Page 46 of Crusher's Illusion

Because she didn’t run. She sacrificed, and I’m not letting that go unanswered.

TWENTY-ONE

THE SCARS AND THE OATH

NEVAEH

I sit on the edge of the motel bed, hugging my knees to my chest, trying to keep my insides from spilling out. The threadbare sheets scratch against my skin, thin enough to see the mattress stains through them. The room smells of stale smoke and cheap perfume, clings to my skin, a grim reminder of how far from anything safe I’d fallen. The dim flicker of the single bulb casts long shadows across the dirty walls.

I hug my knees tight to my chest, my heart pounding like a war drum in my ears. Outside, the night hums. Distant sirens, cars driving past, a dog barking. Every sound twists my nerves tighter.

Once I left the safehouse on foot, I ran until I couldn’t run anymore. Which happened to be this sleazy motel, where hookers and Johns come in and out at all hours of the night.

I’m alone, angry, and confused. And worst of all, I feel broken. A small, ragged scar traces across my wrist. It aches like a raw wound every time I think about what happened. How did I get here? How did it all fall apart so fast?

I close my eyes, and the night rewinds like a cruel movie.

I wake up wrapped in Erik’s warmth. His arm is a solid weight across my waist, steady and real. His breath brushes my hair, slow and steady like a heartbeat I can trust. The rough tang of his scent is grounding me. For a moment, I can trust, everything feels safe, like I belong.

My phone rings. I reach for it, and the screen flashes Bria’s name. A voice I trust. Bria’s smooth voice is very convincing. “Nevaeh, you have to listen. It’s about Erik.”

Her tone is urgent, but it carries an edge I don’t understand. I climb out of bed, being careful not to disturb Erik, and tiptoe to the kitchenette.

“Nevaeh, are you there?” Bria asks with concern in her voice.

“I’m here,” I whisper.

She plays an audio footage of Erik shouting, his voice is sharp, cutting. “She’s a problem. She’s going to get people killed.”

My throat closes. “Where did you…”

Bria cuts me off before I can ask more questions. “He’s not who you think. You’re in more danger with him than without. You need to go. Now.”

I can’t breathe. My chest feels like someone’s clenched it with barbed wire. “Bria… Are you sure about this?”

“Nevaeh, I’m trying to keep you alive.” She says, her voice dripping concern. “He’s already decided what you are to him.”

I feel something inside me crack. Confusion, hurt, disbelief, all tangled in one.

I don’t think, I leave. I walk out with nothing but my coat, boots, phone, and my heart hammering against my ribs. I leave my laptop open, a part of me wants Erik to see. To know I wasn’t the enemy before I disappear. To hurt him where he gutted me, in the chest.

Hours later, I’m in this sleazy motel, the walls thin enough to hear every grunt, every slap, every deal being made in the rooms around me. It’s not until I’m settled in my room, with my phone in my hand, that I can breathe again and think.

I remembered the name of the last email sent to me from the Cypress Strategies Legal Team. I do a few searches and find what I’m looking for. The Cypress Strategies Legal Team, run by my editor, Bria, is a front for The Echelon Syndicate.

My mouth turns dry. I want to scream. To run, but they’re hunting me now. They wanted to see me broken and alone. I barely dare to breathe.

I’m not safe here. But nowhere is safe now.

It was all a lie. A sick, twisted manipulation. Old footage of Erik, sharp words hurled at a patch honey, twisted in the editing to make it sound like he was threatening me.

Bria did her job. She played on my emotions, my fears, and had me running from Erik before I could even think clearly. Her voice was dripping with false concern while her real allegiance stayed hidden. The Syndicate’s venom spread through her words.

My phone’s in my hand, the screen lighting up again, causing me to jump, but this time it’s not Bria.

It’s Lena.

I answer in a whisper. “Lena?”