「 ✦ ZAZA AND KENYON ✦ 」

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MJ STUMBLED INTO  Zaza's house, her whole body trembling and her mind a swirling mess of guilt, panic, and lingering adrenaline. She hadn't even planned to come here—it was the only place she could think of that Rafe and his crew wouldn't immediately look.

The house reeked of stale smoke and spilled liquor, and the low thrum of music vibrated through the walls. Zaza appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, her wild curls half-falling out of her bun, and her eyes bloodshot. She looked wired and manic, but MJ barely registered it.

"What the hell happened to you?" Zaza asked, her voice sharp.

"I—" MJ's voice cracked, and her legs threatened to give out beneath her. "I can't stay with them anymore. I can't do this."

Zaza's expression darkened, her lips curling in a sneer. "Oh, so now you wanna show up here, looking for pity? After everything? You think I'm just gonna let you walk in and dump all your shit on me?"

"What are you even talking about?" MJ said, shaking her head, confused.

"You don't think I know about the money you owe? Or how you keep dragging everyone down with you?" Zaza spat, stepping closer. "Kenyon told me everything, MJ. You're just as bad as the rest of them!"

MJ's confusion turned to anger, her voice rising. "Don't you dare put this on me! You and Kenyon have been just as deep in this mess as I have! Don't act like you're better than me!"

Zaza shoved her hard, sending MJ stumbling back into the wall. "You're a goddamn disaster, MJ. Always have been."

"Like you're any better?" MJ snapped, shoving her back.

That was all it took. Zaza lunged, her fist colliding with MJ's face in a sickening crunch. MJ stumbled but didn't have time to recover before Zaza was on her, swinging wildly.

The blows rained down, fists connecting with her ribs, her face, her arms as she tried to shield herself. Zaza was screaming, her voice raw and furious, but MJ couldn't make out the words through the ringing in her ears.

She fought back as best she could, grappling with Zaza and landing a few punches of her own, but she was already weak, her body still reeling from everything that had happened earlier. Zaza had the upper hand, and she wasn't holding back.

The final blow came when Zaza slammed MJ's head against the corner of the coffee table. Pain exploded behind her eyes, and the world went black.

MJ woke to the sound of frantic voices and the sensation of something cold and sticky against her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open, and she realized she was lying on the floor of Zaza's living room. Blood pooled beneath her, and her head throbbed with every beat of her heart.

Standing over her were two men she didn't recognize, their faces hard and dangerous. One of them crouched down, gripping her chin and forcing her to look at him.

"You're finally awake," he said, his voice low and menacing. "We were starting to think Zaza knocked you out for good."

MJ's gaze flickered to Zaza, who was pacing the room, her movements jittery and erratic. She was high—higher than MJ had ever seen her.

"What... what's going on?" MJ croaked, her throat dry and scratchy.

Zaza stopped pacing and turned to her, her eyes wide and filled with panic. "I had to do it, MJ. I had no choice."

"Do what?" MJ asked, dread pooling in her stomach.

"They were going to come after Kenyon," Zaza said, her voice trembling. "I told them we'd figure something out. That we'd settle the debt."

MJ's heart sank as the pieces clicked into place. "Zaza, what did you do?"

One of the men laughed, a cold, humourless sound. "Your friend here thought she could make a deal on your behalf. The problem is, she's not very good at negotiating."

Zaza's voice cracked as she tried to explain. "They said they'd take it easy on you if we covered Kenyon's debt first. I thought—I thought I could fix this!"

"Fix it?" MJ's voice was barely above a whisper. "You sold me out."

Zaza broke down, sobbing as she sank to the floor. "I didn't know what else to do!"

The man still holding MJ's chin leaned closer, his breath hot and foul against her face. "You've been dodging us for weeks, Rosemary. But now? You're gonna pay up. One way or another."

MJ tried to pull away, but he held her firmly, his grip bruising. The other man grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet despite her protests.

"You owe us," he said, his tone ice-cold. "And we always collect."

MJ's vision swam as they dragged her toward the door. She looked back at Zaza, who was curled up on the floor, her sobs muffled by her hands.

"Zaza, don't let them—please!" MJ begged, but Zaza didn't move.

The last thing MJ saw before they hauled her outside was the shattered remains of their friendship, lying in ruins amidst the blood and broken furniture.

