Chapter 63 New lives

Chapter 63 New lives
Chelsea

✦

The morning air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine and woodsmoke as we gather in the open courtyard.

Everyone is here—two dozen faces I’ve come to recognize in passing, men and women in tactical gear, others in plain clothes who must work the greenhouse and the kitchens and the maintenance. Liv stands beside me, her arms crossed tight against her chest, her jaw set in that stubborn line she gets when she’s trying not to show fear.

Sam Woodland stands on the raised stone platform near the main lodge, his presence commanding even in the pale morning light.

He’s older, maybe mid-fifties, with silver threading his dark hair and eyes that have seen too much. He’s been kind to us, distant but kind, but today there’s no warmth in his stance. Today he looks like a general addressing his troops.

“Thank you all for gathering,” he says, his voice carrying across the courtyard without needing to raise it. “I won’t mince words. We’ve received intel that the organization hunting Chelsea and Livia is actively trying to locate this compound.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd. My stomach drops, ice flooding my veins. Beside me, Liv reaches out and grips my hand, her fingers cold and trembling.

“They’re desperate,” Sam continues, his gaze sweeping over the assembly before landing on us. “And desperate men make stupid decisions. They’ve put significant resources into finding our location. Which means we’re increasing security protocols effective immediately.”

He gestures to his right, and my breath catches. K steps forward from the edge of the platform, Derek beside him. Seeing him like this, in full view of everyone, hits differently than seeing him in the moonlit shadows.

He’s all business now—tactical vest, mask firmly in place, arms crossed over his chest. Beside him, Derek is shorter, stockier, the same man I saw throwing knives so sloppily that day in the yard. But today there’s no sloppiness in either of them. They look lethal. They look ready.

“K and Derek are our best,” Sam says, nodding toward them. “They take your protection personally. They’ll be coordinating round-the-clock surveillance, perimeter checks, and escort details. If you see something suspicious, you report to them immediately. No exceptions.”

K’s eyes find mine across the distance, and for a fraction of a second, the professional mask slips—just enough for me to see the weight there, the worry he’s trying to hide. Then it’s gone, replaced by the stoic sentinel.

“No one has ever located this compound,” Sam continues, his voice gaining confidence. “The security measures we have in place have kept this place hidden for fifteen years. I’m confident it will stay that way. But we don’t take chances. Not with lives.”

He steps closer to the edge of the platform, his expression softening as he looks directly at Liv and me. “I know this is frightening. I know you both want to go home. But I need you to understand the reality of your situation. These traffickers have networks that extend into law enforcement. There are crooked cops on their payroll, officials who would hand you back to them in a heartbeat if they knew where to find you.”

Liv makes a small sound in her throat, and I squeeze her hand harder.

“Which means no contact with friends or family,” Sam says, his voice gentler but firm. “No phone calls, no letters, no emails. No reaching out to law enforcement outside our trusted channels. I know that’s hard to hear. I know it feels like you’re being imprisoned here. But your safety comes first. Always.”

He pauses, letting the words settle over us like a heavy blanket. I look around the courtyard—the towering pines that hide us from satellite view, the camouflaged buildings, the armed men and women who have become my reluctant guardians. It’s beautiful here. It’s safe. But it’s also a cage, no matter how gilded.

“You could be here for a long time,” Sam admits, his eyes kind but unflinching. “Months. Maybe longer. I won’t lie to you about that. But this is your home now, for as long as it needs to be. We want you to feel content here. Safe. Comfortable with your new lives.”

New lives. The words echo in my skull, hollow and strange. I think of my apartment back in the city, my job, my friends who probably think I’m dead or worse. I think of my boyfriend, the one I’ve been trying not to think about every time K’s lips touch mine, and guilt twists sharp and bitter in my gut.

“We’re here to keep you safe,” Sam says, his gaze sweeping the crowd again. “All of you. But especially you, Chelsea and Livia. They want you back. It’s our job to make sure that never happens. If you need anything—anything at all—my door is open. We want you to thrive here, not just survive.”

He steps back, nodding to K and Derek, who immediately begin moving through the crowd, speaking in low voices to the other security personnel. The meeting breaks apart, people drifting away in murmuring clusters, but I stand rooted to the spot, Liv’s hand still clutching mine.

“New lives,” Liv whispers, her voice bitter. “Like we’re just supposed to forget who we were.”

I don’t answer. I’m watching K across the courtyard, watching the way he moves with predatory grace, the way his hand rests on the weapon at his hip. He’s protecting me. He’s keeping me here. And last night, he kissed me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

I don’t know which version of him is real. I don’t know if I’m a prisoner or a guest or something else entirely. But as his blue eyes catch mine one more time—fleeting, hidden, achingly familiar—I realize Sam is wrong.

I don’t feel safe here.

I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, and the ground is crumbling beneath my feet, and the only person who might catch me is the one man I’m not sure I’m allowed to fall for.

✦

The room is small but not claustrophobic—soft gray walls, a couch that’s actually comfortable, and two chairs angled toward it. The lighting is dim, designed to be soothing, but nothing about this feels soothing. My hands are twisted in my lap, my knuckles white, and beside me, Liv is a coiled spring, her knee bouncing, her arms crossed so tight they might leave bruises.

