“Here.” I hand Mario a cup of coffee. “You’re working late because of me again.”
He stares at me, then at the cup in my hand, frowning slightly. The night air feels heavier than usual, clinging to my skin with a disturbing eeriness.
My sneakers hit the pavement as I shove the cup into his hand. “Just take it.”
“You don’t have to do this.” He taps the elbow of his jacket, where I embroidered a falcon patch to cover an area that was a bit worn out. I thought it was the least I could do after he lent it to me the other day because I was feeling cold. “Or this.”
I smile as I fall in step beside him. “It looks good, though, and it’s not that I have to do it, more like I want to.”
Mario is kind of my companion, walking me to my shifts at the bar, my classes at college, or even my shopping at the grocery store.
Over the past few weeks, when my head has become foggy and my nightmares have gotten to be too much, I’ve found a bit of comfort in knowing I have Mario as a guardian of sorts.
I know he’s a pseudo stalker, but I don’t like to think of him that way. Especially since he’s never been malicious and even looks like he feels guilty at times.
And since he’s mostly in his car, I give him coffee or even food. Poor guy doesn’t get enough sleep, and I feel guilty, even if this whole thing is Jude’s fault.
“You’re not supposed to feed the man who works for your stalker,” he says with a note of irritation. “Do you have any survival instinct?”
“I do, which is why I don’t feel any danger from you.” I point a finger at myself. “I’m a great judge of character.”
“You’re too nice for that.”
“And you’re grumpier than your boss.” I sigh. “Has he ever mentioned how all of this will end? I mean, I know how, but has he ever talked about when he’ll finally do it?”
“You believe he’d kill you?”
I nod sharply. “He’s made that clear countless times. But it’s been months since he promised that, and he still hasn’t taken any steps, so it’s making me a bit anxious. Okay, a lot. My depressive episodes are worse, and his lack of action makes me overthink… Forget it, I don’t want to waste your time with that. Just…can you talk to him or something?”
“I’m telling you this once, so listen carefully, Violet.” He throws me a look. “If he wanted to kill you, you’d be dead by now. He wouldn’t be wasting his time and resources this way.”
“W-what?”
Mario opens his mouth to say something else, but the quiet is shattered by a sudden screech of tires against pavement.
He stiffens, his hand reaching behind his back out of instinct. I turn just in time to see a van hurtling toward us, its headlights off, its engine snarling in the dark like a nocturnal beast.
Just like that day.
The day he was shot.
Oh my God.
The van barrels forward, cutting through the silence with its raw, hungry speed. My breath catches, lungs locked, heart thudding.
And for one terrible, disorienting moment, I just stand there.
Frozen.
Paralyzed.
My body refuses to move, as if it’s still trying to understand whether this is real or another nightmare I haven’t woken up from as I catch a glimpse of the driver.
A silver mask stares at me through the windshield. The glow from the streetlights catches on its edges, revealing serpentine details coiled along the surface, twisting and curling like it’s coming alive.
The sight sends ice through my veins, my pulse slamming against my ribs and my hands shaking.
For someone who often thinks about death, actually facing it is making me jump out of my skin.
What about Dahlia…? You promised to never leave her alone in this world.
Move, Violet, move!
Before I can do so, Mario shoves me back, hard.
A gunshot rips through the night as he fires at the van, and it swerves, its tires screeching, but it keeps coming.
Mario fires again, aiming for the driver. Another crack of gunfire, but this one misses as well.
Then, from the side, a motorcycle comes out of nowhere.
I barely have time to register the gleam of metal before it slams into Mario at full speed.
His body snaps backward, legs twisting unnaturally as he crashes against the pavement.
No. No. No.
The wet, sickening thud sends a shock wave through me, and my stomach lurches at the sound of bone hitting concrete.
“Mario!” I lunge toward him.
“Run!” He groans from between clenched bloody teeth.
Before I can reach him, a fist grips my hair and yanks me back.
Pain explodes across my scalp, my neck snapping at the force. A hand clamps over my mouth, suffocating my scream. My vision blurs as I thrash, my nails digging into flesh and clawing, but another blow crashes against the side of my head.
White-hot agony splinters through my skull.
The world tilts violently, the pavement rising up to meet me as the edges of my vision darken.
Through the haze, I see Mario reaching out to me, and my fingers twitch, but I can’t touch him.
“What about him?” one of the voices murmurs, gruff and low and seeming to reach me from underground.
“Collateral damage,” another replies as my eyes roll back. “We need to take care of her. Now.”
So this is it.
The end?
A tear slides down my cheek as I watch Mario’s motionless body bleeding out on the pavement.
Then everything goes black.
Pain.
That’s the first thing I register. A deep, dull throb in my skull radiates behind my eyes, tightening with every sluggish beat of my pulse.
