Page 98 of Cedarwood Cabin

I collapse into Dax's arms and he stalls for a second. He lifts me and carries me toward the Land Rover. Lyka quickly opens the door, and together, they settle me into the passenger seat. They look me up and down, their faces a mix of worry and determination.

Dax's voice is calm, yet fierce as he asks, “What happened, flower? Who do we need to kill?”

I take a shaking breath, attempting to steady myself enough so that I will have the ability to talk.

Tears stream down my cheeks as I recount what I had overheard Jenna say in the fitting room. My words shake with emotion as I tell them how Jonny ran my father off the road, killing him. Dax's jaw visibly grinds as his eyes glint sharply. Lyka's expression darkens, his gaze turning hard with a silent promise of protection. “Flora,” Lyka says softly. “Look at me.” I meet his eyes, feeling unsafe and vulnerable. Lyka's eyes search mine for a moment before he nods to himself as if reaching a decision. “We'll take care of it,” he says finally, his tone full of authority. “You're a Faulkner. No one fucks with a Faulkner.”

I nod and my eyes fill with tears, breaking out in a flood of emotion as the weight of Jenna's words hits me again, followed by haunting memories rushing into my head of Dad's passing.

Suddenly, amidst my turmoil, Marty's voice pierces through the haze. “Hey, hey, Flora,” he calls out, jogging over towards us. His brows furrow with concern.

“Marty, please, not now,” I rasp, trying to hold my tone steady as my emotions threaten to break down further. Dax and Lyka cross their arms in a protective stance.

“Why are you crying, Flora? What's going on? Do I need to call the police?” Marty asks.

Dax steps out, moves forward, and asks in a dangerously low voice, “Where is your girlfriend, Marty?”

“Waiting in the car, why?”

In one quick, unexpected motion, Dax grabs Marty's head and slams it hard onto the side of the vehicle. There is a sickening thud of impact, a sharp crack, and blood instantly pouring out of Marty's nose. His body sags against the car, dazed and shocked from the sudden attack.

I gasp, instinctively reaching out to him, but Lyka holds me back.

Dax releases Marty, stepping back. “You stay away and don’t ever think about her again. Do you fucking understand?” he growls, the clear warning in his deep voice.

Marty staggers back, clutching his bleeding nose. His eyes are wide with disbelief and pain.

“Ok, ok, I'm…I'm sorry,” Marty mumbles.

“Go!” Lyka interjects with a firm voice as he points toward Marty's car. “Get out of here before we do more than break your nose. Next time, it'll be your fucking skull.”

Marty stumbles backward, then turns around and makes a hasty retreat to his car.

“I think we should go and see Jonny,” Lyka says, his voice hushed and full of suppressed anger. I can’t help but let out a nervous gulp.

Dax grins, then flexes his jaw. He reaches inside his waistband and recovers the gun. “Oh, I agree.”

They both hop into the Land Rover quickly. Dax speeds out of the parking lot, his hands grasping the wheel firmly. The vehicle falls uncomfortably silent as we speed away. My heart pounds in my chest as the adrenaline surges with Dax focusing on the road.

What are they going to do?

TWENTY-FIVE

FLORA

Dax and Lyka work on what consists of the plan, their faces stern and concentrated as they talk in muffled voices. I feel the weight in the air of their determination, grateful and afraid for what they are about to do.

“You can't do this for me,” I manage to whisper, my voice trembling with anxiety.

“You’re one of us. It’s the least we can do. He ain't getting away with what he did,” Lyka says.

Dax pulls out the gun, tightening his jaw. He cocks it resolutely, the sound loud in the car. He then opens the door and steps onto the gravel driveway leading up to the house with Lyka staying close behind him.

I watch them from the safety of the car, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach. Dax and Lyka take their positions, their bodies hidden in the dark shadows. Summoning every ounce of my courage, I step out of the car and walk toward Jonny's front door. I raise my hand and knock, the sound echoing through the silent neighborhood.

It is almost as if seconds are stretched out into hours until Jonny finally opens the door, his figure filling in the doorway. He leans back casually on the frame, a smirk playing on his lips as he sizes me up with some combination of amusement and arrogance.

“Look who it is…” he drawls, oozing self-assurance.

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