The night had spiralled into a nightmare MJ couldn't wake from. The two dealers dragged her out into the cold night air, their grip bruising as they shoved her into the backseat of a car that reeked of sweat, smoke, and despair.

Her protests were weak, barely audible as her body fought to stay upright, every nerve screaming in pain. The car screeched to a halt somewhere desolate, the glow of a single streetlight casting long shadows across cracked pavement. They yanked her out, throwing her to the ground like trash.

"Thought you could run from us, huh?" one of them sneered, kicking her in the ribs.

The pain was blinding, sharp enough to knock the air from her lungs. She curled in on herself instinctively, but they didn't stop. Another kick to her side. Another to her back.

"Get up!" the other barked, hauling her up by her hair. MJ barely had the strength to stand, her knees buckling beneath her.

"Still think you're better than us, Rosemary?" the first dealer hissed, grabbing her face and forcing her to look at him. She could taste the copper tang of blood in her mouth, her lip split and swelling.

"Please," she managed to choke out, but her plea only seemed to amuse them.

"Oh, now you're begging?" the second dealer mocked, pulling a small bag of powder from his pocket. He tapped it against her face. "Let's see how you like this, huh?"

He shoved her to the ground, pressing her head down until her face was inches from the powder they'd spilled across a small, dirty mirror.

"Snort it," he ordered, his voice sharp and menacing.

"No," MJ whimpered, shaking her head weakly.

He didn't give her a choice. Grabbing her by the back of the head, he forced her down, her nose scraping against the mirror as the powder burned through her nostrils. MJ coughed and sputtered, her body reacting violently to the foreign substance.

"That's a good girl," the first dealer said, his voice dripping with mockery.

But they weren't done.

The second dealer pulled a syringe from his pocket, the liquid inside glowing faintly under the streetlight. MJ's eyes widened in terror, her struggles weak and futile as they pinned her down.

"Don't fight it," one of them muttered as he found her arm, the needle biting into her skin.

The sensation was immediate, a fiery rush that flooded her veins and sent her heart racing. Her vision blurred, her body convulsing as the drugs took hold.

She couldn't scream. She couldn't move. The world dissolved around her, the edges of her consciousness fraying as her body betrayed her.

"Shit, she's going under," one of the dealers said, his voice laced with irritation.

"Not our problem," the other replied, wiping his hands on his jeans.

But before they could leave her there to die, the sound of tires screeching to a halt cut through the haze. A sleek black car pulled up, the door slamming shut as a figure emerged.

"Berry," one of the dealers greeted, his tone shifting to nervous respect.

Berry, Rafe's supplier, walked toward them with a calm that was more menacing than anger. His sharp eyes scanned the scene, landing on MJ's crumpled, twitching form.

"What the hell is this?" Berry demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"She owes us," the dealer replied. "We were just collecting."

Berry didn't even respond. He pulled out a wad of cash, peeling off several bills and shoving them into the dealer's hand.

"She's mine now," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "Get the hell out of here."

The dealers hesitated for a moment before nodding, pocketing the money and retreating into the shadows.

Berry crouched down next to MJ, his expression unreadable. Her body was still convulsing, her breaths shallow and erratic.

"Damn it, girl," he muttered, pulling out his phone.

He dialled a number, holding the phone to his ear as he looked around.

"Country Club," Berry said when the line connected. His tone was sharp, impatient. "Your girl's in deep. You'd better get here before she's gone for good."

Without waiting for a response, he hung up, his gaze flickering back to MJ as she fought to breathe, her body wracked with tremors.

Berry lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly as he watched her. "You're lucky he cares," he said quietly, almost to himself. "Not sure why, but you are."

The night was eerily silent, the only sounds were MJ's shallow breaths and the distant hum of the city as they waited for Rafe to arrive.

Berry paced under the harsh glow of the streetlight, his cigarette burning low as he muttered curses under his breath. He glanced down at MJ, her convulsions slowing but her breathing still shallow. She looked like death, her skin pale and sweat-soaked, her lips faintly blue.

"Damn it, this is bad," he muttered before flicking the cigarette to the ground and grinding it under his boot. He pulled out his phone again but hesitated. "Cops show up, we're all screwed. This gets out, I'm going under. You, me, Country Club, all of us."

