Chapter 63 Chapter 63

Chapter 63 Chapter 63
Tito’s POV

I didn’t sleep.

Even after Jax left the room, even after Stella curled up against the wall and Beatrice finally drifted off with that strange, resigned heaviness she carried like a second skin, I just sat there on the edge of the mattress, my hands twisted in my lap, staring at the place where he had stood.

My mind kept replaying his voice, that apologetic softness he tried to coat over something much darker. Something he wasn’t saying. Something he couldn’t say in front of the guards.

“You’ll be okay tonight. I promise.”

A promise from Jax has never calmed me before. And it definitely didn’t calm me now.

At some point I realized my fingers were trembling. Not violently — just this small, uncontrollable flutter. I pressed my hands against my thighs, trying to steady them.

“Still awake?” Beatrice whispered from across the room, her voice thick with exhaustion.

“Yeah,” I murmured. “You should sleep.”

She gave a tired little laugh. “Sleep left me a long time ago.”

I didn’t have a reply. I just exhaled, long and shaky, and leaned my head back against the cold, concrete wall. The air smelled faintly of detergent from the dresses they’d put us in, mixed with something metallic and something damp — the scent of a building that wasn’t meant for people, definitely not meant for women who needed help.

“Whatever he is to you,” Beatrice said quietly, “whoever he used to be… don’t trust the version of him that walks around here. Nothing here is real. Not kindness, not concern, not recognition. Everything is an angle.”

My throat tightened. “He wasn’t always like this.”

“They never are,” she murmured.

Eventually the exhaustion pulled me onto my side, and the mattress dipped a little as I shifted, but sleep still didn’t come. My eyes burned, but my body refused to shut down. It felt like every nerve ending was buzzing. My stomach twisted with hunger but also nausea. Hours passed — or maybe minutes, time didn’t exist here — before a deep creak echoed somewhere outside the room.

Beatrice’s head snapped up immediately. “Footsteps.”

Stella stirred from her half-sleep, instinctively curling into herself, her hands shielding the side of her face even though no one was touching her.

My heart went cold.

The footsteps grew louder but slower. There was no rush in them. Just a steady, patient rhythm. Whoever it was, they didn’t need to hurry. They knew we were trapped. They knew we couldn’t go anywhere.

The handle twitched, and Stella whimpered.

I sat up straight, every muscle in my body locking into place.

The door opened.

Two of the masked men stepped inside, their boots scraping against the floor. They looked around the room like they were checking inventory, not people. One pointed at Stella first.

“No—no, please—” she started, scrambling backward, but Beatrice grabbed her hand and squeezed hard.

“It’s okay,” Beatrice whispered, even though her voice cracked. “We’re here. We’re with you.”

The guard hesitated, then shook his head. “Not her. Boss said the new one.”

His eyes locked onto me, and the world tilted.

Beatrice instantly moved between us, standing even though her legs shook. “Take me instead. Please. She’s just a girl. You’ve already—”

The guard shoved her aside without hesitation. She hit the floor with a cry.

“Get up,” he barked at me.

Stella was sobbing now — the kind of soft, strangled crying that hurt more than screaming. “Don’t go with them, Tito. Don’t—please—”

But I was already being lifted by my arms, dragged toward the doorway. My legs tried to hold me but the ground kept slipping under me, my breath coming in shallow bursts. I twisted, looking back one last time at Beatrice holding Stella close, whispering something I couldn’t hear.

The hallway outside felt colder, narrower, suffocating. The further they took me, the more dread rose like a physical weight on my chest. My feet skimmed over the ground as they half-dragged, half-guided me through corridors lit by a single flickering bulb.

“Where are you taking me?” I finally demanded, my voice cracking but loud enough to echo.

Neither of them answered. Of course they didn’t.

We reached a metal staircase, and they forced me up each step until we reached a door at the top. One of them knocked — once, twice — and then pushed it open, and I stumbled inside.

It was a surprisingly clean room. There were two men inside, one I didn’t recognize, and one I did.

Jax.

He was standing near the window, shoulders tense, jaw clenched, eyes snapping to me the second I entered. Something flickered across his face — relief, pain, guilt, fear — I couldn’t tell. I didn’t care.

“What the hell is going on?” I breathed.

The taller man turned toward me with slow, heavy steps, like someone assessing a new item he’d just acquired. His face was partially obscured by the dim light, but I could still feel the weight of his stare. “She’ll do.”

“No,” Jax said immediately, stepping forward. “Not tonight. She hasn’t—she’s not—”

“Are you forgetting who’s in charge here?” the man said without looking at him.

Jax swallowed hard.

The man snapped his fingers toward the guards. “Tie her.”

“No!” Jax shouted, voice sharp with panic. “I’ll handle it. I said I’ll handle it.”

The man paused, and a suffocating quiet fell.

Something passed between them, a silent warning, a reminder, a threat. Then slowly, reluctantly, the man lifted his hand and waved the guards away. The door shut behind them with a heavy thud, and suddenly it was just the three of us.

Jax moved toward me first, lifting a hand like he wanted to touch my shoulder but stopping just short. His eyes were frantic. Actually frantic.

“Tito,” he whispered. “Don’t freak out, okay? I need you to breathe. Just breathe.”

“Why am I here?” My voice broke halfway through. “Why are you here? What is this?”

His mouth opened, closed, and opened again, but he didn’t answer.

Instead he looked over his shoulder, making sure the door was still shut, then stepped even closer, lowering his voice so much I barely heard him.

“I’m going to get you out.”

My heart kicked hard against my ribs. “What?”

“But not tonight,” he added quickly. “If I move too soon, if he suspects anything, everything goes to hell. You need to listen to me, Tito — please — do whatever they say until I come back.”

“Do whatever they say?” I snapped, breath thinning. “Jax, they’re hurting people. They’re hurting girls. How could you—”

“I didn’t choose this!” he hissed.

“Then what are you doing here?! Why are you working for them?!”

He grabbed my shoulders, desperation bleeding into every line of his face. “Because my brother is dead, Tito. And someone has to pay.”

I froze.

“And you think Kendrick—"

"Don't say his name in here,” Jax warned sharply. "Walls in this place have ears."

I stared at him, my pulse hammering, my mind racing so fast the room blurred. I wanted to scream at him. Punch him. Grab him by the shirt and shake him until answers fell out. But fear had already crawled too deep into my bones.

“Sit,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’ll talk fast.”

I didn’t sit.

He let out a shaky breath. “I can keep you safe for now. Not completely — but enough. Don’t fight them. Don’t provoke them. Don’t try anything stupid.”

My stomach twisted. “And if I do?”

His voice dropped even lower.

“Then they’ll break you, Tito. And I won’t be able to put you back together.”

The lights flickered. A buzzer sounded somewhere outside the room. Jax stepped back immediately, his face hardening again — the mask sliding back on.

The door unlocked.

“Tomorrow night,” he said under his breath. “I’ll try.”

Then he walked away from me as the guards returned, and I had no choice but to follow them back down the stairs, back through the corridor, back into the dim room where Stella and Beatrice waited.

Beatrice rushed to me the second the door opened.

“What happened?” she whispered urgently. “Tito, what did they do?”

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

Because the truth was simple, terrifying, and lodged somewhere deep inside my throat:

Jax wasn’t my enemy.

But he sure as hell wasn’t my rescue either.