Clayton woke to sunlight streaming into the living room, slicing across the furniture in golden shards. He blinked, his mind fogged with sleep, unsure how long he'd been out.

There was weight on his chest—a gentle pressure. Fingers combed lazily through his chest hair, and strands of soft, tickling hair brushed against his neck. The warmth was familiar. Intimate.

"Allie?" His voice cracked as he tightened his hold, relief flooding him when he felt her smile against him.

"I'm here," she murmured, her lips pressing lightly to his forehead. They were cold, startlingly so, like ice drawn from shadowed water. His eyes flickered open, and those green eyes—vivid as the first spring leaf—met his gaze.

"Am I dreaming?" Clayton whispered, fumbling for his phone. The screen glared ten a.m. at him. Hours had slipped past while he'd been submerged in this haze.

He stood abruptly, dizziness swaying him like a drunkard, his vision clouding. His name came again, her voice soft, almost tentative.

"Clayton?" Alice's hand brushed his forearm, her touch spider-light. He flinched—her fingertips burned where they lingered. He looked down to see black veins twisting under his skin, writhing with a sickening pulse. Pain seared through his arm, drawing a strangled scream from his throat.

"You love her? Why are you with me?" Her voice darkened, turning venomous. She stepped back, her smile curdling into something sharp, predatory.

As he looked closer, Alice shifted. Her rich brown hair oozed black as tar, dripping in dark rivulets down her shoulders. Her face contorted, soft lines sharpening into something cruel and unrecognizable. Helena stood before him now, her dress a vivid red that seemed to pulse like a fresh wound. Her eyes were lifeless and clouded, marred with the chill of death.

"You're not real!" he shouted, lunging forward to shatter the illusion. His hands met empty air as Helena's form disintegrated into ash. The laughter that followed wasn't her voice—it wasn't human at all. It echoed around him, taunting, as the dream—or was it?—collapsed into a suffocating silence.

Clayton felt hot and confused, awaking up from the bedroom he was now in. It was at least midday.

Where was he? He glanced around, touching his cheek as a way to oddly ground himself.

Hands were suddenly on his shoulders. Clayton resisted the urge to violently fight back. It was Daniel.

"Where is Alice?" Clayton gasped sharply, as Danny moved a bit closer.

"She's not here. You have been asleep for days, almost a week. There was a coating of something on Helena's blade. It almost killed you. We were worried that we might be making a call to your folks," Daniel's voice trembled, he was never this emotional.

Clayton looked around the room. He was in his bed, covered in sweat. He hating feeling damp.

"Take it easy Clay. You've had it rough," Daniel said again, trying to get him to lay down, but he was anxious.

"Alice?" Clayton said again as he relaxed against the mattress, head resting against the headboard.

Daniel repositioned the pillow for him so he was comfortable.

"ToyBox. I mean, Alice, isn't answering my calls. I've asked a friend of mine back home to check on her. Augustine, she's trustworthy" Daniel finally gave him some news.

He felt a little uneasy about that. Alice is alone without him.

Who will protect her ? His subconscious thumped its talons impatiently against the iron bars of his mind

***

After a few more hours of restless sleep, Clayton swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his bare feet brushing against the chilled hardwood. His body protested every movement—bruised, battered, and aching, with his forearm throbbing beneath blood-soaked bandages.

A jolt of realization struck him. He was naked. Who had changed him?

He grabbed his phone. No messages from Alice. The absence pulled at him, heavy and sharp, like a weight lodged in his chest. He shook it off, forcing himself to his feet.

From his bag, he unearthed a clean, deep green T-shirt and a pair of jeans, pulling them on with stiff, deliberate movements. His bones cracked as he stretched his shoulder, the pain flaring bright and hot.

In the kitchen, the stillness was oppressive. The faint drip of a leaky faucet punctuated the silence. No sign of Ruth or Daniel—they'd gone for supplies. He poured himself a cup from the fresh pot of coffee, every motion an ordeal as bruises flared and muscles protested. His body was a battlefield, the toll of countless fights etched into every movement.

"Hey, man."

Clayton turned to see Sam slouched on the couch, his bruised hand gripping the backrest. On the coffee table beside him sat a half-empty glass of water. The TV murmured in the background, Fox News as predictably omnipresent as ever.

"How are you feeling?" Clayton asked, taking the spare chair near the couch. He stretched his legs out, the space between them thick with unspoken words.

Sam's gaze was heavy, his voice quieter than usual. "I almost lost my life for you, Clay."

The words hung between them like a gavel hitting wood. Clayton shifted uncomfortably but held his tongue as Sam pressed on.

"I've been thinking. This is my lastd, I'm out. I've told Claudia. Heading back to California to settle down. Time to see my kids. My parents. It's been too long."

Clayton absorbed Sam's words, knowing this wasn't just a declaration—it was a goodbye. A break up.