He leaned down, slapping MJ's face lightly to try to keep her awake, but her eyes rolled back into her head. Her body was limp now, barely responsive. "We can't just leave her like this."

The sound of tires squealing broke through the tension, and Rafe's truck came skidding to a stop on the uneven gravel. He climbed out in a fury, his jaw tight and eyes blazing.

"What the hell happened?" he barked, striding over to Berry and the broken girl on the ground.

"She OD'd," Berry said bluntly. "You're lucky I was here. Those dealers? They'd have left her for dead."

Rafe's gaze darted to MJ, her chest barely moving. His fists clenched, but there wasn't time for anger now. "Get her in my truck," he snapped.

"You carry her," Berry said, folding his arms. "I'm not touching her again. And you better move fast, Country Club. She doesn't have much time."

Rafe didn't argue. He crouched down, carefully gathering MJ into his arms. She felt weightless, her head lolling against his chest as he carried her to the truck.

"Take her to the hospital," Berry said as Rafe opened the passenger door and slid MJ inside. "But listen to me—no cops, you hear me? We all go down if they get involved."

Rafe hesitated for half a second, then nodded grimly. "I got it."

Without another word, he climbed into the driver's seat and sped off, the truck's tires kicking up dust. MJ's shallow breaths filled the cab, a haunting reminder of how close she was to the edge.

The drive to the hospital was a blur. Rafe didn't stop, didn't think, didn't let himself feel the weight of her limp body slumped against the seat. When he finally skidded to a stop outside the emergency room, he jumped out and carried her inside, shouting for help.

The next few hours passed in a haze of fluorescent lights, hurried footsteps, and the hum of machines. Rafe paced the waiting room, running his hands through his hair, over and over, until they felt raw.

When a nurse finally approached, he straightened, his expression hard.

"She's stable," the nurse said. "Barely, but stable. We had to pump her stomach and administer naloxone. She's lucky she got here when she did."

Rafe nodded stiffly, relief warring with anger in his chest.

"She's in recovery now," the nurse added. "You can sit with her if you want."

He made his way to the room but stopped short just outside the door. Inside, MJ lay motionless, her face pale against the stark white sheets. Tubes and wires snaked around her, and the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor was the only sign she was alive.

Rafe leaned against the doorframe, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He didn't know what to say, didn't even know what he could say.

As he stood there, voices from the hallway caught his attention.

"I can't believe it," one officer said, his voice low but carrying. "JJ Maybank—arrested again. This time for dthe estruction of property. You'd think the kid would learn."

"Yeah, and get this," the other officer replied. "His old man, Luke? They're bringing him in, too. Sounds like he's in for a big one this time. The whole family's a damn mess."

Rafe's jaw tightened, his eyes flicking back to MJ. He could see the faintest flutter of her eyelashes, her brows furrowing as she began to stir.

"Great," Rafe muttered under his breath, pushing off the wall and stepping into the room. As MJ's eyes fluttered open, her gaze unfocused and glassy, he sank into the chair next to her bed.

"You're awake," he said, his tone sharp but quiet. "Good. Now you can tell me what the hell you were thinking."

MJ blinked up at Rafe, her vision blurry, her mind sluggish and fogged. It took a moment for her to process where she was—the sterile smell of antiseptic, the beeping machines around her, the weight of her body pressing into the hospital bed. Her throat felt raw, her chest heavy, and every muscle ached like she'd been wrung out.

Rafe was sitting in the chair next to her bed, arms crossed, his face an unreadable mask. He hadn't said a word yet, just watched her like she was a ticking bomb.

"Rafe?" she croaked, her voice weak and cracked.

"Don't," he said, his tone sharp as he leaned forward. His blue eyes cut through her like a blade. "You don't get to talk right now, Rosemary."

Her stomach churned at the sound of the nickname. It felt wrong like she was someone else entirely—a version of herself she didn't recognize. She tried to sit up, but the IV tugged painfully at her arm, and Rafe pressed her shoulder back with a firm hand.

"You need to stay put," he said, his voice tight.

"What happened?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

"You OD'd," Rafe said bluntly, his jaw tightening. "Berry called me, and I had to drag your half-dead body out of some godforsaken crack house. Now, you're lucky to even be alive, but that's just the beginning of this mess."

