Journey to You

Chapter Nine

Cost of Admittance

Here's another chapter! We're getting closer to where I left off writing but I'm trying to get more done because this story will probably wrap up before too much longer! We'll see, sometimes things go out of my control, and my plans change.

"So you feel entitled to a sense of control

and make the decisions that you thin are your own

You are a stranger here, why have you come?

Why have you come, lift me higher, let me look at the sun

Look at the sun and once I hear them

clearly, say

Who, who are you really?"

Who are you, really? by Mikky Ekko

The roar of the bike's engine soothed Daryl's nerves as he led the single car down the dirt road that led to an oasis that had dried up all those months ago. He remembered back to that night when the group had fled the farm. A part of him, a large part, was glad that he had managed to stick with these people, his family, one built from trust, and experience. Another part, the one that constantly thought of his family, wished that he was out there, drifting, increasing his chances of finding them.

That line of thinking always brought on a deep sorrow, a well that was nearly bottomless, as it threatened to drag him under and drown him. Once those thoughts were allowed to freely take hold inside his head it took a lot to drag himself back out of the devastating space.

It was not the mental space that he needed to make sure he kept the other two safe while they were out here. Rick had sent only three of them back for the things they had left behind, hoping for food, and medical supplies, and that another group hadn't already stumbled upon it, and ravaged it all. Recently they had found the prison and made it safe, but now it was time to settle in and survive there for the long term, and getting the supplies they had left behind would go a long way in helping with that goal.

If it hadn't been for the constant need to move during the winter, to survive, they would have made their way back by now, but something had always forced them in the opposite direction of the farm.

Coming to a stop in front of the house, the first thing Daryl took notice of was how all the Walkers from that night had been cleared out. There should have been many of the dead littering the yard of this place. They had taken a stand before fleeing this place, but there were no signs of the battle that had taken place.

He gazed in concern, and confusion toward Maggie, when she stepped out of the vehicle with Glenn. Daryl had thought it would be hard for her to return, but she was taking it much better than he expected. Like him, they were just as confused at what they were witnessing.

"Startin' to look like our supplies might be gone," he said, biting on his cheek, saying what was on their minds. He'd be surprised if any of the food had been left behind.

"At least there should still be some of our things left behind," Maggie said, deciding to stay strong. "It would be nice to have more options for clothing." All of theirs had begun to become a little threadbare, coming apart in places, and looking more like rags by the end of the winter rather than clothes.

Daryl was itching to get inside but refused to move without them, knowing it was safer to go together. Maggie hadn't been the only one that left their bags behind. Everyone had, but Daryl hadn't managed to grab his own, which held the most precious thing left to him.

Sometimes, when he closed his eyes and tried to picture the faces of his wife, and son, he found it harder than it should be. It crippled him, causing his heart to ache, as he spent hours desperately chasing after any detail that floated aimlessly inside his mind. Maverick would be older now, he had been rapidly changing when Daryl last saw him, he couldn't imagine the stark differences there would be now. Would he even recognize him anymore?

The thought left a hollow feeling inside of his chest where his heart should have been.

He led the way inside, carefully making sure it was safe, before shooting inside, and quickly clearing the house.

Maggie had gone instantly into the kitchen, while Glenn and himself walked toward the bags, all still piled up in the corner of the living room, but the one he was looking for was missing.

Cursing under his breath, he began to look around, not spotting it anywhere, and growing more agitated by the second. He knew he had tossed it somewhere close by the others. It had been a long winter, but he had played this memory over inside his head, assuring himself of where the picture would be until he could get his hands on it again. It was why he had volunteered for this and hadn't decided to stay back at the prison and made sure the prisoners they allowed to stay kept to their end of the deal.

He knew whoever had gone would have grabbed whatever it was that he asked for, but Daryl had to make sure this wasn't accidentally left behind.

Except, his fucking bag wasn't where he left it, and it was nowhere in sight. Whatever asshole that had been here, obviously for a long while, otherwise they wouldn't have bothered clearing the yard, had taken it with them.

Daryl felt like punching something.

