21. Audra
My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it's trying to break out of my chest. I can hear it.
Feel it. The rush of blood in my ears, loud and relentless, like a river I can't shut off.
My stomach twists. Flutters. Not just nerves.
Not just fear. Something else. Something I don't want to name.
But it's there. Sharp. Insistent. Unwelcome. Desire.
The realization hits me like a slap. No.
No, that's… that's wrong. Completely wrong.
My husband is dead. The word dead still doesn't feel real, still sits wrong in my head; it's a sentence that belongs to someone else's life, not mine.
And yet here I am. Standing in front of another man.
Feeling… this. Heat floods my face. Shame follows immediately after.
What is wrong with me? This isn't how I felt with Pete.
Never like this. What I had with him was… warm. Safe. Steady.
This? This is something else entirely. Something that has nothing to do with love.
My stomach tightens harder. Because a small, traitorous part of me knows he's right.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a second. No.
No, I don't get to go there. I loved Pete.
I owe him more than this. More than letting my thoughts drift like this, like everything we had can be set aside the moment something…
easier comes along. Even if I was going to leave him, that doesn't mean I get to jump into another man's bed.
It doesn't erase what we were. What he meant to me.
That doesn't just disappear because of this.
Because of a look. Because of a moment. Because of a man who walks into a room and makes everything feel…
sharper. More alive. More dangerous. My chest tightens.
The ball flashes through my mind. The way my pulse jumped when Gabe spoke to me.
The way my body reacted before my brain could catch up.
I shoved it down then. I can do it again now.
I will. I have to. My nails dig into my palms, and I focus on that instead.
On the pain. On the anger. On the fact that Pete is gone because of those men.
Because of the cartel. Because of something that has nothing to do with this confusion in my body.
I latch onto that.
Hard.
Because that makes sense. That I understand. Revenge. Justice. The need to protect the only family I have left. My mom. That's something I can do. Something that doesn't make me feel like I'm losing myself.
I open my eyes again. Steady. Or at least steadier than before. Whatever this is—this pull, this heat, this… thing—I shove it down. Lock it away. I'll deal with it later. Or never. Right now, I have bigger things to focus on.
I don't understand him. That's the truth of it. Gabe. Gabriel D'Amato. A man like that doesn't do anything without a reason. Men like him don't help. They take. What would a man like him do to obtain a woman he wants? The question sits wrong in my head. Heavy. Uncomfortable.
I had to wonder about another person's motives and intentions only once before. To consider what it might cost me in the end. That's when I ran. Straight to Pete. With Pete, things were simple. Good. Safe. This isn't.
I don't like it. I don't like not knowing.
I don't like not being in control. But right now, that's not the most important thing.
Because underneath all of it—the confusion, the grief, the exhaustion—there's something else.
Something that's been there since the warehouse.
Since the moment the gun went off. Since Pete?—
My throat tightens, but the feeling doesn't disappear. It sharpens. Burns hotter. Anger.
No.
Not just anger.
Fury.
Cold. Steady. Alive. Hot. Burning with desire of a different kind.
It's been sitting inside me, coiled tight, waiting.
Growing. I thought I buried that part of me.
A long time ago. Back when I decided to be…
better. Safer. Back when I married Pete.
Back when I traded in that reckless, rebellious girl for a more…
acceptable version of me. More predictable.
More normal. The kind of woman who watches the five o'clock news and makes dinner and doesn't ask questions she doesn't want the answers to.
I thought she was gone.
That version of me.
The one who didn't back down. The one who didn't play nice.
The one who believed, very clearly, that if someone hurt you, you hurt them back or worse.
But she's not gone. I feel her now. Clear as day.
Rising up through the cracks. They killed my husband.
They dragged me into that place. They put a gun to my head. They're still out there.
And now they came for my mother.
No.
I'm not letting that happen. Not again. Not to anyone else I care about. Whatever Gabe's game is—whatever he wants from me—I'll figure that out later. Right now? I need answers. And I want them to pay.
I lift my chin and look at him. "You said you had two of them?" He nods once. Still watching me. Carefully. "And you're going to make them tell you what they want? Why they came?"
Another nod. Slower this time. More cautious. Like he already knows where this is going. Perfect, because I'm not backing down. "I want to go with you."
His eyes narrow slightly at me. "You understand they're not just going to answer our questions, right?"
I give him a look. A very clear duh look.
"I'm not stupid," I reply flatly.
I've watched enough movies, read enough books.
And while I realize that movies and books are not the same as reality, I remember those fingers on the floor.
Fury rises inside me like a red-hot poker.
They did that to him. To Pete. Gabe doesn't need to spell it out for me.
I know what happens in rooms like that. His gaze lingers on me.
Searching. Measuring. Weighing something I can't see.
"The only reason I'm even considering taking you," he measures his words carefully, "is because I have other issues to deal with… and I don't trust anyone near you but me."