Her stomach sank as memories of the night came crashing back—Zaza, the dealers, the drugs. The sharp sting in her arm. The darkness.

"I didn't mean..." she started, but Rafe cut her off with a bitter laugh.

"You didn't mean? What's your excuse? You're out here playing Russian roulette with your life, and now you're dragging everyone else down with you. JJ got arrested last night, by the way."

Her breath hitched. "What?"

"Destruction of property," Rafe said, his tone cold. "He's locked up right now. And guess who the cops called this morning about you?"

MJ's throat tightened. "No," she whispered.

"Oh, yeah. Luke," Rafe said, leaning back in his chair. "He doesn't know the full story yet, but he's on his way. And when he gets here, what do you think he's gonna see? His daughter in a hospital bed, strung out, barely hanging on. That's gonna be a fun reunion, don't you think?"

"No," MJ said, shaking her head, her voice rising in panic. "He can't see me like this. Rafe, please. You have to stop him. I can't—I can't face him."

Rafe scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "What do you expect me to do, MJ? Lie to him? Pretend everything's fine? He's gonna find out sooner or later. Hell, the cops are already talking about you like you're the next Maybank problem."

Her chest heaved, panic threatening to choke her. She gripped the blanket covering her, her fingers trembling. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen," she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

"Well, it did," Rafe said, his voice cutting. "And now you've got two choices. Either you keep running, keep pretending you're invincible, or you grow up and face the consequences. But let me tell you something, Rosemary—you keep this up, and there won't be anything left of you for anyone to care about."

Her lip quivered, and she turned her head away from him, unable to meet his gaze. Her mind was spinning, the weight of everything crashing down on her—JJ in jail, the cops calling Luke, her own body barely clinging to life. She'd wanted to believe she could handle it all, but now, staring at the stark reality, she wasn't so sure.

Rafe stood, his chair scraping against the floor. "Luke will be here soon," he said. "You'd better figure out what the hell you're gonna say to him."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving MJ alone with the crushing silence and the storm of her thoughts.

MJ barely had time to wipe her face before the door to her hospital room swung open. Her father, Luke Maybank, stormed in, his heavy boots thudding against the tile floor. He froze the moment he saw her, his weathered face twisted with a mix of concern and anger.

"Jesus Christ, MJ," he breathed, his voice trembling as he stepped closer to her bed. His eyes scanned her pale face, the IV in her arm, and the bruises scattered across her skin. "What the hell happened to you?"

Her lips parted, but no words came out. What could she say? That she'd spiralled so far out of control she didn't even recognize herself anymore? That she'd almost died?

"Dad..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Luke sank into the chair Rafe had vacated, his hands gripping the sides of his head. For a moment, he said nothing, just sat there, staring at the floor as if trying to process the mess in front of him. When he finally looked up, his eyes were glassy, his jaw tight.

"I got a call this morning," he said, his voice low but sharp. "The cops told me my daughter overdosed in some drug den. Do you have any idea what that felt like, MJ? Getting that call?"

Her throat tightened, and she looked away, unable to face the disappointment etched across his face.

"I didn't mean for it to get this bad," she mumbled.

"'Didn't mean'?!" he snapped, his voice rising. "This isn't forgetting to do your homework, MJ. You almost died. Do you understand that? You almost died!"

She flinched, her shoulders curling inward as if to shield herself from the weight of his words.

Luke took a deep breath, running a hand down his face. When he spoke again, his tone was quieter, but no less firm. "You're not staying here," he said.

"What?" MJ blinked at him, confused.

"You're not staying in this hospital," he said, rising to his feet. "They'll just slap a label on you, pump you full of meds, and send you back out like nothing's wrong. No daughter of mine is gonna be treated like some charity case. We're going home."

"But—"

"No buts," he interrupted. He turned toward the door, barking at a passing nurse. "We're leaving. Discharge her. Now."

The nurse hesitated, glancing back at MJ. "Sir, your daughter needs—"

"I know what my daughter needs," Luke snapped. "Just get the damn paperwork."

It didn't take long for the nurses to comply, clearly unwilling to argue with the force of nature that was Luke Maybank. Before MJ knew it, she was being wheeled out to the parking lot, her head spinning from the sudden turn of events.