The irritation that had built under her skin threatened to break through, and the only thing keeping him from flinging one forward was the fact that this was Maggie's home. It would upset her. He shoved that old, familiar action deep inside himself as he knocked his head against the wall roughly instead. His eyes squeezed shut as he tried imagining their faces again, bringing them forward in his mind's eye, but they were blurry, not fully formed, as the details tried to grow hazy with time.

"Hey," Glenn called out. "Isn't this your stuff? It's not in your bag."

Daryl wrenched himself from where he had leaned in despair against the wall. Grabbing the bag, a little rougher than planned, he quietly apologized, before roughly shoving everything out of the bag. It was his clothes, but several were missing, along with the picture, and in his rush to get to the bottom, Daryl didn't notice the piece of paper fluttering free from a shirt as it fell to the floor.

"What's this?" Maggie asked, having joined them from the kitchen, looking disappointed at her lack of finding food. "Looks like whoever was here cleared out all of the food." Growing curious she opened the letter before narrowing her eyes. "Who's Calla Dixon?"

The bag fell from his fingers, completely forgotten, no longer worried over the missing photo, because there was only one way Maggie would have uttered Calla's name.

He hadn't mentioned his wife, and child, only hinting at it on his more vulnerable days, but the action of speaking out loud, of telling the group of his family, always left a lump in his throat. Nothing ever made it past the notion that it hadn't always just been Merle with him. They were curious, wishing to know more about the silent hunter, a part of their family, but no one ever pushed it. They had sensed the sadness, how much it hurt, and were quick to change the subject.

She had been here.

His heart soared at the notion.

Calla had been here, alive, and well. She had left him a note. They had taken the photo. His bag. The food. He couldn't even find himself disappointed in the fact that it was all gone. Not when it clearly had gone to keep his family alive. His family was still out there. He had a direction to go in, something vague, and would lead to nothing, he already knew it. She had signed her letter with the first winter, meaning he had missed her by a couple of months. It was unlikely, without knowing a specific place, that he would find her by wandering around. They had moved on out of necessity, staying for however long they could, but they were gone. Still searching for him as he was for them.

It lit up a new heat inside his heart. They had been alive just a little while ago, and Daryl knew they still were. Whether she was following his signs or not, she was out there searching for him, and wouldn't give up.

Neither would he.

· ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── ·

The dinners at Phillips had stopped, Maverick had asked, and Calla simply answered that Phillip was no longer a friend of theirs. He had been confused at first, but he was young. It hadn't taken long before he stopped asking altogether, and just accepted the new way of their life, just like he had when they first started the dinners.

Martinez was still coming around, but instead of meeting at Phillips, he came over to her apartment. They had continued the weekly meetings, Calla believing he should have starved a long time ago, the man couldn't cook and had taken pity on him.

She couldn't get it out of her head, how he had been the one to give them food, allowing them to last just a little longer, and had become someone she could rely on during her time in Woodbury. That didn't mean the constant state of paranoia and unease weren't on edge when he was around. She just trusted him a little more than she would anyone else and felt there was a debt to repay back when it came to him.

For Martinez's part, he didn't question when the Governor told him not to come to the dinners anymore, or how Calla was never seen talking to him unless he cornered her for work. He didn't try to get her to rethink her decision.

They fell into a comfortable new routine.

That didn't mean Calla didn't struggle daily with the desire to disappear, to run away, and put distance between her and Phillip. Slowly, over time, he had begun to reveal a different side of himself. It wasn't pretty, it triggered every single cell in her body that told her to run, but Calla was beginning to think that it wouldn't be that easy. Martinez may be her only ally in this place, but even she knew there was only so much he could do, and if it came down to an order, his will to live was stronger than any sense of responsibility he felt toward her. Calla could feel that the part of her shrouded in paranoia may not have been as crazy as she thought.

She may have fucked up coming here.

Calla was stuck now and would do what was needed to survive.

She wanted her bat back, something that had been taken when she first got here and had never been returned. Calla knew she could make a new one but that one held importance to her, it had been through a lot with her, and she found comfort in knowing that it had kept them alive.

