Avery's POV:

I listened intently through the cracked door as Everest and Austin talked, assuming I was still asleep after Everest carried me from the truck to the bed. In reality, I had passed out in the truck from sheer exhaustion and anxiety, but now I was on high alert.

"We got him in the basement," Austin said, his tone sharp. "Only thing he said was somethin' about how she took somethin' from him. Just talkin' straight bullshit."

I heard Everest sigh in response. Curled up in a ball, I hugged myself for comfort—an old habit whenever I was in distress. Holding myself together was sometimes the only way I could feel okay.

"Did ya at least have fun?" Everest joked, and both of them chuckled. The sound sent an icy shiver down my spine.

"Not as much fun as I'm sure you'll have," Austin replied.

"I'll be up there in a lil' while," Everest said, his voice trailing off. I heard them exchange goodbyes, followed by the door closing and the low rumble of a motorcycle starting up.

Everest's footsteps were unmistakable as they approached the room. I shut my eyes quickly, willing my body to relax, feigning sleep as best as I could.

The door creaked open, and I forced my breathing to stay slow and steady. The weight of Everest's presence filled the room, the air thick with unspoken tension. I could hear him moving—boots scuffing against the floor, the rustle of fabric as he shrugged off his jacket.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, the bed dipped under his weight.

I fought the urge to flinch when I felt his fingers brush a stray strand of hair from my face. My heart pounded in my chest, but I kept still, willing myself to remain as lifeless as possible.

"You're a terrible liar, you know," he murmured, his voice low and knowing.

My stomach twisted, but I didn't react. Maybe if I stayed still long enough, he'd leave me alone. Maybe—

A hand suddenly gripped my chin, tilting my face upward. My eyes fluttered open on instinct, locking onto his. A smirk played at his lips as he studied me, amusement flickering in those dark eyes.

"There she is," he said, voice smooth. "Thought you'd keep pretending all night?"

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. His grip wasn't rough, but it was firm—like he knew I wouldn't dare pull away. I held his gaze, refusing to let him see the fear clawing at my insides.

"I was sleeping," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

Everest chuckled, the sound deep and full of amusement. "Sure you were." His thumb brushed against my jaw before he finally let go, and I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

He leaned back, stretching his arms behind him as if he had all the time in the world. "Austin said our guest didn't have much to say—just some nonsense about you taking something from him." His eyes flicked back to mine, sharp now. "That true?"

My fingers curled into the sheets. "Last week, he came in with multiple gunshot wounds. I saved his life."

Everest just looked down at me, silent, studying me like I was some puzzle he had to solve. Then, he lifted a brow, his expression disturbingly indifferent. "And who do you think put him there?"

Disgust twisted in my stomach. The way he spoke—so merciless, so unaffected—made my skin crawl. Like taking a life meant nothing to him. Like my efforts to save one were pointless.

My gaze dropped automatically, unable to hold his any longer. I curled in on myself, inching away as much as I could. My mind raced, but there were no answers—no clear path forward. Everything felt so out of my control, like I was drowning in something too deep to escape.

"I don't know what to say," I murmured. It was all I could come up with, the only truth I had in that moment.

Everest tilted his head again, still watching me, still searching for something—fear, guilt, a lie I wasn't telling. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, but I forced myself to keep still.

"Hm," he hummed, clearly unconvinced. Then, with a slow smirk, he pushed himself up from the bed. "Guess I'll just have to find out for myself what he wanted from ya."

A cold weight settled in my stomach as I watched him stroll toward the door, rolling his shoulders like this was just another job, another problem to handle. I had no doubt he meant exactly what he said.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

I informed Bonnie that I wasn't feeling well enough to take on the overtime shift on Friday, and, in truth, I didn't even get out of bed.

I slept for most of the day in an effort to quiet my racing thoughts, which were constantly fixated on what I should do next or where I should go. It felt as though I had cinder blocks weighing down my limbs, making it impossible to move. This wasn't depression—just sheer exhaustion. I was physically and mentally drained from work.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally forced myself to sit up. My body still felt sluggish, but I knew I couldn't stay in bed forever. Step by step, I made my way to the shower, letting the hot water run over me, washing away the weight of exhaustion that had settled in my muscles. It didn't fix everything, but it helped. The steam cleared my head, and for the first time all day, I felt a little more like myself.

After showering, I grabbed something to eat—nothing too heavy, just enough to give me some energy. As I sat there, slowly regaining a sense of normalcy, I started thinking about Saturday morning. I had already missed my overtime shift, and while I knew I needed the rest, I didn't want to fall into a pattern of avoiding work. I decided I was going to push through and make it in. I wasn't at my best, but I could manage.

As I glance over at the clock, I notice it's 7:30 p.m. I sit at the counter, forcing myself to eat the leftover pasta from the fridge. The meal is unappetizing, but I push through, my mind preoccupied with something far more unsettling—I haven't seen or heard from Everest all day.