The moment they were in the car, the tension that had been building between them exploded.

"What the hell were you thinking, MJ?" Luke yelled, slamming his hand against the steering wheel as they pulled out of the hospital parking lot.

"I wasn't—"

"Damn right, you weren't!" he cut her off, his knuckles white as he gripped the wheel. "Do you have any idea what you've done? To yourself? To this family? JJ's sitting in jail right now. and now the cops are sniffing around, wondering if I'm a bad parent. Is that what you want, huh? For them to come take you and your brother away?"

Her chest ached, guilt piling on top of the shame already suffocating her. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen," she said, her voice shaking.

"Well, it did," Luke said bitterly. He glanced at her, his eyes filled with something she couldn't quite name—fear, maybe, or desperation. "You think this is just about you? We're Maybanks, MJ. We don't get second chances. We screw up, and they bury us for it."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

"Sorry doesn't fix this!" Luke roared, his voice cracking. "Sorry doesn't make JJ's arrest go away, doesn't erase the fact that I almost had to bury my daughter this morning."

The car fell into silence, the only sound the hum of the engine and MJ's quiet sobs. For a moment, Luke said nothing, his hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer, but no less stern. "This stops now, MJ," he said. "No more drugs, no more hanging around those people. You're staying home. End of discussion."

MJ didn't respond, too drained to argue. She leaned her head against the window, staring out at the passing scenery, her reflection in the glass a hollow version of herself.

Once Luke pulled the truck into the driveway, he didn't wait for MJ to fully gather herself before yanking her door open. His grip on her arm was iron-tight as he dragged her out of the passenger seat. MJ stumbled, her knees nearly giving out, but Luke didn't pause.

"You think you can just walk back into this house like nothing's happened?" he snarled, hauling her up the steps of their worn-down house. His fingers dug painfully into her bruised skin, but MJ bit her lip, refusing to cry out. She didn't dare give him the satisfaction.

The moment they crossed the threshold, Luke shoved her forward with more force than necessary. MJ's shoulder slammed into the wall, and the back of her head hit hard enough to leave a dent in the drywall. Her vision blurred for a second, and a sharp pain radiated through her skull.

"Goddammit, MJ!" Luke roared, gesturing wildly to the wall. "Look at what you've done now! You can't even walk into the house without breaking something!"

Dazed, MJ pressed her palm to the wall, trying to steady herself and push off, but before she could stand upright, Luke's boot collided with her side. The force of the kick sent her collapsing to the floor, air rushing out of her lungs in a strangled gasp.

"Stay down!" Luke barked, towering over her. "You don't get to stand up. Not after what you've done."

MJ cradled her ribs, her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away, her pride the only thing keeping her from breaking completely.

"You know what your problem is?" Luke said, his voice cold and sharp as a blade. He crouched down, his face inches from hers, his breath reeking of stale beer and rage. "You look just like her. Like your mother." 

His words hit harder than the kick, cutting deeper than any bruise. MJ's lip quivered, but she clenched her jaw, refusing to let him see her cry.

"And you're just like her," he continued, his voice low and venomous. "You think OD'ing in some gutter doesn't affect us? Do you think JJ going to jail doesn't matter? You've ruined everything, MJ."

She flinched at the sound of the chair splintering against the floor but didn't dare respond. Her head throbbed, her ribs ached, and all she could do was curl up on the floor, trying to protect herself from whatever might come next.

Luke stared at her for a moment, his chest heaving. Then, without another word, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard the walls shook.

MJ stayed where she was, too afraid to move. Her body trembled, and silent tears streaked down her face, but she didn't let herself sob. She couldn't. Not here. Not now.

All she could do was wait for the storm to pass and hope that, by some miracle, she'd make it out alive.

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MJ sat on the edge of her bed, knees pulled to her chest, staring blankly at the peeling wallpaper. Her ribs ached every time she breathed, and her head throbbed from where it had hit the wall. She hadn't moved in hours, hadn't dared to. The house was quiet, too quiet, and she wasn't sure if that made her feel safe or more afraid.

The silence shattered abruptly with the sound of shouting. At first, it was muffled, the words indistinct, but as the yelling grew louder, MJ recognized the voices.

Luke and JJ.