"Hey, Calla," called out a voice, someone she vaguely recognized, but hardly ever dealt with. "Could you help me with the newbies? The Governor is a little busy right now with someone else and can't do it himself."

The only reason she bothered even stopping, and not continuing walking, Calla did not like dealing with people, let alone the new ones, was the voice that she heard directly after. It was familiar, one she hadn't heard in months, and it brought on a wave of relief, and for the first time in a long time, an actual want to be around someone.

"Dixon?"

Calla spun sharply on her heel, aborting the action of escaping, as she stared wide-eyed at the taller woman, who had barely changed since they last saw one another.

Michonne looked well enough, dirty, if a little hungry, but what had changed the most was the way she held herself. Gone was the woman who smiled easily, and in her place was one who seemed to have perfected the scowl that stated her dislike over the situation. She looked like a perfect reflection of what Calla felt like on the inside.

Calla couldn't help noticing the lack of Andre on her hip, and instead, a blonde woman hovered close by, like she was worried about getting separated from Michonne. They both looked unsteady and uncertain of their surroundings, and Calla couldn't blame them. She had been the same way and still was.

"Michonne? When did you get here?"

"Buddy of theirs brought them in," said the guy, looking annoyed, as he expected her to just take the two women off his hands, and be done with it.

"I wouldn't call him a buddy," the blonde muttered darkly.

"Look, I got to be somewhere else, can you take them to the apartment set up for them? It's a few buildings down from yours."

Calla knew what he was talking about. She had noticed it being prepared earlier in the morning and now knew why.

"Sure." Her answer was short, clipped, but the man didn't seem to mind, or care, as he quickly ditched them as soon as the word left his lips.

"You two know each other?" the blonde asked.

"Met back at the beginning," Calla said, not certain why she was replying at all. Maybe it was her excitement at seeing Michonne again. One person she felt she could actually trust, even with-it being months since they last saw one another. For a second Calla felt like she could breathe easier. Knowing there was someone here that didn't know Phillip and wouldn't immediately be swayed by his words.

"She has good stories," Michonne said, an effort of a smile pressing against her lips, before they fell, and the serious stern look came back.

"Come on." Calla waved them forward. "I'll show you your place."

Calla didn't bring up Andre or ask what happened back at the refugee camp, she knew it would be a sore subject, and there was no reason to alienate the one person she actually wanted to be around. She did tell Michonne about how Martinez was here, and though it brought up a small interest, it wasn't enough to drag much out of her. Andrea ended up being a well of conversation, constantly asking questions, and wanting to know what was going on around here. Calla quickly decided she would direct her straight toward Phillip, and let him deal with it, as Calla did not have the patience, nor want, to explain anything. It would piss him off, as it was Calla's job technically to be the one to handle this, and that thought only brought on a hint of joy.

She had almost completely written Andrea off when the woman mutters her last name, tilting her head to the side, and comes to a stop in the middle of the street as if something just clicked in her head.

"You called her Dixon, right?" she asked, turning toward Michonne. Her tone of voice had grown softer, no longer the commanding and demanding one that she gave to Calla, as Michonne was someone she respected. "Any relation to Merle? I bet he drives you crazy living in this community with him if you aren't. Am I right?" The blonde shook her head, looking amused by something, as she shrugged carelessly.

Calla, who had started to grow annoyed at the unexpected stops, those seemed to be quite frequent with this one, her curiosity knew no bounds, came to a sudden screeching halt as well, before turning, and clearing the distance between them quickly. The blood in her veins chilled, her heartbeat speeding, threatening to break free, as she focused on the words, and what they implied.

Did she just imply that Merle was here?

In Woodbury?

A vice-like grip strangled her heart at the implications of what that meant.

Nothing other than needing to know was circulating through Calla's mind, as she reached out, grabbed at Andrea's shirt, and dragged her forward, yanking the other woman almost off balance, as Andrea gasped, and Michonne stepped forward. Her carefully guarded expression almost dropped, revealing one of confusion, and concern as she had never seen Calla react this way before in the past. There seemed to be an almost desperate, dangerous, sort of way that Calla was holding herself, and it put both women on edge. Michonne hovered close, watching, and waiting to see what Calla would do before she tried to separate the two.

