I hadn’t seen Livvy in five years.
Five fucking years of wondering if she was breathing, if she was still wearing Stanley’s ring, if he’d buried her somewhere with his name carved into her headstone.
And now she was here.
Wearing my clothes. Wrapped in my hoodie, drowning in the fabric like she wanted to disappear into it. Curled up on my couch, her knees pulled to her chest, looking too small, too fragile. Bruises wrapped around her wrists like shackles, fading but still there. A reminder of all the ways I had failed her.
I’d always known Stanley was a monster. But seeing the proof of it made me want to kill him slow.
Tear him apart with my bare hands.
She flinched when I sat down beside her. Just a small movement, barely noticeable, but I saw it. The way she pulled her sleeves lower, trying to hide the bruises. I clenched my fists so hard my knuckles cracked, fighting the urge to reach for her, pull her into my lap, swear she’d never have to be afraid again.
But that would come later.
Right now, I needed answers.
Her gaze found mine, searching, desperate and fractured. And for a second—just a second—it was like she was eighteen again.
Too young. Too trusting.
Looking at me with something that looked too much like hope.
I fucking hated it.
Her green eyes, wide and broken, gold flecks glinting like trapped stars. I couldn’t stop staring. Her hazel hair spilled wild over her shoulders, soft waves I ached to tangle my fingers in. She looked nothing like the girl who used to spit fire at me.
But all I could think was how I’d burn the whole world just to see that spark in her again.
She exhaled, shoulders sagging. “I just—I need to find Michael,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I need to tell him—”
I cut her off, jaw clenching.
“Livvy.” I said it slow, careful, like the words might break her. “Michael’s missing.”
She went still. No breath. No movement. Just silence.
Then—
“What?”
Her voice barely made a sound, small and disbelieving, like she was waiting for me to take it back.
I dragged a hand over my face, inhaling deeply. “He’s been gone a month.” The words were bitter in my mouth. “No one’s seen him since the Syndicate deal went south.”
She shook her head. “You’re lying.” Her voice cracked, breaking open. “Stanley—he would have told me—”
I exhaled sharply. “Stanley made sure you didn’t find out.” The words came out cold, laced with fury I couldn’t contain. “Locked you up, kept you on a leash. You really think he’d let you run if you knew?”
Her breath came too fast, shallow and panicked, tears spilling over her cheeks.
And fuck. I couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand seeing her like this—crushed, hopeless, so damn broken.
“We’ll find him,” I said, my voice coming out rougher than I intended. “I’m handling it. Why do you think I was out on the streets the night I saw you and your kid?”
She rolled her eyes, and hissed, “I don’t know, maybe looking for a whore?”
I chuckled, she hasn’t changed a bit. Her fingers curled around my wrist. Tight. Desperate.
“Do you swear you’ll find him?”
The way she looked at me—like I was her last fucking hope—made something snap inside me.
I bent down, brushing my lips against her temple, inhaling the scent of her.
“I swear, Angel.”