The room is too bright, sterile white walls stretching for as far as I can see, the steady beep, beep, beep of a heart monitor filling the silence.
I blink against the burn of artificial light, the effort sending another sting of pain through my head. My mouth is so dry that every breath feels like sandpaper at the back of my throat.
My limbs are heavy like I’ve been weighed down with something thick and invisible. The nightmare…?
No, it’s dark in my nightmares, not this…white.
Where am I?
My body freezes when I turn my head and realize I’m not alone.
A man sits on a large leather chair beside my bed, his long fingers leisurely turning the pages of a book, the smooth rustle of paper the only sound slicing through the mechanical beeps of the machines.
He’s well-dressed—tailored navy slacks and a crisp white shirt that looks too perfect for a hospital setting. Not a wrinkle, not a misplaced thread. His tie is loosened just enough to suggest comfort rather than carelessness, and his jacket is folded neatly and draped over the back of an empty chair.
His posture is relaxed, one ankle resting over his knee, but there’s an unsettling precision in the way he holds himself, like he’s used to being watched and controlling every movement he makes.
Who is he…?
My gaze drags up to his face, and my mouth hangs open.
His eyes.
Dark brown, deep, unreadable, and disturbingly familiar. The type that don’t just look at you, but through you.
Jude’s ruthless eyes.
But this man lacks the raw, untamed fire Jude carries in his stare. These are colder, more refined, sharpened into something surgical. His dark hair is neatly styled, not a strand out of place, and the faintest trace of expensive cologne lingers in the air.
Brother? Uncle?
He seems to be in his early thirties, not old enough to be Jude’s dad.
I shift, wincing as a fresh wave of pain flares up in my head. The movement must catch his attention, because he turns the page with deliberate slowness before finally looking at me.
I don’t know why, but my blood freezes.
There’s no warmth in his expression. No concern. Just mild curiosity, as if I’m a puzzle piece he’s studying, deciding where I fit.
My gaze flicks to the book in his hands.
The Antichrist by Friedrich Nietzsche.
My pulse jumps.
Is he reading Nietzsche in a hospital room?
Something about that feels so deeply wrong, but before I can process the thought, a polite but entirely insincere smile tilts his lips.
“Ah. You’re finally awake.”
The stranger sounds as elegant and put together as he looks. Where Jude speaks in deep, rough words, this man speaks in a deep, commanding tone.
“Do I…know you?” I say in a hoarse voice.
“No, but I know you.” He pauses, running his gaze over me. “My name is Julian Callahan, but I wouldn’t say it’s a pleasure to meet you, Violet.”
I swallow. “Are you related to Jude?”
“I’m his older brother. Older half-brother, to be precise. Same father, different mothers. Mine wasn’t the one you watched die.” He flips the page even though he’s not reading the book.
He’s just…looking at me. No—staring. With no change in inflection or expression, even as he stabbed me with those words.
He seems mildly interested in watching me bleed, but apparently, not for too long, because he speaks again. “Aren’t you going to ask why someone as poor as yourself is in a private suite in the hospital?”
“Why…?” I jerk up, ignoring the pain that throbs in my skull as memories pierce through me. “Mario! How is Mario? He was run over and bleeding—”
“Not important.”
“What?”
“A foot soldier is not important.”
Rage flares up inside me until I see red. This is what’s always happened whenever anyone has threatened Dahlia, and apparently, I feel the same type of anger toward Mario.
Staring into Julian’s dead eyes, I say in a clear voice, “I will not listen to whatever you have to say until you tell me what happened to Mario.”
“You believe you have negotiating power?”
“Yes. You obviously want something, or you wouldn’t have made the time in what I’m sure is a busy schedule to have a word with me.”
He raises a brow, turns a page, then pauses. “He was badly hurt. The surgery was a success, but he hasn’t woken up yet, and he possibly never will.”
My eyes well up and I sink my nails into my thighs through the sheet.
It’s because of me.
Mario was hurt and is facing death because of me.
Why did he have to protect me?
Would he still be okay if I hadn’t been born like Mama often said? Because she’s right, I seem to only bring misfortune to those around me.
“As for why you’re here…” Julian’s voice brings my attention back to the present as he flips another page. “Jude tried to kill you, but I saved you.”
My lips tremble, my whole body going into shock. “W-what?”
“He was the one who sent the killers. They work for him—or, more accurately, follow his command in our organization hierarchy.”
“Why would he do that to Mario?”
“Because Mario was overstepping in his duties. He got too close to the subject he was watching, and that’s not how it works. He failed to do his job and, therefore, is considered collateral damage.”
That’s what the guy called Mario—collateral damage—right as he was bleeding out on the pavement.
As if he were an insect.
Because the lives of people like me and Mario don’t matter to people like Jude and Julian.
And yet my chest hurts at the thought that Jude really stooped that low. That…he’d kill me and Mario in a heartbeat.