I try to keep my thoughts from drifting to what might be happening to Roach in that basement, but it's impossible. The harsh reality of it all slams into me like a slap to the face. This is who Everest truly is.

He is Sin.

The Vice President of the Sons of Silence. A man who takes pleasure in hurting people.

With a sigh, I push myself away from the table, clearing my plate and placing it in the dishwasher. The weight of my thoughts lingers as I make my way into the bedroom, my eyes scanning the mess—piles of clothes strewn across the floor, the bed in complete disarray.

I stand in the doorway for a moment, taking in the chaos of the room. The unmade bed, the scattered clothes—everything feels like a reflection of the turmoil churning inside me. With a heavy sigh, I step forward, picking up a shirt from the floor and absentmindedly folding it, though I know it won't make a difference. The mess isn't just in this room; it's in my head, in my life, in the choices I've made.

I drop the shirt onto the dresser and rub my temples, willing away the growing tension. The silence in the house is suffocating, pressing down on me like a weight I can't shake. I reach for my phone, my fingers hesitating over the screen. No missed calls. No messages. Not a single sign that Everest is even thinking about me right now.

Frustration knots in my chest, but beneath it, there's something worse—an aching kind of sadness. Because deep down, I know exactly where he is and what he's doing. And even worse, I know I won't walk away.

I try to ground myself by falling back into a routine, laying out my scrubs and deciding that I'll take the Saturday day shift for overtime. At least work offers some sense of normalcy—something steady in the middle of the chaos swirling around me.

As I continue tidying the bedroom, moving through the motions like muscle memory, the sharp creak of the front door opening cuts through the quiet of the house. The sound echoes down the hallway, and I know instantly—it's Everest.

But instead of relief, uncertainty floods my system. My body reacts before my mind can process it, every muscle tensing, my breath catching in my throat. I tell myself to relax, to act natural, but it's useless. Because at this moment, I realize something unsettling.

I don't know what version of Everest just walked through that door.

Footsteps sound against the hardwood, slow and deliberate, each one tightening the knot in my stomach. I force myself to keep moving, pretending to smooth out the comforter even though my hands are trembling. I don't want to turn around, don't want to face whatever expression he's wearing—because I already know it'll tell me everything.

The air shifts as he enters the room, the weight of his presence settling over me like a shadow I can't escape. For a moment, there's nothing but silence, thick and suffocating. Then, his voice—low, edged with something unreadable.

"You're finally up."

It's not a question, more like an observation. I nod without looking at him, my fingers tightening around the fabric of the bedspread. "Yeah. Couldn't sleep anymore."

I finally force myself to glance up, and the sight of him sends a shiver down my spine. There's something dark lingering in his gaze, something he doesn't bother to hide. His knuckles are raw, his shirt slightly wrinkled, like he's been gripping something too hard for too long.

I swallow, my throat dry. "Everything okay?"

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he watches me, his expression unreadable, his silence stretching between us like a warning. And in that moment, I know—whatever happened tonight, whatever he did tonight; he was still Sin. This wasn't Everest.

Everest exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair before stepping farther into the room. The air around him is thick with something unspoken, something heavy that clings to him like smoke. I know better than to push, but the way he looks at me—like he's searching for something—makes my pulse quicken.

He finally speaks, his voice quieter this time. "You eat?"

It's a simple question, but there's an edge to it, like he's trying to shift the conversation before it can go somewhere neither of us is ready for. I nod, though we both know it's a lie. "Yeah."

His jaw tightens, but he doesn't call me out on it. Instead, he steps closer, his presence swallowing up the space between us. I should move, should create some distance, but my feet stay rooted to the floor.

Everest reaches out, his fingers grazing my arm, and for a split second, I almost let myself lean into him. Almost. But then I catch the faint scent of something metallic—something that doesn't belong.

Blood.

My breath hitches, and his grip tightens, just enough to make me wonder if he notices. His gaze darkens, and for the first time tonight, I let the fear settle in my chest.

"Why do you have these out?" he murmurs, picking up my scrubs from the chair. His tone is quiet, but there's an underlying tension I can't ignore.

My brows knit together in confusion. "I have work tomorrow morning. I'm only working until four—not a full shift," I explain, lowering myself onto the bed.

The moment the words leave my mouth, his grip tightens around the fabric, balling the scrubs in his fist before he throws them back down. Without hesitation, he stalks toward me, his movements rigid, his anger palpable—like steam rising from a boiling pot.

His eyes darken as he grips the fabric tighter, knuckles going white. "Why?" His voice is low, but there's an unmistakable sharpness to it.

I blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his demeanor. "Because I picked up an extra shift. It's just overtime, Everest. It's not a big deal."

