Chapter 59: Chapter 58

The air was thick with tension as Archer and I pulled up to the address Caleb had given us—Blackthorn Street, number 48.

My stomach churned with unease.

The building loomed like a forgotten relic, its paint peeling and windows clouded with grime. It reeked of desperation, a place for people who had nowhere left to run.

“This is it,” Archer said, his voice clipped as he swung off his bike.

I followed him to the door, my pulse hammering in my ears.

Every fiber of me screamed to turn around, to pull him back and tell him this wasn’t the way. But the fire in his eyes kept me moving forward.

We climbed the narrow staircase to the second floor, the wood creaking beneath our weight. The door to Damien’s unit was ajar, hanging loose on its hinges.

Archer didn’t hesitate. He pushed it open, and the stench hit me like a wave.

The room was a mess—a chaotic mix of half-empty bottles, crumpled cigarette packs, and food containers spilling onto the floor.

The walls were stained with grime, and the air was thick with the sharp tang of alcohol. It was the kind of place that made you want to hold your breath and never let it out.

And there, amidst the wreckage, was Damien.

He was scrambling, throwing things into a tattered duffel bag. His hair was disheveled, his movements frantic. The moment he saw us, his eyes widened in panic.

“Damien!” Archer’s voice thundered, filling the tiny room.

Damien froze for half a heartbeat before bolting toward the back.

Archer moved like lightning, cutting him off before he could reach the window.

“You’re not running this time,” Archer growled, grabbing Damien by the arm.

Damien twisted free with surprising agility, his eyes darting wildly around the room. That’s when he spotted it—Archer’s bike parked outside under the dim streetlight like a predator waiting in the shadows.

Without thinking, Damien lunged for the door and sprinted down the stairs.

“Archer!” I shouted, already chasing after them.

By the time we reached the street, Damien was straddling Archer’s motorcycle, his hands fumbling to start it. The bike roared to life, its engine echoing down the deserted street.

“Get off my bike!” Archer shouted, his voice a mix of fury and disbelief.

But Damien didn’t stop. He kicked the stand back, his hands gripping the handlebars like his life depended on it.

Archer lunged forward, grabbing the bike’s frame, his muscles straining as he tried to wrestle Damien off. The roar of the engine filled the street, its deafening growl vibrating in my chest. I stood frozen, torn between stepping in and staying back, knowing that either choice could end in disaster.

Then it happened.

Damien let go of the bike with one hand and reached into his jacket. The glint of metal caught the dim light, and my breath hitched in my throat. A gun.

“Stop!” I screamed, but it was too late.

“If you move an inch, I’m going to explode your fucking head!” Damien spat, his voice cracking under the weight of his own fear.

The gun wavered slightly in his hand, but his grip tightened as he pointed it at Archer. I could see the madness in his eyes, the desperation of a man with nothing left to lose.

Archer froze, his hands still on the bike, his jaw clenched so tight I thought it might shatter. He didn’t flinch, didn’t back down, even with the barrel of a gun inches from his chest.

“Damien, put it down,” Archer said, his voice low and steady. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Shut up!” Damien screamed, his hand trembling. Then his gaze flicked to me, and my heart stopped.

“Damien, please,” I said, my voice shaking. “Just stop. You don’t have to do this.”

His lips twisted into a bitter smile. “Don’t have to? I have to. You and Archer—do you even know what you’ve done? You’ve ruined my life!”

“We didn’t ruin anything!” Archer snapped, his voice rising. “You did this to yourself, Damien!”

That was the moment Damien lost what little composure he had left. His finger twitched on the trigger, and I saw my life flash before my eyes.

But instead of firing, he took a step back, still holding the gun.

“Stay right there,” he barked, glancing between us. “Don’t follow me.”

Then he climbed back onto Archer’s bike, keeping the gun trained on us.

With a roar of the engine, he sped off into the night, leaving a trail of smoke and the acrid stench of burnt rubber.

As the sound of the bike faded, the silence that followed was deafening. I stood there, my hands trembling, my knees threatening to buckle beneath me.

Archer turned to me, his face a storm of emotions—anger, fear, and something deeper, something darker.

“Are you okay?” Archer asked, his voice rough and low, pulling me back from the edge of my spiraling thoughts.

I nodded automatically, though the truth was far more complicated. My heart was still pounding in my chest, my hands trembling at my sides. The memory of the gun, the way Damien’s eyes burned with desperation, refused to leave me.

Before I could find the words to say more, my phone buzzed in my pocket, breaking the heavy silence between us.

I fumbled for it, the bright screen stark against the night’s darkness.

“Daddy,” I whispered, seeing his name flash across the screen.

I hesitated for a moment, then answered. “Hello?”

“Katrina,” my father’s voice was sharp, urgent. “Where’s Archer? Is he with you?”

I glanced at Archer, whose expression immediately darkened at the mention of my father. “He’s here. Why? What’s going on?”

“Bring him to the house,” my father said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I need both of you here. ASAP.”

“Okay… we’re coming,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. The line went dead before I could ask anything else.

Archer raised a brow, his jaw tightening. “What does he want now?”

“I don’t know,” I said, shoving the phone back into my pocket. “But he sounded serious.”

Archer sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. Let’s go.”

The heavy wooden doors of my parents’ house closed behind us with an ominous thud. The air inside felt as tense as the silence Archer and I had carried from the street. My father, Leonardo, stood by the grand staircase, his usually imposing figure weighed down by something I couldn’t quite place.

“Come,” he said, his voice clipped. He didn’t meet my eyes, which only made the knot in my stomach tighten.

My mother, Felicia, was already seated in the drawing room. Her usual poise seemed strained, her hands folded tightly in her lap. When we entered, her gaze flickered to Archer and then to me, but she said nothing.

“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice trembling despite my efforts to stay calm.

“Sit,” my father commanded, motioning to the sofa.

Archer hesitated, his jaw tight as if he was bracing himself for a fight. I placed a hand on his arm, urging him to follow. Reluctantly, he sat beside me, his presence solid and grounding.

My father cleared his throat, pacing in front of us like he was trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, he stopped and looked directly at Archer.

“There’s something you need to know,” my father began, his voice heavy with hesitation. “About your mother… and the child.”

Beside me, Archer sat up straighter, his shoulders no longer tense with anger but with something far more vulnerable.

For a fleeting moment, his guarded exterior cracked, revealing a glimmer of hope that caught me completely off guard.

His eyes lit up, and his voice, usually so composed, trembled with a mix of excitement and disbelief. “Have you found them?!” he asked, leaning forward. “Where are they hiding? Are they okay?”

The air seemed to shift, his sudden hope piercing through the tension in the room like a knife. My heart clenched painfully, and I dared a glance at my father, who looked momentarily shaken by Archer’s reaction.

Felicia’s hand flew to her mouth, tears pooling in her eyes as she tried to steady herself.

Leonardo lowered his gaze, his jaw tightening as if bracing for the blow he was about to deliver.

Archer’s hopeful expression faltered as he glanced between my parents, the silence in the room stretching unbearably. His hands, once gripping the edge of the sofa, slowly curled into fists.

“What is it?” he pressed, his voice growing quieter, the hope now laced with dread.

Felicia finally spoke, her voice trembling. “Archer… they’re not hiding. They’re gone. They were the mother and baby in the crash Damien caused.”