Page 60 of Undying Resilience

As I hold Wren in my arms, my mind starts going over the past two weeks. There’s a lot we still don’t know about her, but there’s one commonality in every situation we’ve faced with her. For some reason, there’s an undying resilience that lies just beneath her consciousness. Based on past conversations, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even see it, but it’s there.

It’s everywhere—in how she’s dealt with her family and Adam, in how she handled the Williams job last week, and in how she refused to give up this weekend even when everything looked hopeless. Her strength doesn’t mean she’s not hurting, I know that. But I’m damn proud of her.

Wren’s stomach growls. She didn’t eat a lot last night because she felt sick, so I’d imagine she could eat an entire pantry’s-worth of food right now.

“Let’s get you some breakfast,” I say. “I don’t want you to go any longer without food. I also may have left Oliver and Rhett alone together, and we should probably make sure they haven’t killed each other.”

She nods. And then we head downstairs together, her hand clasped in mine.

Chapter seventeen

Oliver

After Elliot leaves to find Wren, I get up from my stool. “I’m gonna go check on Jordan. Make sure he’s not dying or something.”

“Not alone, you’re not,” Rhett says gruffly, moving to follow me.

We walk in miserable silence. It’s not often that I wish the floor would open up and swallow me whole, but right now is one of those times.

The way Rhett kissed me last night was so raw and pained that I’m still feeling the aftereffects over twelve hours later. And this morning, I woke up to him holding me—and then immediately leaving me. It was like a stab to the heart, realizing that he held me close while he slept and then pushed me away the second he woke up.

I understand he needs time. No one can turn their emotions on and off like a tap. They ebb and flow, intensify and fade. At this point, it’s a waiting game. I just wish it didn’t hurt so badly.

In Jordan’s room, we find him struggling against the ropes we used to tie him up. His face is bruised and swollen, and his clothes are stained with blood. It satisfies a dark part of me, seeing him like this. It looks like he’s in a lot of pain.

“Why are you making so much goddamn noise?” Rhett snaps.

“I have to pee.”

Rolling my eyes, I move to untie him, but Rhett grabs my shoulder.

“Don’t try anything,” he growls at Jordan.

Jordan stops struggling, eyeing Rhett cautiously. Then he mutters, “This is inhumane.”

I’ve known Rhett for fourteen years—four as one of his best friends, and ten as one of his partners. It takes a lot for me to find him intimidating or scary, mostly because I know he’d never willingly hurt me. But the laugh that leaves him is so hard, so callous, that it has me straightening my spine on instinct.

“Inhumane? Inhumane? Are you fucking serious?” Rhett yells.

Jordan cowers. “I’m sorry.”

“There you go,” I mutter. “Apologizing is the first smart thing you’ve done all weekend.”

That seems to make his temper flare. He kicks at the bed, pulling against the ropes. “You three think you’re so much better than I am. Look in the fucking mirror. How could you do this—”

The rest of Jordan’s sentence is cut off by Rhett slapping him across the face. It’s not that hard, but it doesn’t have to be. Jordan’s face is already such a mess that barely touching it is probably hellish.

We untie him, and Rhett shoves him toward the bathroom, not letting Jordan close the door. There’s a window, and there’s no chance we’re letting him escape.

Once Jordan has finished his business, he reluctantly steps out of the bathroom. Thankfully he doesn’t put up much of a fight as we re-secure him to the bed. He just sits there, seeming to have accepted his fate.

As we leave the room, I look back to find Jordan crying silently, his tears falling onto the bed. But I can’t find an ounce of pity for him. What he did to Wren is unforgivable.

In the kitchen, I go back to sitting at the counter while Rhett paces. I want to talk to him—no, I want him to talk to me—but I can’t force that. So I pretend to stare at the counter while secretly watching him in my peripheral vision.

“O,” Rhett says after a few minutes, stopping in the middle of the kitchen and turning to face me.

“Hmm?” I look up, clenching my fists in my lap where he can’t see.