Chapter 34
Chapter thirty-four
The monastery shrank in the rear window, swallowed by trees.
My hands rested in my lap, palms open, still buzzing from the recoil of the gun. Horror should have been the normal response. Shock. Regret. Something.
Instead, I felt clarity.
Father Ignacio Velasco and Sister Consuelo were dead because they deserved damnation sooner rather than later. They’d wrapped themselves in vows and crucifixes while trafficking girls like livestock. They hid behind scripture and called it salvation.
I didn’t feel guilty at all.
What unsettled me wasn’t the act of taking their lives itself, but the authority behind it. I had judged them. I had executed that judgment. I had stepped into a role no one elects you for.
Was it my place to play God?
That question would follow me long after the smoke cleared.
For now, the only thing that mattered was getting out of Spain without handcuffs.
Lucian sat beside me, his broad shoulders filling the space, one arm stretched along the back of the seat. He leaned in and pressed a kiss against my temple.
“You’re a brave woman, Scar,” he said quietly. “Let’s get back to the city and get you settled at my place.”
I turned toward him and rested my forehead against his.
“I like that idea,” I said. “But don’t feel obligated to keep me because you feel sorry for me. I’m angry, not broken. Maybe I should feel bad about what I just did, but I don’t. So you can stop worrying.”
He studied me for a moment.
“I don’t pity you,” he said. “And I don’t keep things I don’t want.”
That pulled a small smile from me.
“I want you with me,” he continued. “In good times or bad. But your mind matters. You don’t get to ignore what just happened. When you take a life, justified or not, it leaves a mark. You don’t outrun that. And you don’t face it alone.”
His voice didn’t waver. There was no softness in it, only certainty.
“It’s normal to feel more than one thing at once,” he added. “Anger. Guilt. Doubt. If any of it surfaces later, you tell me. You don’t bury it. You have to be not only honest with me, but with yourself.”
“I will,” I promised. “You’re the first person who’s ever cared how I feel. Not to mention, you’re the most honest person I’ve ever known. Well—except for my mother.”
Thinking of my mother was always bittersweet. She would have been shocked to see the kind of man my father had become.
“I’m glad it was you they sent to take me from Our Lady of Lourdes,” I continued. “I know it’s been a lot. I’m a lot. But I see what you’ve done for me, Lucian. And I want you to know how much I appreciate it.”
I cupped his face and kissed him with everything I had left in me. There was no hesitation in it now. No fear. I had fallen for this man completely, and I didn’t need him to say it back to know my heart was his.
But first things first, we needed to get back to Manhattan and stay out of the hands of the police. We couldn’t dismantle a global operation from a jail cell.
Lucian didn’t appear concerned about our departure. I’d already learned that men like him operated under a different set of rules. The underworld wasn’t chaos. It was structured. Deals. Power. Leverage.
And the men who ruled it were many shades of gray.
The worst of them weren’t the ones who admitted what they were.
They were the ones who pretended they were righteous.
My father’s face rose in my mind.
If he had stood up for those girls, none of this would have happened. If he had chosen decency over ambition, I would’ve had prom photos and college roommates instead of confessionals and cloisters.
I wasn’t only his daughter.
I was my mother’s as well.
And if it cost me my last breath, I would expose whatever this was and drag it into the light.
Elizabeth’s pale blue eyes surfaced in my thoughts.
Where was she?
What had they done to her?
The car slowed as we neared the private terminal at the airport. I recognized the jet as the one we’d taken over here. It sat waiting beside a large hangar, sleek against the afternoon sky.
Suddenly it dawned on me—
“Lucian,” I yelped, turning toward him. “What about our things at the hotel? Our passports?”
He smiled as if I had just asked whether the sun would rise.
“Katya handled it,” he said. “Our luggage is already on board. All we have to do is walk onto the plane.”
I exhaled.
Of course she had.
The car rolled to a stop in front of the terminal. The driver stepped out and opened our door without a word.
Lucian extended his hand.
“Ready?” he asked.
I reached out and took it; I was more than ready.
He grabbed the backpack from the floorboard and guided me inside with a steady hand at my back.
The building was quiet, with polished marble floors and glass walls reflecting the bright afternoon light. We moved through quickly, bypassing the front desk.
Outside, the jet waited with its door open and stairs lowered. Even though it was the same jet we’d taken to Madrid, I hadn’t truly seen it. I’d been too busy unraveling.
