Page 177 of Relapse

“Shut up,” he snapped, opening the barrel and nearly choking when he saw it was fully loaded. Immediately he removed the ammo from the gun.

“And you let me shake that bag with this in it like it was a fucking piggy bank Noah,” he was seething.

“Look,” I put my hands up. “I told you not to.”

Silas sighed, fingers pressing into his forehead.

“Sorry?” I offered sheepishly.

“As you should be,” Silas said through narrowed eyes. He tilted his head to the side. “Go check out the rest of the condo.”

I saluted him like he was a general and walked down the hall. The bedroom was simple—a queen bed with a gray comforter, a little desk in the corner, and a plush chair on the side. Nothing special.

I surveyed the furniture, opening the nightstand next to the bed without thinking. Instead of a Bible or notepad like normal hotels had, I found condoms. A whole strip of them, unopened, with a bottle of lube next to it for added effect.

I stared at them for a long moment, before laughing aloud. It came out sharp and strange to my ears, but it was genuine. I hadn’t laughed like that in a long time.

“Well, well,” I called out, my voice carrying back down the hall. “Either you’re really optimistic or I’ve figured out what this “business” is used for.”

Although the thought of Silas putting those items there was hilarious, the actual message was clear. This was a place for sexual transactions. I’d heard enough whispers about how the mafia ran things—how they owned places like this, how they rented them out by the hour.

Silas appeared in the doorway, confused for a second, then followed my gaze to the open drawer. He scowled.

“They keep them stocked,” he said. “For... guests. Business arrangements.” He paused. “I cleared out the minibar, though. The alcohol. It’s all gone.”

I stopped and looked up at him. Our eyes caught and stayed there.

He’d done that for me. Before I’d even agreed to come.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Silas stepped forward into the room. “Come here.”

My feet and legs obeyed. He reached for me and waited, arm outstretched. I stepped into his embrace.

“I’ll be heading out now,” he said softly. “If you need anything, text me.”

I did a double-take.

“You’re not staying?” I asked, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “I mean—you don’t have to—I just thought you were staying.”

Silas shook his head. “I have to stay in my normal routine. Or Jace will get suspicious. He will start asking questions.”

The thought of him leaving hit me hard. I had assumed that there would be a continuation of what I couldn’t finish before. I’d been bracing myself for the inevitable moment when I’d have to pay for this kindness with my body. But being alone? In a strange place? With the silence and the dark and my own head?

“Oh,” I said. My voice sounded small.

Silas noticed. Of course he noticed.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Silas said, like he could hear the calculations running through my head. “Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever, if that’s what you want. You’re here because I want to keep you safe. That’s it.”

Silas said the words like they were simple. Like he wasn’t offering me the one thing that always came with a price tag in my experience—the luxury of letting my guard down.

Growing up, I learned about scarcity. Living without pain—scarce. Feeling safe—scarce. When I didn’t have what I needed, I learned to transact. I learned that every kindness was a loan, every good memory was a moment of gentleness I’d pay for later with my body. Or my soul.

My life was filled with unpaid debts.

I had already expected Silas would want something in return from me.