Her stomach twisted as she scrambled to her feet, ignoring the sharp pain that flared in her side. She cracked her door open, heart pounding, just as a loud crash echoed through the house.

"GET UP, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" JJ's voice rang out, raw with fury.

Without thinking, MJ bolted out of her room and down the hallway. The pain in her ribs screamed with every step, but she pushed through it. When she reached the front door, the sight before her made her heart drop.

JJ stood in the front yard, breathing hard, his knuckles bloodied and his face bruised. His shirt was ripped, and his left eye was swelling shut. Blood smeared his lip and chin, but his eyes burned with unbridled rage.

Luke was on the ground, leaning on one arm to prop himself up. His nose was bleeding, and a gash above his eyebrow leaked crimson down his face.

JJ loomed over him, his fists clenched, his entire body shaking. "You think you can keep doing this, huh?" JJ roared, his voice breaking. "You think you can put your hands on us, treat us like shit, and just get away with it?"

Luke wiped at his nose, smearing blood across his face. "You're a goddamn punk, just like her. You're nothing, JJ. You hear me? NOTHING."

JJ lunged forward, grabbing Luke by the front of his shirt and hauling him halfway up before shoving him back down with a sickening thud. Luke groaned, clutching at his ribs.

"I should kill you!" JJ screamed, his voice cracking as he fought back tears. "I should end this right now! You don't deserve to breathe!"

"JJ, STOP!" MJ's voice cut through the chaos as she ran toward them.

Both men turned to look at her, but JJ's expression didn't soften. His chest heaved, his knuckles still poised to strike again.

"Stay out of this, MJ," JJ growled, his voice trembling. "This has nothing to do with you."

"Like hell, it doesn't!" she shouted, stepping closer despite the fear coursing through her. "You're gonna kill him, JJ. You're better than this!"

"Better?" JJ laughed bitterly, his voice dripping with despair. "He deserves this, MJ. Every punch, every kick—he deserves it all."

Luke spat blood onto the ground, sneering up at JJ. "You don't have it in you, boy."

"SHUT UP!" JJ roared, raising his fist again.

MJ darted forward, grabbing JJ's arm with both hands. "Please, JJ," she pleaded, tears streaming down her face. "Don't do this. Don't let him win by turning you into him."

JJ froze, his fist trembling in the air. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, it seemed like he might strike anyway. But then his arm dropped, and he stumbled back, his breathing ragged.

MJ stepped between them, facing JJ. "Go inside," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Please. Let me handle this."

JJ stared at her, his expression torn between fury and heartbreak. Then, without another word, he turned and stormed toward the house, slamming the door behind him.

MJ turned to Luke, who was still sprawled on the ground. He smirked up at her, blood staining his teeth. "Nice family you got there, Rosemary," he said, his tone mocking despite the obvious pain he was in.

Her blood boiled at the nickname, but she didn't react. Instead, she knelt beside him, her voice cold. "You're done, Luke. You hear me? This ends now."

Luke chuckled weakly, wincing as he tried to sit up. "You don't get to decide that, girl."

MJ stood, towering over him for the first time in her life. "Maybe not," she said, her voice low and steady. "But if you ever touch JJ again, I swear to God, I'll finish what he started."

She turned and walked back into the house, slamming the door shut behind her.

Inside the house, the tension lingered in the air like a storm that refused to pass. MJ leaned against the door, her head tipped back and her chest heaving. Her ribs ached, and her vision swam from the adrenaline crash, but her mind raced too fast to let her sit still.

JJ paced the living room like a caged animal, his hands shaking as he ran them through his hair. "I almost killed him," he muttered, his voice low and raw. "I swear to God, MJ, I was this close."

MJ pushed herself off the door and stumbled into the room. "He deserved it," she said flatly, collapsing onto the threadbare couch. She winced as her ribs protested, but she forced a bitter laugh. "Honestly, I wish you'd done it."

JJ froze mid-step and turned to face her. His face was a mess of bruises and cuts, but his blue eyes burned with an intensity that matched her own. "No, you don't," he said, shaking his head. "We're better than him. We have to be better."

"Better?" MJ barked out a laugh, wincing again. "JJ, we're disasters. Look at us! We're a couple of broken, beaten-up messes with no money, no future, and no idea what we're doing."