Page 40 of Trapped By the Cartel

Marcus finished preparing the IV line, then approached me, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. "We'll find a way, Damon. You always do."

His confidence in me stirred something deep within me, reminding me why I'd chosen him to work for me. Together, we'd weathered storms before, and together, we'd weather this one too.

"You're right," I said, resolve hardening my voice. "Now let's go sort out this mess with Hunter."

As we descended back into the basement lab, I tried to push aside my lingering concerns about Elliot and our strained relationship. No matter what I did, it wouldn't be easy. There was no immediate solution.

Right now, Hunter took precedence—and I owed it to him to ensure his safety and well-being.

However, as soon as we entered the lab, I knew that focusing solely on Hunter would prove challenging. Elliot sat upright on the makeshift bed, holding Stellan close to his chest, his eyeswide with worry as he watched Hunter convulse violently on the floor nearby. I felt sorry for them both.

"What's happening?" Elliot cried out, fear lacing his voice. "Is he okay?"

"Not yet," I murmured, kneeling down next to Hunter while Marcus administered the sedative. Within moments, Hunter's seizures subsided, though his breathing remained labored and shallow. As I said, it was going to have to suffice.

Elliot scooted to the edge of the bed, reaching out to take my hand. "Please tell me he's going to be okay," he whispered, desperation clear in his hazel eyes. He was always empathetic with everyone, except the people that tried to hurt him.

I squeezed his fingers gently, offering what little comfort I could muster. "We'll do everything in our power to help him, love. But you should prepare yourself for the worst-case scenario."

He bit his lower lip, nodding bravely. His courage was one of the reasons I was proud of him.

"Okay," he choked out. "Just promise me that… once this is over, we'll talk. About us. About everything."

The raw vulnerability in his voice sent a pang of guilt through me. I'd been so focused on protecting him, on ensuring his physical safety, that I'd neglected the emotional aspect of our relationship. And now, it felt like we were teetering on the brink of disaster.

"I promise," I said firmly, gazing into those beautiful, tormented eyes. "Once this nightmare is behind us, we'll sit down and hash out whatever needs hashing."

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, giving me hope. Regardless, first we had to survive this ordeal intact.

With Hunter stabilized and safely transferred to an upstairs room, we turned our attention to the rest of the pack. Thankfully, the majority seemed unharmed, save for a fewminor injuries and bruises sustained during the skirmish. However, the true extent of the damage wasn't immediately apparent; the electromagnetic pulse had rendered most communication devices useless, leaving us isolated and cut off from the outside world.

Nonetheless, we pressed onward, determined to restore order amidst the chaos. While Marcus coordinated the cleanup efforts outside, I rallied the remaining members, organizing search parties to locate any missing or injured packmates. Simultaneously, I tasked others with assessing the structural integrity of our buildings and gathering supplies to repair any damaged infrastructure. That all happened after the Serpents realized they couldn't win.

Throughout it all, Elliot stayed by my side, his presence a constant source of strength and resilience. Despite the turmoil around us, he maintained an unwavering optimism, his belief in our ability to overcome adversity never wavering. Even when faced with the daunting prospect of raising our child in such uncertain times, he remained steadfast, his determination to provide Stellan with a safe and loving home unyielding.

Days blurred into weeks as we worked tirelessly to rebuild and heal. The Serpents' attack had left deep scars, both literal and figurative, but our pack proved resilient, rallying together to face each challenge head-on.

***

The rhythmic rise and fall of Stellan's chest against Elliot's was a mesmerizing sight. He'd fallen asleep nursing, a tiny hand curled around Elliot's finger, and the quiet domesticity of the scene settled something within me I hadn't realized was fractured. We were in our bedroom now, weeks after the attack, the house slowly returning to a semblance of normalcy. But the normalcy felt… fragile. Like a carefully constructed façademasking a deeper unease. And that, I thought, was something difficult to change.

I sat on the edge of the bed, watching them, a knot tightening in my chest. We hadn't truly talked since that promise amidst the chaos, the one about hashing things out. I'd been deliberately avoiding it, burying myself in pack duties, in rebuilding, in anything that would keep me from confronting the growing distance between us.

I knew it wouldn't be easy, so that was why I kept avoiding it.

It was cowardly, perhaps. But facing Elliot's disappointment, his quiet sadness… it was a weight I wasn't sure I could bear.

"He looks so peaceful," Elliot murmured, not looking up. "Like he doesn't have a care in the world."

"He's lucky," I replied, the word catching in my throat. "He doesn't know about the messes we make."

A sigh escaped Elliot's lips. He finally lifted his gaze, meeting mine with a weary sadness that pierced through my defenses.

"Is that what you think of me, Damon?" He murmured. "A mess?"

The question hit me like a physical blow. "No," I said quickly, reaching for his hand. "Never. That's not what I meant."

He allowed me to take his hand, but his grip was limp, lacking the usual spark of defiance. "Then what did you mean? Because it feels like you're barely looking at me these days. Like I'm just… here. Existing. A vessel for our son."

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