"Merle is here?" Her fingers dug in painfully, causing Andrea to wince, as she tried prying the smaller women from her. "What did you mean?" It only caused her to dig in deeper, no trace of sanity, or coherency leaking from Calla, as her eyes had turned wild. A plea had been ripped from her lips, begging, needing to know what had been kept from her. Had Merle been within her grasp?

What hadn't she known?

"Calla, calm down for a second," Michonne said, reaching out to touch her arm, but Calla held firm. "Let Andrea speak. This isn't like you."

No. It wasn't like the Calla that Michonne had known, but Calla had been twisted, and warped, the winter dragging out a survivor, coaching her into someone new.

She was more like the sick rather than the living.

When would people understand that?

"What about Daryl? Is he here?"

Her fingers had begun to shake, and his name falling from her lips had Calla close to crumbling, as she watched confusion deepen inside Andrea's eyes, just in time for her to shake her head in denial.

"Daryl?" Andrea denied. "No, Merle wouldn't have been asking about him too if he was here. Who are you? Do you know Daryl?"

Something inside of Calla, the part that clung to the idea of seeing Daryl again, withered, drying up, as whatever moment of hopeful excitement had filled her, was dampened once again. Her fingers, which had started to cramp, loosened, as she felt her head fall forward, hanging as Calla began to take deep breaths. She was trying to calm herself, to force the tears back, to keep them at bay, as she struggled to grasp onto anything that would keep her from falling apart.

Daryl wasn't here.

But Andrea had mentioned Merle, that she had spoken to him, and that meant he was here, somewhere nearby. She just needed confirmation.

"You said Merle was here?"

"Of course. I was under the impression he lived here. How do you not know that?"

Andrea was beginning to feel frustrated by the bombardment of questions, but no answers, and it left her more confused with each word that left Calla's lips.

"Where?"

"I don't know. If you know him and share a name, shouldn't I be the one asking you that? Are you guys related or something? I don't remember them ever mentioning your name, but Daryl seemed pretty intent on leaving clues behind for someone to follow. Always just assumed it was for Merle." She had never really focused on the hunter of the group. She hadn't bothered to ask him much of anything, and only felt relieved that Merle wasn't around to hit on her anymore.

Calla took a step away from Andrea as she continued to prattle on, demanding answers that Calla wasn't interested in answering. She was no longer any use to her. She didn't know where Merle was. She may have known Daryl, but it was obvious she no longer knew anything about him as well.

Turning to Michonne, the one who hadn't spoken up since initially trying to intervene, and who had been watching her carefully, Calla decided to direct her next question toward her.

"Where did you last see him?"

"We haven't seen him since last night. He was talking to that man that calls himself Governor."

Calla bristled at that.

For months that man had been telling her that he hadn't heard of the name Dixon before she dropped into their lives. That he hadn't known who Daryl or Merle was, but that he would have someone out looking for them. She felt like she couldn't breathe. As if all the air had been squeezed from her lungs. Calla began to feel faint as if she was about to float away or fade into darkness. It all felt like too much, as if she was going to pop.

"Did they act like they knew one another?"

The question felt like torture, trying to get her lungs to work properly, just so she could ask. Calla had to know. How bad had she fucked up?

"They were pretty chummy," Michonne reluctantly admitted. She watched as a variety of emotions clung to Calla's face, dragging her deeper, as she grew as pale as a ghost before something sparked back to life within the depths of her whiskey-colored orbs.

Anger.

White, hot, burning rage prickled at the back of her mind, darkening her eyes, as the realization of Philip knowing where Merle was this whole time engulfed her thoughts. A piece of her family, someone she would have died to find, had been right there the entire time, and Philip had known.

"I'm sorry I can't take you the rest of the way to your apartment," she muttered, taking a step back, as that anger burned brighter inside of her. "I wouldn't recommend sticking around for very long. The Governor is an ass."

