~HELENA~
The safe house was really just a boring, beige apartment in Queens with bars on the windows and furniture that smelled faintly of mothballs and old coffee.
The bedroom door was slightly open, and I could hear my brothers’ soft breathing.
They’d been confused and scared when the men in black suits picked them up from school yesterday. I had told them it was just a security drill for Axel’s company, some kind of VIP protection thing.
I lied to them. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that our big brother, Henry, was the reason we were hiding. That Henry was the reason everything was falling apart.
I sat on the couch in the living room, my knees pulled up to my chest, staring at the blank television screen. Every time a car drove by outside, I jumped. Every set of headlights made my heart race. Every sound in the hallway made me hold my breath.
I felt sick. Physically sick, like I might throw up at any moment.
I had betrayed my own brother. I knew Henry was a cheat... I knew he had lied and used me like a pawn, but I still felt kinda guilty. And now I was the only thing standing between my younger brothers and the complete ruin of our family name.
They were too young to understand. Jason was only fourteen. Ryan was twelve. They didn’t know what Henry had done. They didn’t know about the cartel, the money, the bomb. And God willing, they never would.
And then there was Tye.
I closed my eyes, but I could still see the look on his face when he mentioned the security logs showing my biometric signature.
The cold, hard suspicion in his eyes, the way his hand had moved toward his weapon. He had looked at me like I was a terrorist... like I was trash... like I was capable of killing people.
A key turned in the lock.
I scrambled off the couch immediately, backing into the corner of the room. My heart was beating fast. I grabbed a heavy brass lamp from the end table, holding it like a baseball bat with shaky hands.
The door opened slowly, and Tye walked in.
I let out a breath that was half-sob, half-gasp, lowering the lamp but didn’t put it down. I couldn’t seem to make my fingers let go.
Tye stepped inside, locking the door behind him. He looked tired... exhausted, actually.
His suit was rumpled, his tie was gone, and there were dark circles under his eyes that made him look older. He looked at the lamp in my hand, then at my face, taking in my wide eyes and trembling hands.
"You can put the weapon down, Helena," he said softly. "It’s over."
"Over?" I asked with a trembling voice. "What’s over? What happened? Is Layla okay? Is Mr..."
"Henry is... in custody," Tye said, choosing his words carefully. He moved slowly, probably not wanting to spook me further. "He’s going to prison. And the threat is gone. The cartel has been dealt with."
I collapsed onto the couch, my legs suddenly unable to hold me. The relief was so overwhelming that it made me feel dizzy. "And... and Layla?"
"She’s with Axel," Tye said, and a small smile touched his lips. "He’s awake. He’s going to be okay."
"Thank God," I whispered, pressing my hands to my face. "Thank God."
Tye walked into the kitchen and returned with a water bottle from the fridge. He didn’t leave, though. He stood there, leaning against the counter, looking awkward and uncertain in a way I’d never seen him before.
The silence stretched between us.
"I..." I started, picking at a loose thread on the cushion. "I’m sorry, Tye, about the bomb. About scanning it without checking properly. I didn’t know. I swear to God, I didn’t know."
"I know," Tye said quietly. "We know you were used. It was almost like he timed the whole thing and made sure the courier was there when you were there too. He knew you were efficient and loyal, and he weaponised those traits."
"But you didn’t believe me," I said, the hurt finally bubbling to the surface. I looked up at him, meeting his eyes. "When you saw the logs, you thought I did it on purpose or something."
Tye flinched visibly. He looked away, staring at the barred window.
"I did," he admitted. "I saw your name, and I thought the worst. I assumed you were guilty."
"Why?" I asked quietly, tears burning behind my eyes. "I thought... I thought we were..." I paused, not sure how to define whatever it was between us. The banter, the kiss, the lingering looks, the way he always seemed to know when I needed help. "I thought you knew me."
Tye sighed. He walked over and sat on the coffee table facing me, positioning himself so he was lower than I was. He clasped his hands between his knees, staring at them for a long moment.
"It wasn’t about you, Helena," he said finally in a low, strained voice. "It was about me. About my past."
He unbuttoned the top of his shirt with one hand, pulling the cloth aside to reveal the top of a jagged, ugly scar on his chest. It looked like it had been a serious wound.
"What happened?" I whispered.
And so he went on to narrate a story about how his last serious relationship ended with his ex placing a bullet in his chest.
"I survived, obviously, but I learnt a lesson that day, the people you trust the most are the ones who can hurt you the worst. The ones who can get close enough to put the knife in."
He looked up at me, and his eyes were filled with a raw vulnerability I’d never seen in him before. This was the man behind the armour, stripped bare before me.
"When I saw your name on that log... it triggered everything," he continued. "I didn’t see you. I saw her. I saw another betrayal. Another person I’d trusted turning out to be a threat. And I shut down. I went into threat-assessment mode instead of thinking clearly."
"Oh, Tye," I whispered, reaching out to touch his hand. His skin was warm beneath my fingers. "I’m so sorry that happened to you."
"I should have trusted my gut," he said, looking at my hand on his. "My gut told me you were innocent. My gut told me you were good, that you could never do something like that. But my head was scared. My head was screaming at me not to be fooled again."
He turned his hand over, interlacing his fingers with mine. His palm was warm and rough, calloused from years of work.
"I’m sorry, Helena," he said, and the sincerity in his voice made my throat tight. "I shouldn’t have doubted you. I shouldn’t have let my past trauma make me treat you like a suspect. You saved us today. You gave us the evidence we needed to win. You risked everything to do the right thing."
"I just wanted to help," I whispered, tears pricking my eyes again. "I just wanted to stop Henry before he hurt more people."
"You did," Tye said firmly. "You did good. You did more than good. You were brave."
He squeezed my hand gently and I nodded, allowing myself to relax and believe. I did good, even though it didn’t entirely feel that way, I know I did.
"Come on," he said, standing up and pulling me gently to my feet. "Let’s get you and your brothers out of here. I’ll drive you home. I’ve got a patrol car sitting outside your building for the next week, just in case. And I’ll personally check in every day."
"Thank you, Tye," I said, sniffing, trying to put a rein on the tears. "For everything. For protecting us. For believing me eventually."
"You can thank me by allowing me to buy you that coffee I owe you," he said, a hint of his usual confidence returning to his voice.
I looked at him really looked at him. The hard exterior was still there: the scars, the muscles, the careful way he watched the room.
But the cracks were showing now. And through the cracks, I saw the man underneath. The one who’d been hurt, but who was trying to trust again.
"Make it dinner," I said, a small, watery smile touching my lips. "And you’re paying. Somewhere nice, too. Not the hospital or company cafeteria."
Tye grinned, the shadow lifting from his face. "Deal. I know an Italian place. They make this pasta carbonara that’ll change your life."
"Sounds perfect," I said.
He kept holding my hand as we walked toward the bedroom to wake my brothers. And for the first time in days, I felt like maybe everything really would be okay.