrested for undisclosed crimes. The press is having a field day with different theories, and social media is going wild. Camryn appears every so often, the poised woman who represents all that the justice system should be. If we had more of her, the world would be an infinitely better place.

My body contained a snapshot of what Christopher Burnside was capable of, and it was used as a justification for his death. But the injuries and testimonies of the other girls are enough. No one can refute it, and no one will miss one less evil man. Given time, I’m sure more survivors will come forward.

As for the organization that James led? It’s done. Gone. His work with the FBI was exposed, and they moved in quickly to all the settlements to collect the women and children living in terror. Now the real work begins. The healing, the months—maybe even years—of therapy to understand that what happened to them wasn’t okay.

Honor and Fox are using their foundation to help, along with the money Burnside pledged.

“Do you fancy Thai or Italian for dinner?” Eleanor asks, pursing her lips at the takeout menus.

My brother is at a meeting with the MC tonight, leaving two women who burn toast to their own devices.

“Thai,” I reply. The spice might break through the numbness that I can feel descending. I’ve heard her speaking to James, but he never asks about me. I appear to have disappeared from his world while he consumes mine. Did I imagine it all? Did I conjure up a fantasy where we’d been tangled in his sheets? Did I imagine the way his skin smelled at the crook of his neck? Was it someone else who risked their life to come and save me from a monster?

A warm, wet tongue licks my fingers. I glance down at the spaniel who steals the heart of all who cross the threshold. I scratch his ears and stare into his soulful eyes that seem to understand everything emotional while having elevator music playing the rest of the time. “Hey, Charlie,” I breathe. He hops up on the sofa and flops dramatically onto my lap, like he fits there. He doesn’t, and that makes it all the more adorable.

Eleanor doesn’t ask what I want, just orders for us before grabbing her laptop and plopping down beside me. “You know you’re welcome to stay for as long as you need.”

I raise a brow. “I’m not sure my brother views that as optional.”