Chapter Text
Tim
I come back in pieces—first sound, then pressure, then I see her. Lucy. She’s a few feet away. She’s alive, and for a second, relief floods through me.
But it doesn’t last long before everything comes into focus.
The restraints. The concrete. The fact that Lucy and I are still in the same room—and that alone tells me we haven’t gotten to the worst of it yet.
I know exactly what this is.
Everett. Or someone doing his dirty work for him. I know it’s about me and what he can do to me. And Lucy. The thought sickens me. Lucy is the pressure point.
My gaze stays on her as my body starts testing itself. Wrists first—tight, behind my back. Plastic. Ankles the same. No way to get free. No way to get to her.
Lucy shifts on the floor, blinking, coming back slowly.
“Tim…”
“Yeah,” I manage, my throat dry. “I’m here.”
She turns her head and finds me instantly. The steadiness I see in her eyes should reassure me, but instead it only sharpens everything. I see it now—what they’ve done. How they have positioned us in the room. Together, but apart and absolutely not safe.
We were brought here together on purpose. Which means separation is coming. And it’s going to be deliberate. Brutal.
My chest tightens.
No.
Not her.
Footsteps outside the room shift my focus. The door opens. Three men step in.
I clock them in a second: positioning, spacing, discipline. These aren’t street-level. This is organized.
The first one moves toward Lucy.
“No,” I say.
It doesn’t matter.
He pulls on her arm, forcing her to sit up.
And I see it happen—the hand going to her finger first.
The ring.
Of course.
It slides off like it was never meant to be there at all.
Lucy pulls back in a sharp, instinctive jerk.
“No—” she snaps.
Too late.
It’s already gone.
They take her necklace next. Then her earrings.
“You won’t be needing these anymore,” the man says to Lucy. “I wish I could congratulate the happy couple, but I’m afraid that’s not how my boss wants this to go down.”
“He doesn’t want her,” I say to the man. “He wants me. Let her go.”
He turns to me, a sick smile spreading across his face. “No, man, you got it wrong. It’s her he wants.”
My blood goes cold. My hands tighten behind me until the plastic bites my skin.
“Don’t touch her,” I say. “Whatever you need to do, whatever he’s telling you to do, just do it to me, okay? Leave her out of it.”
Lucy looks at me with a mixture of fear and absolute horror at the words I’m saying.
“Shut up,” the one behind me says, smashing the back of my head with a gun. “Just shut up, okay? You’re not the one calling the shots here.”
“Take her out of here,” he says.
The man yanks Lucy to her feet.
My mind races. How do I stop this? What can I offer? I know what they are going to do—hurt her to hurt me. But what they don’t know is I can’t survive that. I’d rather be dead. I don’t do this. I don’t watch other peoples' pain and not do anything about it—especially not hers. Not the one person in this world I love more than anything. She is the light in every dark place inside me, and I can’t protect her.
I futilely yank on my restraints, desperate to get to her.
The door slams shut as they take her from the room.
“Lucy—” I yell.
The man behind me cracks me across the head with his gun, this time, hard enough to make me go unconscious.
_____________
When I come back, I know I’ve been moved. And Lucy is still gone. I’m not restrained anymore.
“Lucy!” I shout, moving to the door, testing it—locked.
Then I hear her.
Not far. Not close enough.
A sharp sound—impact—and my body goes rigid.
“No,” I back off the door just enough to listen. “No, no—”
Another hit.
“Stop!” I slam my fist into the door. “Hey! Stop!”
Nothing.
Just her voice, tight, controlled but breaking at the edges.
“I’m fine—”
I drag a hand across my face, pacing—nowhere to go. No way to get to her.
Think.
Find the angle.
“Hey!” I try again, louder. “You want me! I’m right here. You don’t need her!”
Silence.
Then—
Another impact.
Closer this time.
They’re not hiding it. They want me to hear everything.
My hands curl into fists.
Lucy makes a sound—small, involuntary—and that’s it. That’s the crack.
“Enough!” I snap, turning back to the door. “You hear me? Enough—”
The door swings open so suddenly I almost swing on instinct.
I stop myself.
Same guy.
Same calm expression.
Like none of this means anything.
“Sounds like you’re having a hard time in here,” he says.
“Let her go,” I say. “You’ve made your point.”
He studies me for a second, then steps aside.
“Bring her in.”
Lucy stumbles through the doorway and is caught by one of them before she hits the floor.
And for a second, I can’t process what I’m seeing.
Because it’s her—but not.
Her hair’s come loose, her face pale, a bruise already darkening along her jaw. Blood stains her lips. I can’t process any of it. My brain refuses to reconcile this version of her with the woman from the beach just hours ago—sunset behind her, happiness shining across that beautiful face as I kissed those perfect lips and lived the best moment of my life. And now she’s standing in front of me bruised, shaken, and hurting because of me.
“Lucy—”
I rush to her, catching her, my hands hovering for half a second because I’m unsure where it’s safe to touch her.
“Hey,” I say, “Hey, I got you.”
“Tim…”
I swallow hard, forcing everything down—rage, panic, the need to tear the room apart.
“What did they do?” I ask.
She shakes her head once. Small.
“I’m okay.”
She’s not.
“I’m okay,” she insists.
“Did they—” The words die in my throat. I can’t force myself to say it. Can’t survive hearing the answer if it’s yes.
I don’t have to say it though, because Lucy understands immediately. Her eyes lock onto mine and she shakes her head. “No,” she says.
There is one small relief. They haven’t violated her. Not yet. But the fact that I had to ask—that I had to look at the woman I love and wonder if they touched her that way— makes something vicious turn over inside me.
I cup her face carefully, terrified of hurting her.
“Look at me,” I say.
Her hand tightens weakly in my shirt.
“Tim, I’m okay,” she repeats, but this time it sounds less like reassurance and more like something she needs to keep telling herself in order to make it true.
I’m going to be sick. I want to charge them right now, make them put a bullet in me and end it. Anything would be easier than standing here watching her hurt.
But I know what happens if I do—they kill her too.
“We’ll be back,” the man says. Then shuts the door.