"I get it," Clayton finally said, his voice low. "It's time to disband. Ruth and Daniel probably feel the same. We'll work out the details with Claudia when we're back stateside."

Sam leaned back, his shoulders slackening in relief. "We good?" Clayton asked.

Sam nodded faintly, his eyes already drifting shut. "Yeah. Sorry for teasing you about Alison. I know you love her. Forget Vanessa, forget Helena. Martha. None of that matters."

Clayton's jaw tightened at the mention of both Helena and Martha, last night's conversation about Martha was a sharp pain in his gut. Her words echoed in his mind: "I'm pregnant, Clayton." The revelation had felt like a trap snapping shut, her timing as calculated as ever. She'd known exactly when to drop that bomb, right when he was most vulnerable about Alice.

He swallowed hard, tasting bile. Martha's pregnancy was a complication he couldn't afford, not with everything else spiraling. The possibility that he might be the father twisted in his gut like a knife. He'll deal with Martha. Just waiting for the news from Claudia.

He left Sam to his rest, retreating to his room with his laptop. As it powered up, he sipped his coffee, Daniel's hacked connection to the local police database coming to mind. His hands trembled slightly as he typed—whether from exhaustion or the morning's revelations, he couldn't tell. He began his search, and soon a mugshot flashed on the screen—Tom Avery. The photo was older, but those moss-green eyes were unmistakable. Richard Booth had a new name, new hair, but the same telltale features.

Clayton scribbled down the location from Avery's arrest record, folding the scrap of paper into his pocket. He closed the laptop, drained his coffee, and stepped out into the afternoon light, leaving Sam asleep on the couch.

Behind the wheel, with the city sprawled out before him, Clayton navigated through traffic, his mind buzzing. The hunt for Richard Booth was far from over, but Martha's news echoed in his head like a ticking clock. Two time bombs now: Richard Booth and a baby that might be his. He wasn't sure which one terrified him more.

*******

The voice brought him to a market. Bustling with life. He couldn't help but buy a bag of oranges from a friendly woman. Well into her fifties' but she made a deal he couldn't refuse. Her smile large as she forced her oranges onto him.

A trail of orange peels followed him as he noticed a string of apartments on the top floor of the square.

He studied the couples above. One lonely woman on her phone.

Suddenly a man stuck out to him, leaning against the wall. Eyes shifting, body ridged as he nervously walked around.

Colheita Hotel ? Clayton read in his poor Portuguese.

Holy Shit! Clayton pulled out that photo of Booth, a piece of orange still in his mouth as his eyes narrowed.

Fuck! Clayton's thoughts were screaming. He had to be careful. He was staring at the man he had been hunting for two years. No fucking way he was going to let him go.

Clayton quickly pulled out his phone. Trying to not look obvious as he moved to the side. Hidden by buildings and shadows, Clayton dialed Daniel.

Within a few seconds. Daniel picked up.

"Hey," he sounded confused.

"Danny. I have my eyes on him," Clayton said, trying not to make sudden movements as he stared up from the shadows, directly at Booth.

"What!" Daniel responded.

Clayton was trying not to react. His heart was racing.

"I need you here. Right. Now!" Clayton hissed, he was getting anxious as adrenaline flooded his system.

Booth suddenly shuffled back into the room. Closing the door behind him a little too loudly. Clayton hung up the phone, realizing he needed to move now.

His body was on fire as he moved in between the crowds. Dropping the oranges, he made his way up the stairs and along the corridor.

Fuck! He wasn't armed! Clayton cursed as he patted his pockets down.

He was right outside the door, with a swift kick that he regretted almost immediately. The door swung open. Clayton stared directly into Richard Booth's frightened, weak eyes.

He was frozen. There was a moment of silence

"Are you going to kill me?" Richard whispered.

His body screamed crazy.

Clayton signed, trying to remain calm as he looked around the room. Cans of food stack up. The horrible smell. Clothes everywhere.

Richard had been living rough for a few months.

"No. I promised your daughter, I wouldn't touch you. Although, many people do want you dead."

Richard suddenly relaxed, his dry lips curling into a smile.

"You were watching the Ricasoli boy? I've seen you more than once. Houston. New York. Paris?" he said, spacey, but his emerald green eyes shaper than ever.

"Alison knows everything. Your daughter. She sent me to find you. We're getting married. December." Clayton mentioned, casually, folding his arms

"Oh Alison? I knew she was the good one out of my children. My favorite. A good beam of sunshine that one. I truly loved Elizabeth. I miss her."

Booth trailed on. Clayton was bored.

"I sent her birthday cards. Letters. All returned." Richard strained, scratching at the same spot above his forearm.

"Interesting." Clayton prompted, noticing the OCD.

"You're really marrying Alison without asking me for her hand? Without my permission?"

Has he lost his mind?

"Yes. We love each other. She's mine." Clayton said without skipping a beat

Richard remained frozen. Clayton was unsure what to do.

