Chapter 41 Twenty Feet of Silence
The safe house was bigger than Elena expected.
It was two stories, multiple bedrooms, a living area with reinforced windows. Isolated but comfortable.
Leo helped Derek to the couch while Pierce did a sweep of the perimeter. Elena stood in the middle of the living room, still shaking, trying to process what had just happened.
The gunfire, the bodies. Pierce appearing like something out of a nightmare to save her.
"Miss Davis." Derek's voice pulled her back. "I might need help with my leg."
Right. He was injured, she could treat that.
Elena moved to where Derek sat, his pant leg soaked with blood. "I need supplies. First aid kit, clean water, towels."
"Upstairs bathroom," Leo said. "I'll get it."
He returned with a fully stocked medical kit. Of course Pierce would have a safe house equipped for emergencies.
Elena knelt beside Derek, cutting away his pant leg to expose the wound. Clean through the calf muscle, it missed the bone, lucky.
"This is going to hurt," she said.
"I've had worse."
She worked efficiently, cleaning the wound, checking for fragments, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. Derek didn't shake, just watched her work with professional detachment.
"You're good at this," he said quietly.
"I'm a doctor, it's my job." Elena threaded the needle. "This needs stitches."
"Do what you need to do."
She stitched him up in silence, falling into the familiar rhythm of medical work. It was easier than thinking. Easier than feeling.
When she finished, Derek tested his leg carefully. "Thanks."
"Keep weight off it for a few days. Change the dressing twice daily." Elena stood, stripping off the bloody gloves. "Where's the bathroom? I need to wash up."
"Upstairs." He said. "Second door on the left."
Elena was halfway to the stairs when Pierce walked back in, and she saw it.
Blood on his left arm, soaking through his sleeve.
"You're hurt," she said before she could stop herself.
Pierce looked down like he'd forgotten. "It's nothing."
"It's not nothing." She said sharply. "You're bleeding."
"Elena..."
"Sit down." Her voice came out sharper than intended. "Now."
Something flickered in Pierce's eyes, but he sat on the couch Derek had just left. Elena grabbed the medical kit and moved toward him, her hands already reaching for his sleeve.
Then she froze.
This was the first time she'd touched him since that night. Since the truth had destroyed everything.
"I can do it myself," Pierce said quietly, reading her hesitation.
"Don't be stupid." Elena forced herself to move, rolling up his sleeve to expose the wound. A graze, deep enough to bleed heavily but not life-threatening.
She cleaned it in silence, hyper-aware of every point of contact. Her fingers on his skin. His breathing, slightly uneven. The heat coming off him.
"You should've said something," Elena said, not looking at his face.
"There wasn't time." He said quietly.
"There's time now." She said, avoiding his gaze.
She applied antiseptic, and Pierce's jaw tightened but he didn't make a sound. Elena worked quickly, efficiently, trying to ignore the way her hands trembled slightly.
"You'll need to keep this clean," she said, wrapping the wound. "Change the bandage daily."
"I know."
Elena finished and stepped back immediately, putting distance between them. "That's it. You're done."
"Thank you." He gave a weak smile.
She didn't respond. Just gathered the supplies and headed upstairs, feeling his eyes on her back the entire way.
The bathroom was expensive, untouched. Elena washed her hands, scrubbing away blood and gunpowder residue, staring at herself in the mirror.
She looked like hell. Pale, exhausted, eyes red from crying and lack of sleep.
Four days ago, she'd walked out on Pierce.
Now she was trapped in a safe house with him because his brother wanted her dead.
The irony was suffocating.
Elena left the bathroom and found her room, second bedroom on the right. It was clean, simple, it had a bed and dresser and nothing else.
She closed the door and leaned against it, finally letting herself breathe.
Downstairs, she could hear voices. Pierce talking to Leo in low tones, derek's phone ringing. The sounds of people coordinating, planning, preparing for whatever came next.
And Elena was just supposed to wait, to hide, to let Pierce protect her while hating him for everything he'd done.
She changed into sleep clothes from her bag and climbed into bed, staring at the ceiling.
Sleep didn't come.
Downstairs, Pierce stood at the window, phone pressed to his ear, watching the dark treeline.
"Marcus. Talk to me."
"The hotel was a planned hit. At least eight men, heavily armed. They knew exactly where she was."
Pierce's jaw tightened. "How?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out. Only five people knew her location, you, me, Derek, Leo, and Xander."
"Xander." His jaw tightened.
"I'm working on getting proof. But Pierce? It's not looking good."
"Keep digging. I want to know for certain before I move." Pierce ran a hand through his hair. "And Marcus? Double security here. No one gets close."
"Already done."
Pierce hung up and poured himself a drink he didn't want, standing in the dark living room.
Elena was upstairs. Safe and alive. Close enough that he could hear floorboards creaking as she moved around her room.
Close enough to reach. Too far away to touch.
Pierce downed the drink and poured another.
Four days without her had been hell. But at least there had been distance. The illusion that maybe, eventually, he could learn to live without her.
Now she was here. In the same house. Breathing the same air, and he still couldn't have her.
Pierce moved to the couch, knowing he wouldn't sleep tonight. He'd kept watch before, it was nothing new. But tonight felt different.
Tonight, Elena was twenty feet away, probably awake, probably hating him.
And Pierce couldn't blame her.
His phone buzzed with another update from Marcus. More intel on Rodrigo's movements, more pieces of the puzzle falling into place.
But all Pierce could think about was the look in Elena's eyes when she'd treated his wound. The way her hands had trembled. The way she'd put distance between them the second she was done.
Like touching him hurt her.
Pierce leaned his head back, closing his eyes, knowing sleep wouldn't come.
Upstairs, Elena stared at the ceiling, listening to Pierce move around downstairs. The soft clink of glass, his low voice on the phone, the creak of the couch as he settled onto it.
He wasn't sleeping either.
She wondered if he was thinking about her, wondered if he felt this same pull, this same impossible tension of being so close while being completely broken.
Elena rolled onto her side, pulling the blanket tighter, trying to block out the awareness of him just one floor below.
But it was useless. She could feel him there. Could feel the weight of everything unsaid, everything unresolved hanging between them.
Four days ago, she'd told him she never wanted to see him again.
Now she was trapped in a house with him, saved by him, alive because of him.
And she still loved him despite everything.
That was the worst part.
Not the anger, not the betrayal, not even the truth about May 14th but the fact that after everything, after all of it, part of her still wanted to go downstairs, wanted to curl up beside him on that couch and feel his arms around her and pretend the truth didn't exist.
Elena pressed her hand over her mouth, holding back a sob.
She hated him for lying, hated him for what his family had done, hated him for destroying the fragile peace she'd built, but she loved him too.
And that made everything so much worse.
Downstairs, Pierce sat in the darkness, carrying the weight of everything he'd lost.
Upstairs, Elena lay awake, carrying the weight of everything she still felt.
And between them, the silence was deadly.