Chapter Seventy-Five: Guardian in the Shadows
865 Words
-----Silas's POV-----
Silas wasn’t built for comfort.
He wasn’t the man you hugged. Or the one who stayed behind. He was the one people feared in nightmares and whispered about in backrooms. His hands were calloused, his arms inked with the kind of stories no one told twice. His boots had touched more blood than carpet. And his silence? That was where the screams went to die.
But right now, his arms were full.
Full of Emma, clinging to his neck like a koala, her tiny fingers twisted in his jacket collar.
Lily sat next to him on the tailgate of the black ops van, chewing the edge of a granola bar with quiet, suspicious eyes.
They didn’t know him.
He didn’t blame them.
The only reason they weren’t crying anymore was exhaustion. He could see it in their faces. Smudged with dirt. Pale from cold. Lips chapped, fingers trembling. Their clothes were too thin. Their hair matted. Their cheeks hollow.
No child should look like this.
And no f*****g human should’ve let it happen.
He gritted his teeth, his jaw ticking like a fuse.
He wanted to go back inside. He wanted to help Axton. He wanted to shove a bullet between the eyes of every bastard responsible.
But Lily was watching him.
So he forced the storm back down.
He opened a bottle of water and held it out.
“You’re not gonna yell?” she asked.
His brows knit. “At you?”
She nodded.
“I don’t yell at good girls.”
Lily’s eyes shimmered.
“Drink,” he said, softer now.
She did.
Emma shifted, her head on his shoulder.
“I’m hungry,” she mumbled.
He reached into the rations bag and pulled out a protein bar. Unwrapped it. Broke it in half.
One for each.
They ate in silence.
And that’s when he noticed it.
Their fingers.
Filthy.
Under their nails—dried blood.
Not fresh. Not a wound. This was from trying to claw out of something. Maybe a wall. Maybe a crate. Maybe each other’s hands, holding too tight in the dark.
He blinked.
And for the first time in years, his throat burned.
He reached into his coat and pulled out the smallest thing he had—an old, folded handkerchief, barely used.
He dipped it in water.
And started wiping Emma’s hands.
Gently. Softly.
She watched him with wide eyes.
“You got big hands,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” he said. “They’re better for fighting.”
Lily sniffed. “Are you Axton’s best friend?”
Silas paused.
“No,” he said. “But he trusts me.”
“Do you have kids?” she asked.
He cleared his throat.
“Trying,” he said finally. “With my wife. We’ve been hoping.”
“Will they be nice?”
“I hope so.”
“Will they be safe?”
He looked up.
And for the first time, Lily saw the truth behind those sharp eyes. Not just anger. Not just power.
But pain.
“They’ll be safe,” he promised. “Because no one will ever hurt them. Not while I breathe.”
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The door opened.
Morgan stepped out. Blood on her sleeves. Gun in hand.
“Axton’s not responding.”
Silas’s heart dropped.
Lily stiffened.
Emma whimpered.
Morgan caught his eye and shook her head.
“I’m taking Rourke and Price. We’re going back in. Stay here.”
He nodded.
She hesitated.
Then added, “Keep them warm.”
She didn’t need to say what she meant.
Keep them safe.
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After they left, Silas stayed in the open van with the heater running.
He wrapped both girls in a thermal blanket and sat with them on his lap, his massive arms like a fortress around their tiny bodies.
And for a while… he just held them.
“Tell us a story?” Lily whispered.
He blinked.
A story.
From a man who only knew death.
He closed his eyes.
And remembered something.
“My dad used to tell me about a lion,” he said. “Not the kind in books. A real one. Mean. Strong. Scared of nothing.”
Lily listened.
“But the lion didn’t live in a zoo. He lived in a world where people hunted him. Hurt him. Tried to cage him. He fought back. Bit. Clawed. Escaped.”
Emma blinked up at him. “Did he get out?”
Silas smiled.
“He did. And one day, he found a cub. One that was scared and hungry and alone. And the lion took her in. Raised her. Taught her how to roar. And when people came again to hurt her… the lion tore them apart.”
Lily was crying.
Silas wiped her cheek gently.
“Sometimes,” he said, “lions don’t need to roar to be strong. Sometimes, they just need to hold you until the storm passes.”
Emma fell asleep first.
Then Lily.
And Silas—
Silas sat in the dark, listening to the wind and gripping the sidearm at his waist.
Waiting for his brother to come out.
And ready to burn the world if he didn’t.
- Writer
