How Bad Is It
1406 Words
Lana’s POV
“You look terrible.”
I glanced at Damon as he walked through the holding facility doors.
“Good morning to you too.”
He laughed softly, but it sounded tired.
Really tired.
The last few days had carved something out of him. His shoulders looked heavier, he's gotten thinner. Even the way he walked felt different somehow.
For one horrible second, all I could think was— Thank God.
Relief hit me so hard it almost hurt. I grabbed his arm before he could say anything else and pulled him toward the parking lot.
“Come on.”
“Wow.” Damon blinked at me. “No emotional reunion speech? No dramatic crying? I feel robbed.”
“You’re lucky I’m not leaving you here.”
“That sounds more like my sister.”
I rolled my eyes and unlocked the car. The second we got inside, he leaned back against the seat and exhaled slowly.
“Jesus Christ…” He rubbed both hands over his face. “I never want to see another holding cell again.”
“You should’ve thought about that before committing financial fraud.”
“Okay,” he muttered. “There she is.”
I pulled onto the road quietly. Beside me, Damon kept talking about the food, the guards. Some guy named Rick who apparently snored like a dying tractor.
I half listened while traffic crawled around us.
My mind kept circling back to the meeting with Zade Forbes.
I’d walked into that office prepared for war. The conditions were simple, separate bedrooms, no public appearances outside business necessity, a one-year time limit and ull financial independence.
Every condition was designed carefully enough to create distance between us. And Zade had agreed to all of it immediately.
No argument.
No negotiation.
Nothing.
That alone should’ve terrified me more than it did.
The Zade I remembered used to challenge everything, he pushed every edge.
He'd find every weakness in an argument just to see what happened when pressure got applied.
This version of him had simply looked at me and said yes.
Like the conditions didn’t matter.
Or worse—
Like he already knew they wouldn’t stop anything he wanted.
I tightened my grip slightly on the wheel.
Then the other thought slipped in before I could stop it.
He forgot me. Our two years together. The six months living in my apartment because he hated sleeping alone after rehab.
He'd forgotten Greece and that tiny bookstore near the water where he bought three novels he never actually read.
All of it just…
Gone.
I swallowed hard and shoved the thought away immediately.
It shouldn’t matter.
I left him and rebuilt my life without him.
So why did being forgotten feel strangely worse than being left behind?
“…and then the guy actually tried trading cigarettes for extra pudding.”
I blinked and looked over.
“What?”
Damon stared at me. “Wow. You genuinely weren’t listening.”
“Sorry.”
His expression softened slightly.
“You okay?”
“Fantastic,” I deadpanned.
“Ah. Sarcasm. Definitely stable then.”
I snorted quietly despite myself. Then heavy silence settled briefly between us.
Eventually Damon spoke again, softer this time.
“You talked to him?”
“Who?”
“You know who I mean.” He gave me a knowing look. “Maya visited me and told me”
Damn Maya
I kept my eyes on the road. “Yes.”
“How bad was it?”
“Depends what part.”
“The part where you’d rather swallow broken glass than ask him for help.”
I almost smiled at that.
Almost.
“He agreed to help.”
Damon frowned immediately. “That easy?”
Same question I asked myself.
“No,” I said slowly. “Not easy.”
He waited but I didn’t continue.
A few seconds passed before I finally glanced at him.
“What were the other charges?”
Damon froze slightly.
The shift was immediate enough that I noticed it before he even spoke.
“What?”
“Zade mentioned additional charges.” I kept my voice calm. “The ones he didn’t file.”.
Damon looked out the window.
Interesting.
“Damon.”
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck slowly. “It’s complicated.”
“Try me.”
Another silence.
Then—
“The gambling got bad.”
I waited.
“Worse than you think.”
“How bad?”
His jaw tightened.
“I borrowed from people.”
“What people?”
No answer.
I looked at him briefly. “Damon.”
“They were related to the mafia.”
A chill settled heavily in my stomach.
“How much?”
“Lana—”
“How much?”
He looked away. “Close to the amount I'd spent from the company.”
My hands tightened hard around the steering wheel.
Jesus Christ.
For a second, I genuinely couldn’t breathe properly.
“That’s not gambling debt,” I said quietly.
“I know.”
“Who gives out that kind of money?”
He laughed once under his breath but there was clearly no humor in it.
“People who thought the Siegel name guaranteed repayment.”
I stared straight ahead at the road.
“And now?”
“They’ve been patient.” His voice dropped lower. “But they’re not gonna stay patient forever.”
The car went silent after that and it was not the comfortable kind.
I pulled up outside Damon’s temporary apartment building twenty minutes later.
The engine stayed running. Neither of us moved immediately.
Finally Damon looked at me carefully. Probably expecting me to explode now.
I just looked at him. My weak little brother and self destructive. He was extremely terrible at asking for help.
And somehow still the same kid I raised after our parents died.
“You can’t contact them,” I said finally.
He nodded immediately.
“No calls. No promises. No stupid plans you think you can fix alone.”
Another nod.
“I mean it, Damon.”
“I know.”
I looked at him for another second before speaking again.
“Stay inside until I figure out the next move.”
His face tightened slightly at that.
“Okay.”
He opened the car door slowly then paused halfway out.
“I am sorry,” he said quietly.
I believed him. That was the worst part.
“Go inside.”
He nodded once and got out.
I waited until he disappeared through the building doors before pulling away.
The syndicate connection sat badly in my head the entire drive.
Underground lenders and enough money to bury someone.
Suddenly Zade’s words replayed differently in my head.
There were additional charges I chose not to file.
My fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel.
Zade Forbes didn’t stumble across information accidentally.
If he knew about the syndicate, then he’d investigated Damon far deeper than necessary.
Which meant he kept part of the information hidden intentionally.
Why?
The question sat heavily at the base of my skull the rest of the drive home.
Something bigger was happening here.
I just didn’t know what yet.
By the time I reached my apartment building, evening had already settled over the city.
I grabbed my bag from the passenger seat and headed inside.
One bag was all I planned on taking to the penthouse.
The elevator doors opened quietly onto my floor.
Then I stopped walking.
My apartment door was open.
Every instinct in my body sharpened instantly. Slowly, I stepped forward and pushed the door wider.
My purse dropped down from my hands when my living room came to view
Drawers were ripped open, my furniture was overturned and glass shattered across the floor.
The destruction wasn’t chaotic enough to be robbery, every expensive thing was still there.
My laptop, television and jewelry remained untouched.
I moved carefully through the apartment trying to process what had happened.
What the hell? Everywhere was a mess.
I brought my phone to call the police when my eye landed on a clean spot in the middle of the kitchen counter with a single folded note.
I picked it up slowly and it read four words.
We’re coming for him.
I stood there in the middle of the wreckage holding the note while the apartment stayed completely silent around me.
- Writer