Her fingers curled reflexively, the desire to have her bat back in her hands uncomfortable, as she thought about swinging it straight at Philip's face. They had danced around one another, like a game of chess, and it would seem that Calla had finally learned a vital part of Philip, and it wasn't one that made her warm up to him in any way.

"Where are you going?" Andrea frowned, watching as their guide, their second guide, made to ditch like the last.

"I've got to speak to the Governor."

She wouldn't be uttering his name anymore, the one he had wished for her to call him, as the Governor seemed a better depiction of the man.

"Maybe you should calm down first," Michonne tried, beginning to worry for her old friend. Calla may not have been someone she had been able to grow incredibly close to in their short time of knowing one another, but they had become friends, and Michonne still felt a spark of loyalty toward the woman.

"Naw." Something dark and twisted clouded her features, warping Calla's normally charming face, into rough corners and harsh expressions. "I think it's about time the Governor starts telling me the truth. We're long past due for a real conversation."

"Shouldn't you be looking for Merle first?" Michonne wasn't sure she wanted Calla around the brash, and gruff man, but she hadn't gotten a very good feeling from this Governor guy, and it set her on edge that Calla was going to storm up to him in this mood. Out of both of the men she seemed to have a better relationship with Merle and Michonne thought it would have been a better idea for her to go after the one she wasn't angry with.

"I'll figure out where my brother-in-law is after I talk to the Governor. Merle's always had a habit of appearing where he's not wanted, and something tells me the Governor really doesn't want him around me."

Calla felt the urge to ditch her original plan and just go after Merle first, to finally see a part of her family that she desperately missed, but that anger wouldn't be snuffed, and setback for later. It desired for her to rush at the Governor, to accuse, fight, and maim. A more bloodthirsty part of her was slowly rising from the flames, and Calla was helpless in denying it. It clicked into place, settling into her mind, and bones. She didn't hesitate in turning around and leaving her charges. Michonne was smart, she would figure it out, and Calla hoped she would decide to leave as Calla planned as soon as another piece of her family joined them.

No one dared to approach her as she stormed through the town. Her face was stony, and anyone who had dared to look in her direction quickly glanced away.

Not knowing where he would be, Calla checked his office first, before making her way toward his apartment, hoping he was there, and not outside the walls, away from her clutches. The anger that festered inside of her would only grow out of control until she could take it out on the person that had made her this way.

Not caring about etiquette or what was considered nice, Calla twisted the door handle to his apartment and upon it giving in, announcing that he was home, she threw open the door. Calmly, the man in question turned, looking surprised, before it gave way to confusion at whom he saw.

"What do I owe this pleasure?" he asked, moving round the table as he sat a map on top of it. "I was under the impression you were avoiding me."

"Not avoidance when I made it clear I didn't want to have anything to do with you outside of what was forced by my staying here."

"Are you here to say you're leaving because if so I'm gonna have to advise against that." He didn't try to tell her that it was about her health. They both knew they were beyond the regular excuses.

"You've known about Merle this entire time." Calla didn't have it in her to play this game with him. To dance around what needed to be said until he admitted it, or she grew pissed enough to toss it at him. She was already there. "How long has he lived here? Before, or after, we arrived. I haven't seen him around so I'm assuming you've made some reason to keep him holed away, or outside the walls."

She was only given a flicker of surprise, of disturbing dislike, at the knowledge that she now possessed before Phillip wiped it off his face, and it was replaced with a carefully portrayed nicety.

"You've been talking to the newcomers."

It caused Calla's stomach to flip harshly at the thought that everyone in this town had known about Merle and her sharing a last name, but no one bothered to mention it. She was certain it had to do with this man in front of her. She had been out of it for days when they first arrived. Plenty of time to spin a story and keep her in the dark.

"You should have told me."

"I didn't see a point in it. He was out, searching for his brother, this Daryl, already. He hardly ever entered Woodbury except to drop off supplies or pick up more. I've had little need for the brash, and easily angered hothead inside Woodbury, so I was more than happy to fund his little search for his family."

"Except, I've been here, and since I haven't seen a trace of him you haven't told him."

