Chapter 6

Damien Wolfe

“What did you do?”

The words came out harder again this time than I meant them to, rough and low, already echoing off the walls before the door even finished closing behind me. The smell of blood still hung thick in the air, mixed with smoke and sweat and something faintly metallic that clung to the back of my throat. Shattered glass glimmered under the red emergency light that still flickered weakly from the ceiling, refusing to die even when everything else had gone quiet.

She was still on the floor where they had left her, her back pressed tight against the bed frame, her knees drawn up close to her chest like she was trying to make herself smaller, invisible maybe, as if she could still hide from what had already happened. Her right hand was wrapped in a strip of white bandage, but I could see where it had already turned dark at the center, the red bleeding through. Every breath she took was fast and shallow, the kind that never quite fills the lungs.

I stepped further into the room. The sound of my boots on the tile was the only thing moving. The guards by the door didn’t dare speak; they shifted their weight quietly, waiting for me to tell them what came next.

“I asked you a question,” I said again, slower this time, because the silence was starting to crawl under my skin.

She flinched, the movement barely there, then lifted her head, forcing her eyes up to meet mine. “He came in,” she said, her voice small but steady enough to hurt. “I thought…” she hesitated, swallowed, then finished, “I thought it was them.”

For a long second, I just stared at her, jaw locked tight, my hands hanging uselessly at my sides. “You thought we were the ones who kept you locked up,” I said finally, every word heavier than I wanted it to be.

Her eyes flicked up toward mine, sharp, accusing. “You locked me in.” Her voice had an edge now, thin but cutting. “The lights, the bolts I heard them. It felt the same.”

I let out a slow breath, not because I was calm, but because it was that or start breaking things again. “You nearly killed one of my men because a door closed,” I said.

She didn’t look away. “I did what I had to do.”

The silence that followed filled every corner of the room. The air seemed to hold its breath. One of the guards shifted his stance by the door I lifted my hand slightly, and he froze on instinct. I walked closer to her until the edge of the bed touched my leg.

“That guard,” I said quietly, every word measured, “has a wife waiting for him. Two kids. He came up here because he heard a crash and thought someone might be dying. He walked into this room to make sure you were breathing, and now he’s lying downstairs with twenty-eight stitches in his face. That’s what you did.”

Her lips parted, her eyes glassy but dry, the tears fighting to fall and losing.

“You could have been shot,” I said. “Do you understand that? If anyone else had walked in first, you’d be a body bag right now. That’s why the door was closed for your protection After everything I did to drag you out of that pit, this is what you give me in return.”

She didn’t speak, just looked at me like she wanted to argue but couldn’t find the strength to move her mouth.

“The cartel isn’t gone,” I went on, my voice quieter but heavier. “They’re still out there, still bleeding for revenge. They’re hunting down the girls we freed one by one, like wolves picking off the strays. Half of them are already dead. The rest won’t last long.” I moved toward the window and pulled the curtain aside, letting a thin strip of gray morning light cut across the floor. “You step outside these gates, you’ll join them before nightfall.”

She pushed herself up on shaking legs. Her voice came out small but steady. “Then let me go.”

A short, humorless laugh broke from my chest. “You wouldn’t make it past the front gate,” I said, turning my head just enough to see her reflection in the glass. “You think freedom is waiting for you out there? It isn’t. Out there, you’re a name on a list someone already paid to erase.”

I let the curtain fall back into place and turned to face her. “You’re safer here than anywhere else. You should be grateful.”

She lifted her chin, the defiance returning, faint but visible. “Nobody asked you to be my savior.”

For a heartbeat, I didn’t breathe. The words hit with more force than any bullet could have.

I stood there staring at her, the heat crawling up behind my ribs, not anger anymore something heavier, older, something that hurt to recognize. I took one slow step toward her until we were close enough to feel each other’s breath.

“If you ever try something like tonight again,” I said, my voice low and steady, “you’ll see the side of me I’ve been keeping buried. Don’t make me lose what little control I’ve managed to keep.”

She didn’t answer, didn’t blink, just looked at me like she already knew the monster I was talking about.

I turned away before I broke the silence myself. “Mara,” I said.

The door opened, and she appeared instantly, her face pale but composed, eyes flicking between me and the girl.

“Get her cleaned up,” I said. “Call the doctor. We’re moving soon.”

“Yes, sir.”

I looked at Aria one last time. She was still standing there, motionless, the blanket slipping from her shoulders, blood drying on her fingers, eyes sharp with anger and something deeper I didn’t want to name.

“Don’t mistake mercy for weakness,” I said, and walked out.