Chapter Twenty — Vinny
Two weeks in a cramped cabin were teaching me to be patient. My side still burned like a bitch when I moved too fast, but the bleeding had stopped, and the fever had broken. Small victories.
Jamie haunted the space like a ghost who'd decided to stay. She wore my shirts like they were hers. She cooked barefoot and had the ability to make me forget that we were both fugitives with targets on our backs.
God, I wanted her. The way a drowning man wants air. She was under my skin. And I believed she wanted me too.
The silence between us had changed. It wasn't cold anymore. It pulsed with all the shit we weren't saying.
She slept next to me in bed, close enough for me to feel her warmth but not touching me. I caught her watching me sometimes. Not like before. Differently.
Some nights, I'd wake up thinking it was Sophia beside me. My heart would trip, because in my mind I'd automatically wonder where Jamie was. And that scared me. Was I replacing Sophia with her?
Tonight, the cabin was quiet. She was sitting at the kitchen table. Her eyes flicked toward me when I limped her way.
I dropped into the chair across from her, the wood groaning under my weight. "We can't stay here forever."
She took a slow sip, the glass clinking softly when she set it down. "You got a plan that doesn't end with us in a ditch?"
"Yeah." I dragged a hand over my jaw. "I call Bael."
Her expression didn't change, but her fingers stilled on the glass. "You think he had anything to do with it? His mother is the one that shot you."
"I don't know." Truth was, I didn't trust anyone fully anymore outside of us. Not even him. But Bael was the closest thing to family I had left. "But if he crossed me, I'd rather know now."
I reached over and pulled the burner out from the drawer and dialed the number from memory.
It rang twice.
He answered. "Yo."
"Bael," I said. My voice came out low, steady.
"Vinny?" he snapped. "The fuck— Man, I thought you were dead." His voice dropped. "This shiesty bitch Virginia said the deal went sideways and you were dead. Das what di fuck mi get fi trust har!"
Jamie looked over, eyebrows raised.
I leaned back, exhaling hard, my heart slowing. "You didn't know?"
"Hell no, I didn't know," Bael said. "I never would've cosigned that bullshit. You more my family than her. When I saw this private number, something told me to answer. Why didn't you call me earlier?"
"I couldn't take the risk."
There was a pause. "You safe?"
"For now."
"And the girl?"
My gaze cut to Jamie. She was watching me, her lips pressed tight. "She's here."
Another pause. Longer this time. "You need me?"
I hesitated. Trust was a currency I didn't spend lightly anymore. But Bael hadn't done me wrong yet. "Yeah. Soon. Just be ready."
"Say less." His voice dropped. "Glad you ain't dead, brother."
The line went dead.
I tossed the phone on the table, rubbing the tension from my neck. Jamie hadn't moved, but her fingers tapped a slow rhythm against her glass.
"So…" she said slowly, "you believe him?"
I let out a breath. "Yes," I said without hesitation. A part of me knew he wouldn't have had anything to do with it. Bael was more of a shoot-you-in-your-face type.
"Why would he go against his own mother though?"
"She abandoned him when he was young. I'm the only reason she's in his life right now. They have a complicated relationship."
Jamie shook her head. "I can bet. Virginia's known for being a twisted bitch. I can only imagine her offspring. Who's the father?"
"Lazarus Hylton," I answered.
Jamie choked on her drink.
"The crazy Jamaican who makes people dig their own graves?"
I nodded. "Even made Bael dig his."
She shook her head. "Nah. We need to get far away from him."
She looked worried. "All the evil in those two couldn't have just skipped a generation."
I didn't answer right away.
Bael wasn't a saint.
But he was my friend.
"If it ever came down to it," I said, voice low, "Bael would choose me over her." I was ninety-nine percent positive—and hoped that didn't cost us our lives, but I kept that part to myself.
Jamie didn't blink. Just kept looking at me like she was trying to read past my skin.
"And if he doesn't?" Her voice was calm. "If it comes down to you pulling the trigger on him—could you?"
I looked away, jaw tightening. "That's the thing," I muttered. "I'd hesitate."
"Then that means if he crosses us, I'll have to," she said, sounding deadly.
We were both killers, in our own ways. But Jamie was looking at me like she had no conscience.
She wasn't bluffing. Wasn't trying to prove a point.
She'd do it.
And Christ, the thought shouldn't have made my blood run hot and my dick hard, but it did.
I shifted in my seat, adjusting my leg to hide the way my body reacted.
Fuck me. I'd had women beg for my attention, cry over me, twist themselves into knots for a scrap of affection. Cry in the dark for what they thought love was.
Then there was Sophia—the love of my life.
But none of them, not even her, had ever looked at me like this.
It stirred something primal in my chest—something I hadn't ever felt.
Her voice cut into the thought. "So what now?"
I leaned forward, bracing my elbows on the table, my eyes on her plump lips, ignoring the urge to kiss her. "Now, we take our time. Plan our next move. Nobody knows I'm alive, or where you're at."
Jamie stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. She took her glass to the sink, rinsed it without a word. Then she turned, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed.
The hem of my shirt rode up her thigh, and I forced my eyes away from her thick legs, pushing back the thoughts of what it would feel like to be trapped between them.
She looked over her shoulder. "You coming to bed?"
"I'll be there."
She nodded, flicking off the light. But I saw it—the way her hand trembled, just for a second.
The way she paused at the bedroom door, like she was waiting, like she was hoping I'd follow.
Or maybe that was my imagination playing tricks on me.
I gave it a minute before I followed, letting my erection calm down, and made my way down the hall.
She was already under the covers, facing the window.
I got in beside her, careful not to touch. The mattress shifted with my weight, and I felt her tense—just a little. Like part of her wanted me closer.
I stared up at the ceiling, my hand resting a few inches from hers.
"You were right," I said quietly.
"About what?" she whispered.
I turned my head, looked at her profile in the dark. "We need a better out than Bael. If Bael don't come through."
Eventually, she turned. Not all the way—just enough that her arm brushed mine, light as static.
But I felt it like lightning. All the way to my ribs.
"You think we're getting out of this?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Then what?"
It sounded like a simple question but also sounded loaded. Like she was asking me what happened with us after we weren't forced together.
"I don't know."
After that, we both fell silent. I didn't touch her.
Didn't say anything else.
But I stayed close. Breathing in her exhales.
But unlike the other night, this time—
when she finally started drifting off—
she let her fingers touch mine.
Just the tips. Barely anything. A touch you could pretend was an accident.
My heart sped up.
I hadn't held anyone's hand since Sophia.
I should have pulled away. I didn't.
One night, I told myself. Just tonight.