Over our last couple of encounters, I thought I was feeling some softness in him. Even his words about not blaming me but my mom soothed me, and I felt like…something was different.
Apparently, I was wrong and Mario was right—I’m a horrible judge of character.
“Do I not get a thank-you for saving your life, Violet?” He flips a page, then another and another. “It was a hassle to have my people kidnap you from your assailant and bring you to the hospital.”
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “You couldn’t care less about my life. It’s unimportant, just like Mario’s. So, no, I won’t be thanking you, because you had an ulterior motive behind your actions.”
His lips curve in a smile. “I can see why Jude chose to play with you for a while before killing you. Despite the innocent appearance, you’re smart, so I’d appreciate it if you keep the intelligence streak throughout this conversation. Let me ask you, Violet. What do you want?”
“You and your brother out of my life.”
“You got it.”
My lips part, but then I purse them again, holding on to the courage even if my hands shake.
He’s messing with me. He has to be.
“Excuse me if I don’t believe that. Jude said he wouldn’t leave me alone until I died. Just because he failed once doesn’t mean he won’t try again or go back to watching my every move and threatening my sister so that I’ll do his bidding.”
“You’re correct. He wouldn’t. Unfortunately, Jude is…persistent, to put it mildly, and he’ll find you even if you run. Lucky for you, I have a solution.”
“What type of solution?”
“I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I run the Callahan empire, which is the pioneer in the medical-industrial complex. The reason we made it this far isn’t because of transparent and on-the-record testing, it’s because we use unofficial methods as well. My scientists developed an interesting coma-inducing drug with little to negligible side effects. It’d revolutionize the industry; however, we know we won’t get the approval to test it, considering its volatile key composition, but you see, I need to test it.”
“You want me to test it? Is that it?”
“Yes. Your blood tests are extremely promising. You have the near-perfect genetic profile to test it.”
“I refuse.”
“Then you’ll die by Jude’s hands sooner or later or be driven to slit your wrists. That’s not ideal, is it?” He leans over, still gripping the book. “Especially since Jude arranged for Dahlia’s scholarship to GU, where he can hurt her anytime he wants just to get to you.”
My spine jerks. “Jude said he didn’t…”
“Convictions are more dangerous enemies of truth than lies.” He closes the book and then taps it with a finger. “According to this clown.”
I swipe my finger against my tattoo, back and forth. I don’t care what Jude does to me, though I feel stupid for feeling a spark of something whenever he touched me or texted me, but I’ll never allow something to happen to Dahlia because of me.
Never.
“For the record,” Julian says, pulling out his phone and tapping a few times before angling the screen toward me. “This is how Jude takes care of his targets. You made a lucky escape.”
My stomach twists before I even see it, and then bile surges up my throat.
On the screen is a grainy surveillance image—a man torn apart, his body sliced open with brutal precision. One eye is gouged out, the other still impaled with a knife that’s buried to the hilt.
Standing in front of the scene is Jude.
I’d recognize that stance anywhere—rigid, menacing. His hand grips the blood-coated knife, his expression unreadable except for the fury burning in his eyes. Another man is beside him, turned away from the camera, but I barely notice him. All I see is Jude. And what he’s capable of.
The room tilts. I turn my face sharply, swallowing down the nausea crawling up my throat.
I’m going to be sick.
“Listen, Violet.” Julian pockets his phone. “You and your sister will never be safe as long as you’re in Jude’s orbit. If you help me test out this drug for three months, I’ll effectively remove you from that orbit.”
“Remove me how?”
“I’ll arrange new identities for you and Dahlia, give you a house and a new life on the West Coast. I’ll fund your education and your sister’s at top universities and even pay you for the experiment. In the meantime, while you’re in a coma, Jude won’t have access to you, and I’ll protect your sister until you wake up. How does that sound?”
“Too good to be true.”
“Not really. You have to know that there’s a fifty percent chance you’ll never wake up from this coma. But even if you don’t, I’ll honor my promise about Dahlia and give her the life I just pledged.”
“I’ll need a contract and a financial advance so that your promises don’t sound empty.”
He smiles. “Fine.”
“Can I talk to Dahlia?”
“No. She has to believe you were attacked and brought to the hospital, which is the reason for the coma. Otherwise, this won’t work.”
God. She’ll be so worried.
I don’t want to stress her out when she just started her new journey at GU, but I also know that if I don’t take care of the Jude problem, she and I will never be safe.
It’s just for three months.
Three months, and then we’ll reunite and have our new beginning.
My eyes stray to Julian, who’s watching me intently. “Do you not care?”
“About?”
“Susie…your stepmother who I couldn’t help?”
“Doesn’t matter when you have the perfect profile to test my drugs.” He stands up and places the book in my lap. “Besides, you wouldn’t have been able to help Susie even if you had intervened.”