The scrubs hit the chair with a dull thud as he throws them down, his movements stiff, controlled—but barely. Then, he stalks toward me, each step measured and slow, like he's trying to hold something back.

My pulse quickens. "What's wrong with me working?" I ask carefully, my voice softer now, but he doesn't answer right away. Instead, he stops just in front of me, looming over where I sit on the bed, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"You don't need the extra hours," he finally mutters, but there's more to it. Something else he isn't saying.

I swallow hard, my fingers digging into the comforter. "It's just one shift, Everest."

His jaw ticks. "I said, you don't need it."

I plant my feet firmly, refusing to back down as I scoff in disgust. The sound of his low growl fills the space between us, a clear warning.

"I told you, Avery—when shit gets bad—" He cuts himself off, his expression tightening. Just as I turn to walk away, his hand shoots out, gripping the back of my neck and pulling me inches from his face. My breath catches, but I don't flinch.

"—You were gonna be done working," he finishes, his voice low and sharp. "I've tried compromising with you. Do I look like the kind of man who does that shit?" He spits the words out, his grip firm but not bruising—at least, not yet.

I shake my head, exhaling sharply, rolling my eyes. "It was one guy, Everest. One guy who I'm sure isn't going to be an issue anymore," I mutter. "I don't even want to think about it."

The truth is, I've shoved it so far into the back of my mind, burying it beneath all the other things I refuse to deal with. It's what I do best now.

He scoffs, frustration seeping into his every move. "Why are you doing this anyway?" His voice follows me as I walk out of the bedroom, growing louder with every word. "You don't need the money! You're not paying for shit, so what the fuck is the issue?"

I whip around so fast he stops in his tracks. My finger jabs toward him, my entire body trembling with anger, with something deeper—something raw.

"I am so done relying on everyone! Especially a man!" My voice cracks at the edges, betrayal laced in every syllable. "I came back here to start fresh—to do what I want for once!"

A single tear slips free, trailing down my cheek before I angrily swipe it away. I refuse to break. Not in front of him. Not now.

Everest's expression hardens, his jaw clenching as he takes a slow step forward. I can see the frustration burning behind his eyes, the way his chest rises and falls with controlled breaths. He wants to argue, to snap back with something sharp and unforgiving, but for once, he doesn't.

Instead, he watches me. Studies me.

The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating, but I hold my ground. My hands are still trembling, my pulse hammering in my ears, but I refuse to back down. Not this time.

His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip before he exhales through his nose, shaking his head. "You think that's what this is about?" His voice is quieter now, but no less intense. "You think I give a shit about you working because of some damn paycheck?"

I say nothing, my throat tightening.

He scoffs, running a hand through his hair, his fingers threading through the strands as if trying to ground himself. "I don't want you working because I don't trust them, Avery. I don't trust the people around you. And after what happened—" He cuts himself off, dragging his gaze back to mine. "I won't let it happen again."

His words hit something deep inside me, something I don't want to acknowledge. Because as much as I hate admitting it, a part of me knows he's right. A part of me knows that what happened wasn't just some random, isolated event.

But that doesn't mean I'll let him control me.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to stand taller. "I'm not asking for your permission."

A muscle in his jaw ticks, but he doesn't lash out. He doesn't move. He just watches me, his silence saying more than words ever could.

The silence that follows my words hangs heavy, but it's different now. The anger, the tension—it's still there, but it feels like it's shifting into something else. Something deeper.

Everest steps forward, his hand reaching for me again, but this time, there's no force. Just a steady, almost gentle touch against my cheek. His fingers linger there, his thumb brushing against my skin in soft, slow strokes. I catch my breath, feeling the weight of the moment. His eyes hold mine, intense and searching, but there's something else in them now—an understanding, an unspoken apology, a need.

I don't know how or when it happens, but suddenly, his lips are on mine. Not harsh, not demanding, but soft—insistent, like he's trying to say something with just the pressure of his kiss. His hands find my waist, pulling me closer, and I can feel the heat of his body radiating against mine. It feels different this time, quieter but no less consuming. The connection between us feels raw, the walls we've both put up crumbling in the face of something more real.

I close my eyes, letting myself lean into him, allowing the kiss to deepen. Every touch, every movement feels like we're unraveling each other in the best way—tentative at first, like we're both unsure but desperate to be close. I feel his breath against my skin as he pulls away for just a second, his forehead resting against mine. We're both breathing heavily, as if we've been holding our breaths for too long.

He doesn't speak, but his hands move, guiding me gently, pulling me down onto the bed beside him. There's a stillness between us now, like the world outside has disappeared. It's just us in this quiet space, where the weight of everything we've held back starts to settle into something softer. We're not fighting anymore—we're just existing, together.

I don't need words to understand what's happening between us. This isn't about what happened before, or the things we've said in anger. It's about now, about this moment of vulnerability that neither of us knows how to navigate, but both of us are willing to try.