Now I noticed the sleek lines of the fuselage, the understated shine of money that didn’t need to announce itself.
Did I want to know where Lucian and The Syndicate got their wealth from?
Probably not.
Inside, the cabin smelled faintly of new leather and coffee. The seats were wide and plush, with polished wood trim lining the walls, and soft overhead lighting that made the space feel private rather than enclosed.
The flight attendant greeted us with a knowing smile. “Miss Hayes, no sedatives today, I hope.”
I laughed despite myself. “I make no promises. I’m not a fan of flying.”
She tilted her head. “Well, at least you’re not starting off in hysterics.”
Lucian shot her a brief look and gestured for me to sit. I settled into the leather seat, running my fingers over the stitching.
He shrugged out of his suit jacket. The leather double-holster beneath it came next.
He kept his body angled away from the aisle as he slid the pistols free, cleared them by feel, then clipped them back into the holsters and placed the rig inside the backpack at his feet.
The bag already bulged with the small hard drive, thick envelope of documents, and the binder we’d taken.
He shifted the contents, wedging the guns tight along the spine to keep the outline from showing.
He zipped it closed, rose, and carried the pack forward, stowing it inside the closet near the front of the plane before returning to his seat.
Once everyone was strapped in, the cabin door closed with a firm seal. The engines hummed to life, low at first, then building.
Lucian’s phone was already in his hand. His demeanor shifted to all business as he sent messages and scanned through updates. The crew moved efficiently—checklists completed, doors secured, clearance granted.
The flight attendant returned with drinks. A glass of whiskey for Lucian. A flute of champagne for me.
“For courage,” she said lightly.
I took a sip. It was crisp and dry and tingled across my tongue.
The plane began to taxi.
The engines deepened in pitch as we turned onto the runway.
Lucian slid his phone into his pocket and took my hand.
“You good?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
The plane surged forward. The acceleration pressed me back into the seat, and the runway blurred past the window.
Then a slight jolt hit us as the wheels left the ground.
My breath caught and Lucian’s grip tightened.
His thumb traced once across my knuckles.
“Eyes on me,” he said quietly.
I turned toward him.
“Nothing’s going to hurt you,” he added. “Not the ground. Not the sky. Not anything else.”
The steadiness in his voice pulled me back from the nervous edge.
The city fell away beneath us, shrinking into grids of light and dark.
As the climb leveled out, the engines softened, and my pulse followed.
I leaned into him, resting my head against his shoulder. He’d held me together on the flight here when I’d fallen apart—when I’d fought him tooth and nail, cursing and spitting.
And still, he’d held me anyway.
Carefully. Patiently.
Even when I didn’t deserve it.
“I remember this part,” I murmured. “You pretended you weren’t worried while I lost my mind.”
“I wasn’t pretending,” he said dryly. “I knew you’d be okay eventually.”
I smiled.
“You didn’t let go.”
“I don’t let go,” he replied.
There was no boast in it. Just fact.
I tilted my face up and kissed him without hesitation.
His hand came up to cup my jaw briefly before returning to rest on my thigh.
“Settle in,” he said. “We’re going home.”
Home.
The word felt different now.
After we’d been in the air long enough for the engines to settle into a steady hum, the cabin grew quiet.
Lucian’s fingers slid over my hand, tracing idle patterns across my palm. Then, slowly, his touch drifted higher along my thigh.
I glanced down.
The bulge beneath his trousers was impossible to miss.
Insatiable didn’t begin to cover it.
He leaned closer. “Wanna join the mile-high club?”
I frowned. “The what?”
His mouth curved. “That’s adorable.”
He brushed his lips against my ear. “How about I play Captain…and you play the flight attendant who follows orders?”
A laugh burst out of me before I could stop it.
He raised one eyebrow, the amusement fading into something darker.
Then his posture shifted.
Authority replaced teasing.
“Miss Hayes,” he said evenly, voice dropping into command, “I need a whiskey neat. And when you return, ensure the door is locked behind you.”
The change in him sent heat pooling between my thighs.
This was the tone that always got my attention.
The one that made my body respond without question.
It was a long flight. And what if the real flight attendant walked in? Hadn’t I traumatized her enough? The risk flickered at the back of my mind—but the thrill drowned it out.
Maybe it was my turn to make him lose control.
I unbuckled my seatbelt and turned toward him.
“Yes, sir, Captain. I’ll be right out with that.”