Chapter 1: I Understand

Emma's POV

What rotten luck I'm having.

After three years away, I'm finally back in St. Louis. I've only been with El Lobo's outer circle for a few weeks, and this was supposed to be my first big job. But because I had a fever and showed up late, now I'm getting arrested. Just my damn luck.

Police sirens cut through the afternoon silence as I stand outside the convenience store, staring at the mess inside. Several masked robbers have already escaped, leaving only me here like an idiot.

"Freeze! Hands where I can see them!"

"I didn't do anything!"

I slowly raise my hands, keeping my face calm while my mind races. My eyes sweep the area for escape routes, but officers already have me surrounded. They've got their guns trained on me, and one young cop looks nervous as hell.

"Turn around! Hands behind your head!"

I follow orders. Cold metal clicks around my wrists. I can feel people staring, but I have to stay composed.

The police car radio crackles with static during the ride to the station. Two officers up front discuss the case in low voices. I sit in the back with my hands cuffed, trying to find a comfortable position.

Stay calm, Emma. You've trained for this. It's just bad timing. The surveillance footage will prove you're innocent. Most importantly, don't blow your cover.

"We're here. Out."

I take a deep breath, preparing for whatever comes next.

I sit in the interrogation room chair, listening to footsteps outside. I look up, ready to face whatever detective they send, but when the door opens, my world stops.

A man stands in the doorway wearing a crisp police uniform. Tall, broad-shouldered, holding a manila folder. The moment he sees me, shock flashes in his eyes, but he quickly recovers with professional composure.

Oh God. It's him.

Three years, and he's gotten taller, stronger, but those eyes... those eyes that used to look at me with such tenderness are now cold as winter.

We stare at each other for several seconds, tension thick in the air. I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I want to say something, but his expression tells me he doesn't want to listen.

"Good afternoon. I'm Detective Morrison."

His voice is deep and cold, as if he doesn't recognize me. But I know he does. We know each other too well.

He sits across from me, not looking at me but focusing on his documents.

"Name."

"Emma Parker."

"Age."

"Twenty-two."

"Why were you at the scene?"

"I was just passing by. Wanted to buy something."

"What?"

"Cold medicine."

This isn't a lie. I really do have a fever, which made me late and caused me to miss the action.

"Surveillance shows you were the last person to arrive. After the robbers left, why didn't you leave immediately?"

"I was scared."

"Footage confirms you had no involvement in the robbery."

He closes the folder and stands up.

"You're free to go."

Jake turns his back to me, organizing files, clearly not wanting to continue this conversation. I stand up, wanting to say something, but the words won't come.

When I walk out of the police station, it starts pouring rain. I don't have an umbrella and get soaked within seconds. Standing on the street corner, I don't know where to go. I can't tell if what's running down my cheeks is rainwater or tears.

I've rehearsed this moment so many times in my head. Why can't I control my emotions now?

Just when I'm completely lost, a black sedan slowly pulls up beside me. The window rolls down, revealing Jake's stern face.

"Get in."

"I don't need—"

"Get in."

His tone leaves no room for argument.

I hesitate, then climb into the passenger seat. Soft classical music plays inside. I remember this used to be Jake's favorite. But now it sounds like a funeral dirge.

"Where do you live?"

"429 Oak Street."

We drive in silence, only the sound of windshield wipers and music between us. I don't dare look at his face, so I stare out the window instead, catching glimpses of his profile in the reflection. That face I've thought about every single day and night.

The car stops in front of a run-down apartment building. Just as I'm about to get out and thank him, Jake turns off the engine and follows me upstairs.

My room is small and shabby. Just a bed, a table, and a mini fridge. Paint peels from the walls, and the windows let in cold drafts.

"This is it?"

He stands in the center of the room, looking around with growing disgust.

"This is what you wanted?"

I keep my back to him, not daring to turn around and face his questions.

"That's none of your business."

"None of my business?" His voice rises, three years of bottled-up emotion starting to explode. "Emma, do you have any idea what these three years have been like for me?"

"I thought you were dead! Every single day I wondered what if I'd stopped you from leaving that night? What if I'd gone with you?"

I close my eyes, then finally turn around with a slight smile.

"That's all in the past."

"In the past? Yeah, I guess it is for you. Just look at yourself now, Emma!"

"I don't want to be a cop anymore, Jake. The pay sucks, and you face danger every day. I'm sick of it."

Even though I'm smiling, every lie cuts through my heart like a blade.

"For money? You threw away everything we dreamed of for money?"

"I just want to live for myself."

"You're working for the bastards who killed our parents! Emma, your mother is still lying in a hospital bed!"

My smile vanishes instantly. This is exactly what I was dreading to hear.

"Three years, and you haven't even come back to see her once! If it wasn't for me, who would take care of her?"

"That... that was your choice."

My voice trembles slightly.

"Are you even still the girl I knew?"

To protect him, to make him give up completely, I force out the most painful words:

"I was never the kind of person you thought I was. Maybe you never really knew me at all. Those good memories? To me they were just childish games."

Jake stares at me quietly for a long moment, the light in his eyes slowly dying. Finally, he nods.

"I understand."

He walks toward the door, his hand on the handle, pausing for just a moment.

"I'll take good care of your mother. As for you, take care of yourself."

The door closes behind him, and I can't hold on anymore. I collapse to the floor, sobbing. The rain outside covers my cries, but it can't cover the pain in my heart.