Page 163 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

"Until next time, Mr. Walker-Choi."

The world disappears behind black fabric. Rough hands once again secure my wrists. I'm guided—or more accurately, shoved—toward the door. I'm led through the warehouse, or whatever this building is, back into the cool night air. Into the waiting vehicle.

The drive to the airport is a haze of pain and grief and something darker than I've ever felt. My Marine brother. His smile, his Dad jokes, his loyalty… gone.

Another person I…

My cheeks are wet beneath the bag. I shed silent tears for a friend who deserved better than to die because of my mistakes. But even as grief threatens to drown me, a small ember of relief burns in my chest.

Londyn is safe. Mike's family is safe.

For now.

When Victor calls—and he will call—I won't fail again. The stakes are too high, the cost too monumental. My family is at stake. My child. My future.

I've given my life to save them and I won't let it be in vain.

I choke on tears. What a fucking situation. I spent years fighting against the evil men of this world, the ones who create violence, who profit from fear, who force others into impossible choices. And now I'm chained to one of them, another weapon in his arsenal, another tool for his empire.

The cycle continues, unbroken. And I'm trapped.

But not forever.

There's one thing I don't think a man like Victor could ever understand: having someone to fight for.

When you have that, you're never truly beaten. Not while there's still breath in your body and your heart still beats.

I may be Victor's for now, but someday—somehow—I will be free.

When that day comes, I'll walk back to Londyn and our child with clean hands and a future that belongs only to us.

Chapter 50

LONDYN

IT'S MIDNIGHT. IT'S AN HOUR past the deadline Sean told Declan.

Friday is dead. Saturday is born. And Sean isn't here.

Across the living room, Declan and Sienna are busy sorting luggage, checking documents, and exchanging glances heavy with unspoken sorrow. It reminds me of the frantic atmosphere backstage at a theater show. Everyone scrambles for costumes and set pieces, trying to get into position for the next scene so the audience's immersion in the story isn't broken.

Declan and Sienna think I don't notice how they're hiding their tears, but I'm finely tuned to the frequencies of other people's pain. And as an actress, I had to anticipate my costar's reactions so I knew when to deliver my next line. Any moment, one ofthem will come over and say the line, "It's time to go." I know what I'm supposed to say in response, only I don't want to.

I refuse to.

My phone rests in my palm. I've been staring at it for so long the screen has gone black twenty-four times. Each time I touch it back to life, hoping, praying, willing it to vibrate with his name.

Declan approaches. His voice is firm—a businessman's confident voice—but there's a hollowness of grief around the edges. "We need to be ready to move within the next ten minutes."

"I can't. Please. Just… more time. He's coming. I know he's coming." My eyes drift to the foyer where the massive double doors lead to the front drive. I'm trying to materialize Sean through sheer force of longing. If I stare hard enough, maybe I can bend reality to my will. For once, Ineedthe world to do what I want instead of the other way around.

Sean will walk through that door.

"Londyn," Declan says, my name gentle on his tongue. "Sean is always punctual. Always. He said eleven PM and it's an hour past that. We have to accept—"

"No. No, I'm sorry. I have to wait longer. Please, just give him more time. Please." My voice weakens on the last plea, splitting like stage wood designed to break dramatically. "He's coming… he wouldn't just…"

The plan was simple. Plant the drugs while Miller wasn't around. Get out. So why is he so late? Why did he have to extend his return time?

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