"He's only been here once since you've begun to stay with us. Yesterday. When he dropped off our newcomers. I hadn't done it out of anything other than having no way to contact him. I did tell him last night, but he seemed content with the fact that the two of you were safe and planned to leave once more to find Daryl."

Calla shook her head, denying his words before they ever even left his lips because she had expected something like this. Philip was a liar. She knew Merle. He was rough around the edges and had a mouth on him that didn't know when to shut up, but he cared about his family. More than anything. Even if what Philip said was the truth, and this had been the first time Merle had been back in Woodbury since they arrived, he wouldn't have just shrugged and not tried to find Calla, and Maverick. He would have demanded to see them.

She was starting to believe he would have even tried taking them away from this place.

Woodbury was not what Calla had thought it was. She was seeing its darker side, its leaders' darker side, more and more every day.

"I think you're lying." Calla continued to shake her head, spitting out the words harshly, as she began to pace. Her fingernails dug into her skin as she hesitated in acting on the urge of throwing a punch at Philip's face, right here, right now. "Merle wouldn't have just abandoned us like that." In Calla's heart, if Merle had done that, it would have been seen as abandoning them. Daryl wouldn't have allowed it to happen. Merle would have known that. Kin was everything to that man. Merle wouldn't have tolerated it.

"I'm sorry to say that he did."

"Shut up! Just shut up, stop sprouting out lies, and just tell me the truth already. I'm sick and tired of everything coming out of your mouth being nothing but a lie."

"What do you want me to say, Calla? That I've been lying to you because I have. I feel bad about it because I don't. If I had told you any of that, if I'd given you the truth from the very beginning, you would have fled. You're right. Merle has been here many times since you arrived, but I wasn't going to tell that asshole about the family he's been looking for because he would have just taken you away from Woodbury. He likes to play that his loyalties lie with me, but I see it. The moment he found that brother of his, or you, he would have been gone, and then I'd be a man short, someone who does a damn good job of following orders that I give, and a woman I've fantasized about being in my bed, and at my side."

Instinctively, Calla took a step back when Philip grew nearer. She was still pissed off, and itching for a fight, but Calla knew he was bigger and stronger than her. She would need to be careful, or the fight, if he wanted to, would be over before it started. Calla refused to flinch at his words, as he spoke about her being with him, could see the moment of desire that imprinted itself in his expression. It was as if he had decided to give up pretending, he didn't want her. That the charade he put up was no longer needed.

If Calla had been thinking more clearly and hadn't been driven by her rage, she would have been put on the defensive, taking this as the clear sign of danger that it was.

All she was thinking about was how she would attack him if he took another step closer or uttered another disgusting word about them being together.

"Tell me where I can find Merle, and we'll be leaving. There's no reason for us to stay here anymore. It's clear to me that our desires in life are vastly different. I no longer wish, nor want, to be here."

His eyes darkened.

"Now, Calla, after everything I've done for you, you'd just leave? All of those resources I willingly gave to you to help you get better, and you believe you can just fucking leave. Like that? You've barely begun to pay me back. You're not going anywhere until I've decided that you're no longer in my debt."

Calla saw it, the way his body tensed, muscles rippled, as he leaned to his left, right before he lashed out, clearing the distance between them. Her knee came up, jabbing him in the gut, as she harshly brought down her elbow on his back, as she felt the way the blow rippled throughout her bones, causing her to feel achy, and weak far too soon in any fight. She still wasn't in her peak condition. Even after all the healing she had undergone.

"Don't fucking touch me."

Instead of backing up as she should have, what would have been smart, Calla allowed the side of her that had been living out in the wild to merge and take over. She wanted nothing more than to rip him to shreds, to let it be known how fucked it was to keep her family from her and to lead her around like the asshole he was. Calla was far from being satisfied with yelling at him before leaving. She wanted him to feel the pain that she was currently experiencing. To have it rip through his chest, to burn in his bones, as he struggled to breathe, and think straight.

As soon as he gasped for breath when her hits made contact Calla was moving again. She tackled him to the ground, fists wailing, as she hit everything that came within reach. Philip struggled to contain the rage that was littering down upon him as he made work of grabbing for her hands and trying to contain them within his own.

