His Shortcake

Chapter 33

Tamara Ramirez

"Dy," I called softly, my voice breaking the silence that enveloped the room. He had been glued to his phone since I woke up, fingers flying across the screen in a flurry of urgent messages. I could only assume he was updating Alec on the situation—another reminder that my brother's life revolved around me. The thought made my chest tighten.

I didn't want Alec to drop everything, even if he was my big brother. No matter how much guilt he carried from the past, I held no resentment toward him. He was the best brother anyone could ask for, always protective, always there. But I longed for him to have his own life, free from the shadows of my struggles.

"Are you okay, shortcake? Do you need anything? Water? Food? Just tell me," he said in a rush, his worry palpable.

Before I could answer, he shouted Emil's name, a commanding call that echoed in the otherwise quiet room.

Emil entered promptly, his demeanor a blend of stoicism and vigilance, his gaze deliberately averted from mine. "Sir," he replied, his voice steady but lacking the usual warmth. I could sense the tension in the air. The guilt etched into his features was unmistakable. For someone like Emil, who took immense pride in his duties, the reality of my situation must have felt like a heavy weight on his shoulders. It was clear he saw this as a failure—a stark reminder that he hadn't been able to protect me as he was sworn to do.

The air was thick with unspoken words, each of us grappling with our own turmoil as we navigated this fragile moment together.

"Sorry, Emil. It was nothing. Dustyn is just overreacting," I said, trying to downplay the situation as my hand found its way to Dustyn's. The warmth of his skin calmed me, a comforting anchor in the whirlwind of emotions. "We're fine. Thank you."

"Of course." Emil's voice was clipped, his expression still serious. Without another word, he turned and left the room, the door clicking softly behind him, leaving us in a tense silence.

"Shortcake," Dustyn said, his voice laced with concern as he set his phone down, giving me his full attention. His brows knitted together, his worry evident. "You should lie down."

I shook my head, resisting the urge to sink back into the pillows. It felt like I'd been resting for ages, and the thought of lying down again was suffocating. "I'm fine. What about the twins?" I asked, suddenly aware of their absence, the room feeling emptier without their usual chatter.

"Officer Fields came in a few hours ago. Apollo filed a report," Dustyn explained, his eyes still searching my face, scanning for any signs of injury. "Officer Fields insisted on taking the twins home to let you rest."

A wave of relief washed over me, knowing the twins were safe, but it was quickly overshadowed by the worry still etched across Dustyn's face. I could sense the weight he carried, the protectiveness that pulsed through him as he focused on my well-being.

"I'm fine," I insisted again, my fingers resting gently on top of his, hoping to convey some semblance of reassurance.

Dustyn let out a heavy sigh, his gaze dropping to our intertwined hands. "I'm glad Nica and the twins were there. I can't imagine what would have happened if they hadn't been." His voice carried the weight of unspoken fears, the kind that lurked in the corners of his mind, haunting him.

"I don't even know why I panicked or why I lost consciousness," I admitted, the words tumbling out with a sigh. A fog of confusion hung over me. I had never seen my captor's face—not once. All I could recall were fleeting glimpses of those haunting black eyes, like endless abysses that held no warmth. What lingered most vividly was his voice, deep and resonant, curling around my thoughts like a dark vine whenever he sought to torment me. I could still feel the calluses on his hands, a grim reminder of his roughness, particularly when he touched me in ways that made my skin crawl.