Capture

Confessions Of The Past

Liam didn't hesitate. The second Louis hit the floor, he was already moving—grabbing his helmet, keys in hand, eyes wild. "Liam!" I rushed after him, catching his arm just as he reached for the door. "Stop!"

"Get off me, Emma," he snapped, trying to shake me off.

"No! You don't get to storm out of here without telling me what the hell is going on!" I planted myself in front of the door, heart hammering in my chest. "Who is Trey? Who's Danielle? What aren't you telling me?"

"This isn't the time!" he barked.

"Make time! Louis just collapsed in your doorway covered in blood, and now you're going full vigilante and I have no idea who you're going after or why. I've been helping you—I deserve to know what the hell I'm standing in the middle of."

He ran a hand over his face, frustrated. "Trey's who killed my dad, or put out the hit on him, I doubt it was actually him." 

I felt the air suck out of the room. "And Danielle? Who is she?" My voice cracked. "Liam, talk to me!"

"She's—she's someone I should've protected. Someone I left behind," he said, voice low, almost broken. 

"And Louis?" I asked, gesturing toward the couch. "What happened to him?"

"He probably tried to stop him. Or warn me." His tone shifted—urgent, angry again. "Which is why I don't have time to sit here explaining. I have to go."

I grabbed his arm again, forcing him to look at me. "You said you wanted my help, remember? So stop shutting me out like I'm some clueless bystander."

Liam's nostrils flared. He was torn—anger, fear, guilt all pulling him in opposite directions.

"If you go out there like this, you'll walk straight into whatever Trey has planned," I said. "I don't know what this all is, but I know a classic bait and switch when I see one. He knew where to hit. That's not random—that's bait."

He stared past me, jaw working, fists clenched. But slowly, he lowered the helmet.

"Wait until Louis wakes up," I said, more gently this time. "You need answers before you go rushing off to save someone who might not even be where you think."

He didn't say yes. But he didn't argue either. Instead, he sank into the chair beside the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at Louis like the weight of the past was suffocating him.

I grabbed a damp cloth and began wiping the blood from Louis's face. His skin was clammy and pale, but his breathing was steady.

Liam didn't speak. He just sat there, silent and coiled tight like a spring, eyes locked on his friend like he was daring him to wake up and tell him what he already feared.

I didn't know who Trey was. I didn't know what Danielle meant to him. I didn't know what war we were already losing.

But I knew one thing: I was in it now—whether Liam wanted me or not.

It took two hours before Louis started stirring, moaning incoherently in his sleep. The sound made Liam edgier—he began pacing the apartment, jaw tight, nerves fraying with every minute.

Another hour passed. Then finally—finally—Louis's swollen eye cracked open. Only his right eye. The left side of his face was so bruised and swollen it looked barely human. "Hey," I said softly, stepping into his field of view. He blinked at me, confused. 

Liam froze mid-pace, then crossed quickly to his side, crouching down. "Lou," he said, voice hoarse. "You with me?"

Louis groaned, trying to sit up. His hand flew to his ribs with a hiss. "Fuck..."