I don't care. Not about his issues. Not about his reasons. Not about his control. Only one thing matters: He's taking me.
A strange sense of… relief settles in my chest.
"I won't get in your way," I promise.
That's a lie. We both know it. I say it anyway. His mouth twitches slightly.
"You stay behind me," he orders. "You don't speak unless I tell you to."
I hold his gaze. Consider it. Nod. For now. The truth is, I don't know what this version of me is capable of anymore. She's been buried for a long time. Locked away. Tamed. The girl who didn't think twice. Who didn't hesitate. Who didn't care if she crossed a line as long as someone deserved it.
Pete softened her. Or maybe he just… shaped her into something easier to live with. Life did the rest. Routine. Responsibility. Love. The kind that came with quiet expectations and unspoken rules.
I can feel her now. Just under the surface. Watching. Waiting. I'm not sure she's the same girl I remember. Back then, she was dangerous. Now?
After everything that's happened—after what I saw, after what they did?—
I think she might be something worse. Something colder. Something that doesn't hesitate at all. The scary part? It doesn't stop me. That should terrify me. But it doesn't.
Gabe watches me for a moment longer. I'm sure he sees it too. He knows exactly what I just realized. His eyes darken. Not with surprise. More with… recognition.
"Get dressed," he demands finally. His voice is back to that controlled, commanding tone. "Five minutes."
I nod and turn. Walk toward the bedroom. But I don't miss it, the way his gaze lingers on my back. Heavy. Assessing. He's probably recalculating everything he thought he knew about me. I pick a pair of jeans and a shirt. Shove thoughts of Pete, who gave me the shirt, to the back of my head.
I call Mom, who is back to her full self.
Complaining about the food, the nurses, that it's too cold, and that it'll take forever before they'll let her go.
I tell her the cats are fine and ate well, but are missing her.
I stretch the truth because I only went into her room to refill their water and to make sure to top off the dry food.
Mittens hissed at me. I hissed back and retreated.
Twenty minutes later, we're in the car, driving to God only knows where. I should be afraid. I'm not. It's like part of me is dead. Died with Pete in that warehouse. Burned down to nothing. And what crawled out of the ashes… isn't the woman he shaped me into being.
The car ride is quiet. Too quiet. Once again, the city moves around us, lights, people, life going on like nothing happened. Like my world didn't just burn to the ground. I'm starting to get used to that feeling.
Gabe sits next to me, one arm resting casually on the divider between us, which I pulled down the moment we took our seats. He noticed, of course, the way he notices everything, and smirked. This is probably just another day at the office for him.
"Listen carefully," he catches my attention after a few minutes. I turn my head slightly. "You stay out of it," he continues. "You don't speak unless I tell you to."
I nod.
"I mean it, Audra." His voice drops, harder now. "If at any point it becomes too much, you leave."
My fingers tighten in my lap.
"There'll be guards outside," he adds. "You walk out that door, they take you somewhere safe. No questions."
Safe. The word feels… distant. Unreal. I swallow. "Okay."
But even as I say it, I know I won't. He studies me for a second longer. Then he leans back, his gaze shifted forward again. Conversation over. Just like that.
I turn toward the window. Try to steady my breathing. Try to ignore the knot forming in my stomach. Am I really doing this? The question echoes in my head. And underneath it, the old me answers. Hell yes.
A familiar rush spreads through me. Hot. Sharp. Alive: Adrenaline. The same kind I felt when the cops arrested me. Only stronger. Cleaner. Less tangled in confusion. More… focused.
My pulse quickens when out of nowhere a memory returns. I was seventeen. Out in the desert just outside Vegas. The kind of place you don't go unless you're looking for trouble. Or don't care if you find it. On a stolen dirt bike that didn't belong to me or anyone I should've been anywhere near.
I remember the engine roaring beneath me.
The wind tearing at my face. The drop ahead, too steep.
Too dangerous. Everyone yelling at me to stop.
I didn't. I hit it faster. Harder. Flew over that ridge with nothing to lose.
Feeling invincible. The landing nearly threw me off.
My heart was pounding so hard I thought it would explode.
And me? I laughed. God, I laughed. Because it felt good. That rush. That edge. That moment where everything could go wrong and didn't.
I shift slightly in my seat. My fingers flex.
That girl. I remember her. Six years ago, I thought she was becoming too dangerous.
She might still be. But right now, I need her back.
Slowly, I let other memories come back. The half-forgotten fact that even roller coasters never scared me.
Not when I was six, especially not when I was ten years older.
Not really. I only screamed because the other girls did.
Because that's what you were supposed to do. Inside, I loved it.
That drop.
That weightless second where your stomach flips and your heart jumps, and everything feels bigger, louder, sharper. Alive. My gaze hardens slightly as I stare out at the passing city. That feeling? It's back. But this time, it's not about a ride. Or a stupid teenage stunt. This time, it's real.