"You could have been mine," he growled out, snatching up one of her fists, and tugging her violently to the side. "Things would have gone smoother. I could have given you safety and comfort, and you wouldn't have needed anything. It's been hell trying to get past your defenses. To get to know you. To show you what I could have given you."

"You're fucking crazy. I never wanted any of that from you." Not from him. Calla wanted Daryl. He gave her all of that. She didn't need it from this psycho. "I made it clear what I wanted, and you kept that from me!" That's what had pushed her to this point. His secrets of the one thing Calla wanted more than anything else in the world.

She lunged forward again, not allowing him to gain his bearings, or for his shoulders to even leave the wood of the floor. Her fingers made to grip at his face, intent on gouging her fingers through his eyes, just as she had done to the man in the past. Nothing else would have made her satisfied other than to know that she had blinded him and made him weak to this new world of theirs.

He was sick and twisted.

Calla may have been the same.

It easily fled from her thoughts as he fought against her.

"I've fucking wanted you from the moment I saw you on that road." He growled as he knocked her loose, rolling her to the side, and before she could react, he shoved himself on top of her, pinning Calla in place. "I get what I want, Calla. You don't know that yet, but this town perseveres because I'm not scared of taking what is needed. I do whatever I have to. You'll be no different." He locked his hands around her wrists, pinning them above her head, against the floor as he breathed heavily. Her hips came up, bucking against him, trying to knock him away or hook a knee underneath him, but Philip stayed in place. Excitement had entered his gaze. "If I can't have you willingly, then I'll just have you any way that I can. It didn't have to be this way, but you've forced my hands. Maybe a few months inside the room I've prepared for you will change your views."

Calla froze, the excitement had been twisted, and tainted with desire, as he gazed down at her, and paired with his words, Calla didn't want to find out what room he had made up for her.

The part of her that knew how to survive was calling loudly, giving her the strength, she needed, as he leaned closer to her, his nose running across her jaw, down her neck, to her collarbone.

Yanking with her hand, she was able to free herself, but as she didn't move to attack him Philip had taken her, freezing up as fear, that she was now docile, and wouldn't be moving in hopes that he wouldn't do as he said.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of Maverick, I won't let anything happen to him until you've decided to come back to us."

Tensing, Calla forced herself not to react to those words, that burning anger almost gaining the best of her, but she forced it back down, as she focused on searching the floor above her hand for the pen that had fallen during their struggle.

He would not have anything to do with her kid.

Calla would make sure he died before he touched her son.

His nose brushed between the valley of her breasts, and instead of fear, determination, and bitterness rose up inside of her, as her eyes focused, and everything else bled away. Her fingers curled around the cool metal of the pen. She kept her hand raised above, lax, as she gently tugged until he let go of her other hand.

She could see the surprise in his expression but as she wasn't fighting, he was lulled into a false sense of security, as what he wanted was now propped deliciously below him. It seemed as if Calla was giving in. That she finally saw it his way.

Reaching for him Calla gently grabbed his chin, raising his head from where they had been hovering above her breasts until he was looking directly at her.

For one moment they stayed like that, suspended in time, as something soft seemed to filter out the possessiveness of his gaze.

Calla held him like that until the moment her other hand, which now held the pen, lashed forward, embedding it into his left eye with a sickening squelch.

A scream tore from his lips.

He shoved himself away from her, a knee gutting her, as Calla gasped for air before he rolled off her.

Pain-filled noises fell from his mouth as he whimpered and forced himself to his knees. Calla was already to her feet, desiring to do more, but survival had her fleeing, moving toward the door.

A weight shoved itself into her back, knocking her off balance, as she hit the wall. Fingers knotted themselves into her hair, yanking her back, dragging her across the floor, as Philip continued to whimper, breathing deep, ragged, sounding as if every single one of them hurt.

"You're gonna fucking wish you had killed me with that move."

The words were hissed into her ear, causing her skin to crawl, as she aimed to hit the eye she had already wounded, only for him to slam her forward. Her head smacked against the edge of the counter.

Her body crumpled.

For a split second, black dots danced across her vision before they engulfed her entirely.