Page 254 of Fractured Allegiance
I don’t know if what binds us is love, survival, or a noose tightening by the day.
But I don’t move.
I don’t pull away.
Chapter 32 – Lydia - The Double-Cross
I lie awake long after Elias’s voice fades, his words still lodged under my skin: She’s already gone to him. Obsession always looks the same.
I wanted to storm back down the stairs, scream at Elias that he doesn’t know me anymore, that he left me and he can’t pretend he still knows best. That Silas isn’t Drazen. That I’m not just another pawn bent under the weight of someone else’s obsession. But the worst part is… I didn’t. I never do, when it comes to Elias.
I just returned, silent as a shadow, to Silas. Walked right back into Silas’s arms. And I breathed easily when his hand curved hard against my waist, his mouth hot at my neck when he fell asleep like he hadn’t just kissed me the way a man claims his enemy’s territory.
I stare at the cracked ceiling now, the blinds casting jagged stripes of sunlight across plaster that peels in tired curls. The whole place feels brittle, waiting for the next blow. My wrists ache faintly where his fingers had pinned me, red ghosts in my skin. My lips still sting from the violence of the kiss. I can taste him if I let my tongue skim my teeth.
I hate that I don’t want the taste gone.
The air downstairs hums faintly with movement. Elias’s boots across floorboards. Mara’s lighter voice, low, steady, smoothing out edges only she can. The smell of coffee drifts up, bitter and grounding. I drag myself upright, drag my shirt back over my skin like armor, and make my way down.
The kitchen looks the same: maps sprawled, mugs steaming, guns stripped and laid bare beside stacks of notes. Butit’s not the same. The air is thick, as if the walls themselves know we’re about to gamble everything.
Jax and Ren argue across the table, their words clipping hard enough to cut skin.
I stand back, leaning against the edge of the counter, watching the way their tempers bounce. It isn’t just stress. Something’s cracked open in this room, and I can feel the draft bleeding through.
Ren’s hands shake when he taps the map. Barely. Enough for me to catch it, though. “If we hit from the west entrance, we’ll have ten minutes before Drazen’s second rotation.”
“Ten minutes is nothing,” Jax snaps. “You’ll get us gutted.”
“You think you can do better?”
The words hit with too much heat. Jax spits back, but my attention stays fixed on Ren. He’s pale, sweating along the hairline. His pupils dart to me once, then away.
He’s hiding something. And in this world, hesitation isn’t nerves. It’s rot.
I glance at Elias. He’s seated, too still, eyes narrowed as if he’s already reached the same conclusion. Mara sits a few feet behind him, her arms folded across her chest, her gaze locked on Ren with the kind of restrained fear only she knows how to wear. She senses it too.
Silas lingers in the corner, not leaning, not relaxed—coiled, watching. His stare follows the rhythm of my suspicions, and when I shift my weight, he notices. His eyes ask the same question mine do: which one of them is about to break?
I don’t move closer, but my voice slices through the noise. “Ren.”
He freezes. Jax keeps talking, but I lift a hand, silencing him. My tone hardens, cool as glass. “Tell me why your mouth is dry and your fingers won’t stop twitching.”
Ren swallows. Too fast. “Stress.”
“No.” I push off the counter, closing the distance until I’m a breath away from him. The whole room tightens with me. Elias doesn’t stand—he doesn’t have to. His stare alone sharpens the air like a blade.
“Stress makes men shout. Shake. Piss blood if it’s bad enough. It doesn’t make them flinch every time Drazen’s name is spoken. It doesn’t make them look at doors like they’re expecting company.” I lean closer, letting him feel the chill of my certainty. “So, try again.”
His lips part. Nothing comes out.
Silas shifts, a slow scrape of his boot against the floor. His presence is heavy at my back, and when I catch his reflection in the dark glass of the window, I see the edge in his jaw. He already knows where this is going.
Ren stammers, eyes wide now, darting between Elias and me. “I—fuck—I didn’t—”
And that’s when the silence turns lethal.
His denial dies in his throat. What spills next isn’t language so much as panic chewing its way out.