Suddenly chestnut hair appeared in Clayton's peripheral vision.

He quickly turned to find Helena, in a shorter black dress, gold jewelry glistening  as she stared directly between Clayton and Richard.

"I thought I fucking killed you Gringo!" Helena hissed, pulling a knife out of her side pocket.

Clayton smiled. He couldn't help but halfheartedly laugh.

"Leni. I can't believe you! Fucking hell!"

Helena moved closer to Richard, Clayton instinctively moved into her path. He pushed the husk of a man behind him with his good arm.

The knife was the problem. Clayton made a note that it was coated in poison.

Raising his hands. Helena took a swipe, missing his knuckle by inches.

Fuck this! I'm not playing nice, Clayton thought.

He lunged at Helena. He quickly grabbed her from behind. Holding her close as he force her to drop the knife. He heard bones crack as he crushed her palm, her screams in pain were oddly satisfying.

She was breathing heavily in pain.

Fuck, Clayton pushed the sexual need out of his mind.

Richard suddenly moved around them, clinging to much of the walls as he could. He ran of the out the door with a second thought.

"Fuck!" Clayton hissed. Watching in disbelief as his target fled as the violence continued.

His confusion turned into rage as he turned his attention to the whore. Shutting the door with his foot.

"Who the fuck told you where I was Helena?" Clayton said.

His grip tight around Helena's neck as he pinned her against the wall. His body was blocking her escape. The room was in slight darkness.

Clayton's focus was completely on her.

She whimpered pointlessly as he pressed a little firmer. It took every part of the his willpower not to break her neck then and there.

She crawled his arm, her nails digging into his skin. He ignored the pain.

"What does she have that we don't?" Helena screamed, freeing herself as she slapped him.

Clayton's cheek stung, he could feel it turning red.

"What the fuck are you talking about! You and I were never a real thing. Sure, I dated you a little. I also paid for you like any other man in this country. You are a whore Helena! You are nothing to me!" Clayton yelled back.

Helena stood against the wall. Her breath steadying as she leaned in closer. Inches away from his face as she looked up at him. He could feel heat as his eyes narrowed, fists clenched.

"I waited for you. You promised me you would come back for me. Marry me, support me! Then she tells us you're engaged to some sidebitch back in Boston!" she screamed, voice breaking with emotion.

What is up with these fucking women! His subconscious groaned

"Seriously? Since you, I've been in several other relationships not to mention the whores too. I've fucked half of New York and New England. You weren't special!" Clayton said, speechless.

There was a moment of hesitation, a silent pleading, before Helena kissed Clayton. He didn't know what to do. His hands fell onto her waist.

Helena pulled him closer, kissing him deeper, like all the air was gone around them.

There was a moment he forgot where he was. As she pealed off her panties, remembering he had a condom in his back pocket.

He lifted her in his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist. He was five seconds after from unbuckling his belt and having angry, hate sex. Oh the positions she would let him do.

He could hear people walking past outside. Once again, Clayton hated being watched.

Snapping into reality, Clayton felt nothing. He couldn't do this. He lowered Helena onto the ground. Moving back, throwing his hands back in defense.

"Leni. I can't. Fuck! I'm getting married. I love this girl. She is going to be my wife."

Helena eyes pleaded. She kissed his neck, lingering. Clayton was trying hard not to give in and anal fuck her then and there in that disgusting apartment.

"Philip has big plans for her. Gringo, you hurt us. All of us," she whispered in anger. He noticed that her eyes flicked towards Alice's thin, dainty silver turquoise ring, now located on his pinky finger.

Rage filled him soon after he had registered what she had said to him. She suddenly elbowed him in the groin. He gasped and bent over in pain

Cheap shot!

That made him more angry, he grabbed her by her hair. She made the mistake of wearing it loose.

Quickly recovering, he lifted her in the air, her feet thrashed against the wall as he repositioned his hands to grasp her neck. Her heels falling to the ground. Clayton was afraid he was taking it to far as he watched Helena's eyes start to turn a slight shade of pink.

"You think you mean something to me? You have some balls to threaten me...a prostituta!" Clayton yelled.

His body was trembling in anger. He could feel himself spiralling, losing control.

"Clayton?" A familiar heavenly voice came up from behind him.

Alice stood behind him in the doorway, Ruth, arms folded as she stood with his fiancée. Daniel was behind the two women, looking guilty as if he had been told off. All three faces filled with shock as Clayton released Helena. She fell to the floor, gasping for air at his feet.

Fuck! How much did she hear? What did she see?

Helena eyes flicked between Clayton and Alice, she stood up, straightening her clothes as she scooped up her panties and heels into her arms.

Within seconds she sheepishly moved between Clayton and Alice, leaving quietly.

Alice did not break eye contact with Clayton. He could see she was thinking about her next few words.

Her body was ridged. He was in trouble.

Shit!