Deeper

9. What happened

•••••••• Josh ••••••••

My heart pounded like a war drum as the realization sank in—Brooklyn was in danger because of me. Because Monica couldn’t stand to see me with someone else. Because my past mistakes keep bleeding into my present.

I was a coward once. I broke Monica’s heart. And though I’ve apologized—paid in time, in guilt, in everything—I’ve punished myself long enough. Don’t I deserve happiness, too?

“Get her to the *private elevator*, Frederik,” I instructed, urgency tightening my voice. “You know how far Monica will go. I can’t lose Brooklyn.”

“I’ve got her,” he replied. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”

As soon as the call ended, I locked my office and engaged the reinforced corridor barriers—a failsafe only I could trigger.

Pacing, I poured a glass of whiskey and downed it in one hard gulp. The burn didn’t chase away the guilt. I hurled the glass across the room—it shattered against the wall, glittering shards scattering like my thoughts.

“She deserves better than a man like me,” I muttered, sweeping up the glass and mopping the floor. I couldn’t let her walk into a scene of destruction, even if that’s what I was on the inside.

The elevator dinged softly. Gun drawn, I moved silently until I heard her voice—anxious, but safe.

I lowered my weapon and rushed toward her, pulling her into my arms with a grip that could rival death itself. I didn’t want to let go.

Only when I finally did, awkwardness settled in. I straightened my shirt, fidgeted with my tie like some bashful teenager.

“Well, that was a very warm welcome,” she teased, sitting herself confidently at my desk.

“Sorry... I’m just relieved you're here,” I muttered, still shaken.

Her expression shifted. Arms folded, voice hard. “What the hell is going on? There are men out there trying to kill me. I want the truth, Josh.”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this—”

“Then how was it supposed to happen? Because this is *hell*. I’ve never been in this kind of danger in my life—and it started with *you*.”

“I know.” My voice cracked. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“From who? Why me? Why now?”

I took a breath, then another. “Because I like you, Brooklyn. I’ve liked you since day one. I just never said it out loud. And then Monica... she found out. Now she’s targeting you. Because you mean something to me.”

She stared, reading me like a book—trying to determine if I was lying or just broken.

Then a hard knock echoed through the corridor.

Frederik stood from the couch, tense and alert.

“They’re closing in we need to move. Now.”

I didn’t hesitate. “Secret elevator. Let’s go.”

We moved quickly, slipping through a hidden panel behind the bookshelf. The elevator inside was narrow, dim, and old, but reliable. It descended deep beneath the building, to a garage nobody knew existed except me and my father.

At the bottom, in the stale, cold air of the hidden garage, sat a black 1970s muscle car covered in dust and silence. It hadn’t run in years—but it had something no other vehicle had: old-school armor plating. Not bulletproof by today’s standards, but reinforced enough to give us a fighting chance.

I threw the cover off, jumped in, and turned the key.

Nothing.

“Come on... not today.” I muttered, pumping the gas. Frederik popped the hood and got to work.

Three tries later, the engine roared to life—a low growl that sounded like freedom. I yanked the passenger door open for Brooklyn and floored it toward the hidden ramp that led up to the alley behind the building.

We burst onto the street just as two black SUVs tore around the corner.

“They’re already on us,” Frederik muttered, checking his weapon.

“I know,” I said, gripping the wheel.

The SUVs flanked us fast. Gunfire cracked from behind—bullets pinged off the sides and rear of the car. The old armor held, but it wasn’t indestructible.

Brooklyn ducked low. “We’re not going to outrun them in this thing!”

“Watch me.”

I gunned the engine, weaving through traffic as the chaos spilled onto the main road. Pedestrians screamed. Cars swerved. The roar of engines and shouts from our tail filled the air.

“Did you mean what you said?” she suddenly asked, voice barely audible through the madness.

I met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Every last word.”