Dr. Elena Voss sits across from us, tablet balanced on her knee, reading glasses perched low on her nose. She’s been kind so far—warm voice, patient eyes—but I can feel the weight of what’s coming pressing down on my chest like a stone.

“Take your time,” Elena says, setting the tablet aside. “There’s no rush. No wrong way to feel.”

Liv snorts, a sharp, bitter sound. “No wrong way to feel? We were taken and bought, doc. Like cattle. Like property. Some fat fuck in a suit purchased us to be his personal sex slaves at his ‘ranch.’” She makes air quotes, her lip curling. “Pretty sure the ‘wrong’ way to feel is whatever the hell makes that okay.”

Elena doesn’t flinch. “Anger is valid, Livia. It’s protective. It’s smart.”

I stare at my hands. They’re still dirty from the greenhouse, dirt under my nails that no amount of scrubbing removes. “He was going to take us that night,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Mr. Bagley.”

The word makes me sick. I can still smell him—expensive cologne masking something sour underneath, the heat of his breath when he grabbed my chin, the way his fingers dug into my arm.

“Chelsea?” Elena’s voice pulls me back. “Can you tell me what happened next?”

I swallow hard. "There was... a gunshot... chaos. And then—” I stop, my throat closing around the memory.

“And then your masked savior showed up,” Liv finishes, her voice flat. “K. He came out of nowhere like some kind of ghost. Shot Bagley.” She turns to me, her expression unreadable. “Saved our lives.”

I nod, the image burning behind my eyelids. The way K moved—silent, efficient, deadly.

“He killed him,” I say, and my voice sounds strange, distant. “He killed Bagley. And the driver. Some of the traffickers who were following us. He killed them all.”

“Does that frighten you?” Elena asks gently. “That he’s capable of that kind of violence?”

I should say yes. I know I should. But the truth is more complicated, and it twists in my gut like a knife. “No,” I admit, the word barely audible. “It... it makes me feel safe. Which is messed up, right? He murdered bad people in front of me, and I’m grateful. I’m...” I stop, heat flooding my cheeks.

“You’re what?” Elena prompts.

“I’m attracted to him,” I whisper, the confession falling out of me like a stone. “So attracted to him it scares me more than what Bagley almost did. Because at least that was simple. That was evil. But K...” I shake my head, tears burning my eyes. “He’s the only reason I’m alive, and I don’t know if I’m falling for him because he saved me or because... because there’s something real there. And either way, I’m trapped here, and he’s the one holding the keys, and I don’t know if that makes him my guardian or my warden or—”

“Or both,” Liv says quietly, and for the first time, her anger cracks, showing the fear underneath. She reaches over and takes my hand, her grip grounding me. “He’s both, Chels. For all of us.”

Elena leans forward, her expression soft. “What you’re experiencing is incredibly common in trauma survivors, Chelsea. It’s called traumatic bonding, or sometimes hero worship. Your brain is trying to make sense of extreme danger by attaching to the person who removed that danger. It doesn’t mean what you feel isn’t real, but it does mean you should be... cautious.”

I laugh, a wet, broken sound. “Cautious. Right. Because he’s so emotionally available with that mask permanently glued to his face and his refusal to tell me his real name.”

“He won’t take it off,” Liv adds, her voice hard. “Not for anyone. Derek told me—off the record, obviously—that K hasn’t shown his full face to anyone here. He’s a ghost. A weapon. And weapons don’t have hearts, Chels. No matter how much we want them to.”

I think of last night—his lips on mine, his hands burning brands into my skin, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered before he shut down and told me his mask stays on.

“He has a heart,” I say, the words feeling like a betrayal to speak aloud. “I’ve seen it. I just don’t know if he’ll ever let me touch it.”

Elena makes a note on her tablet, her expression thoughtful. “That’s a heavy burden to carry, Chelsea. Caring for someone who may not be capable of reciprocating in the way you need. Especially when you’re also processing your own survival, your own grief for the life you lost.”

“I had a boyfriend,” I say suddenly, the memory surfacing like a bruise. “Alex. We have a apartment together. We say I love you to each other.” I look up at Elena, the tears finally spilling over. “I don’t even know if he’s looking for me. If he thinks I’m dead. If he’s moved on. And here I am, pining after a man who kills people for a living and won’t even show me his face. What does that say about me?”

“It says you’re human,” Elena says simply. “It says you’re trying to survive in an impossible situation by finding connection wherever you can. There’s no shame in that. But there is healing to be done, and part of that healing is learning to trust your own judgment again. Learning that your body is yours, your choices are yours, and no one—neither a trafficker nor a savior—gets to take that from you.”

Liv squeezes my hand tighter. “We’re going to get through this,” she says, and for the first time, I believe she might actually believe it. “We survived Bagley. We’ll survive this place. We’ll survive... him.”

I nod, wiping at my cheeks, but my mind is already drifting back to the training yard, to the moonlight, to the way K’s blue eyes looked when he said no one gets in. The way he touched me like I was fragile and dangerous all at once.

I survived the auction. I survived Bagley.

But I’m starting to think that surviving K—surviving whatever this is that’s growing between us, dark and tangled and undeniable—might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.