Chapter 24 #3
“Then change your angle.” He taps the folded paper against his knee. “You walked out alive. She walked out alive. I’ve seen worse outcomes on jobs ten times cleaner.”
I sink back into the pillow, and shift my leg, hissing through my teeth as pain sears through my thigh.
“Soon as you’re strong enough, you’ll be transferred to a safe house. There’ll be a phone booth just outside of town,” he continues. “No outgoing calls unless it’s life or death. Complete rest and privacy. You need to decompress.”
I manage a rough exhale. “Marquez?”
“Cornered.” Nolan’s tone leaves no room for doubt. “Every agency with a badge is dissecting his life. He’s not coming after you. He’s too busy trying not to drown.”
A small part of my chest loosens—just enough to breathe without feeling like I’m inhaling glass.
“Where’s my wife?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
Nolan’s mouth twitches. “She’s safe,” he says simply. “You’ll see her when we get a judge to annul this.”
That hits harder than the bullet did.
"Silas says you stopped the signing," Nolan says. "That true?"
"Adena stopped it. Morse code on the table. I just followed her lead."
Nolan's eyebrows climb. "Smart woman."
"Smarter than me, apparently." I gesture to the cuff. "How bad is it?"
He doesn't sugarcoat it. "You were minutes away from being the legal face of Sinaloa's entire New Orleans operation—President, COO, signatory on every account, deed holder on every property.
If those documents had been filed..." He shakes his head.
"We'd be having a very different conversation right now. "
My stomach tightens. "What stopped it?"
"Silas coordinated with us in real-time.
We filed an emergency injunction with a federal judge—ex parte, two in the morning.
Asset freeze, halt on all corporate filings tied to the marriage license.
" He taps the folder in front of him. "Judge gave us two hours before the cartel's lawyers could challenge it. "
"That's not much time."
"It was enough. We hit every bank on the transfer list—flagged the accounts, threatened federal action if they processed anything. County clerk got the same treatment. Hold everything pending federal review."
"And?"
"Most of it worked. A few transactions slipped through before we got word out, but nothing that directly ties you or Graceson to ownership. We're still cleaning it up, but you're not going down for this."
The picture forms all at once—and just as quickly, collapses.
My jaw tightens, then eases. A slow breath slips out of me before I can stop it, like my body figured it out before my head did.
Whatever that future was—whatever name I would’ve worn—it isn’t mine.
Adena ended it before it could take me.
“How did Hightower figure all this out before we did?”
Nolan has the grace to look sheepish. “Marquez’s accountant started looking harder at Adena. Specifically, her bank records and income tax. According to Silas, it was so specific they started looking for angles we’d never thought of. They found one.”
“But you contacted me this morning?”
He nods. “When he couldn’t get Adena out in time, he gave me a personal heads up. Man to man.”
“He bypassed the regular channels?”
Nolan barks a laugh. “More like he crushed them. He ignored the directive to stay clear from day one and had his own team shadowing Adena the whole time.”
While I decide whether to be irritated the DEA dropped the ball, he pauses. “Take the month,” he says, standing and smoothing out a wrinkle in his shirt. “Rest. Let the legal teams chew through the mess. When it clears, you get your life back.”
I stare at the ceiling tiles. My life. Whatever shape that is now.
A month from now, the threat levels drop. The paperwork settles. The names unspool from the files. The heat on both of us cools.
And maybe… if she’s around…
I shut the thought down before it forms. No use bleeding over things I can’t control from a hospital bed.
My hand finds the morphine buzzer. I press it, letting the edges blur again. Four weeks. Thirty days.
Long enough for someone as smart as Adena to realize annulment is the only sane option to this problem.
Adena
From inside Hightower's jet, the cabin's cream leather seats catch the morning sunlight slanting through oval windows, everything beige and neutral except the crumpled biohazard bag with my wrecked wedding dress shoved beneath my seat.
My mouth tastes like stale coffee and the granola bar someone handed me hours ago, dry and papery on my tongue.
The jet's engines create a constant low thrum that I feel in my sternum more than hear, punctuated by the occasional creak of leather when Verity moves.
When Ben finally calls to give me the verdict his voice through the burner phone Silas gave me is compressed and tinny, each word clipped short like he's reading from a script.
"The injunction held. Most of the corporate transfers didn't process, but the marriage license is valid, and that significantly changes your position. "
I listen in silence, too tired to even speak.
"Your security clearance is suspended. Any position requiring federal credentials is off the table—possibly permanently. An annulment is still viable. We file immediately, you cooperate with the takedown, and in a few years, we might be able to petition to restore your clearance. Might."
The word hangs in the air.
"But if you don't annul," Ben continues, "that door closes and doesn't reopen. You can't work anywhere that requires federal vetting. You need to tell me what you're thinking so we can move forward."
I don’t know what I’m thinking. I’m exhausted. A night in a cell and now I have to make a call I’m not capable of making.
“I’ll let you know,” I say. “As soon as I make a decision.”
I put the phone down and sigh as Verity settles into the seat beside me. She says nothing at first, just watches me twist the ring around my finger.
"Do you want to talk?" she finally asks.
"Not really. What's done is done."
She stretches her legs out, and eyes me. "Are you in love with him? Is that why you ignored Silas’s warning?"
The question hits differently than it should, and my chest tightens.
"It’s complicated," I say, which is hardly an answer.
She sighs heavily. "I'll take that as a yes. But are you really prepared to stay married to him?"
I close my eyes. "I made a promise. Not just to him, but to God."
Verity's perfume mingles with the scent of jet fuel and gun oil as she shifts closer. "But you were under duress."
"I knew what I was doing."
"But did you realize what you'd have to give up?" Verity leans forward. "Marriage requires sacrifice. You give up your independence, your freedom, your choices. Most people do that for someone they've known longer than a week. Someone they actually trust."
Her words resonate not just because they're true, but because I know how crazy this must look.
"Have you considered you were caught up in the moment?" Verity's voice is gentler now. "If that was the case, you can still get out of this. You can annul it, cooperate with the feds, and in a few years—"
"I wasn't caught up in the moment," I say quietly.
I look out at the desert passing below. Somewhere down there, Jagger is in a hospital bed. Somewhere down there, he's probably already signing annulment papers.
My hand finds the ring again.
Verity shifts beside me and lowers her voice. “He is your type. Muscles, ink, and secrets. It would be easy to get… confused,” she says carefully.
“Are you saying I should give up on my marriage?” I ask. “You didn’t. You fought for yours.”
She shifts her weight. “That’s not the same. Reese and I dated first and were married for three years before we separated.”
I cross my arms, and try not to glare at her. “He needs someone.”
“And that someone has to be you?”
I know she means well, but she can’t possibly understand what Jagger and I have been through and how that binds two people together.
“You must know that even if we can unravel this mess, you’ll never have a normal life with this guy.”
I jab a thumb in my chest. “Do you really think I want normal?”
“Adena—”
I cut her off. "I knew what I was doing. And I don’t regret the choice I made," I say.
Her eyebrow arches. "Are you sure? Because if you're wrong…"
She doesn't finish, but she doesn't need to. I know she’s just concerned.
And she has every reason to be.
My career is in jeopardy. I'm married to a stranger. And the truth is, I have no idea if I made a vow while running on adrenaline and attraction.
The doubt sits heavy in my chest, and I can't tell anymore if it's doubt about him or doubt about myself.
The jet banks slightly, sunlight sliding off the wing. I twist the ring once more, then stop.
Ben wants an answer. Silas is disappointed in me, and Verity thinks I’m nuts.
Maybe they’re right.
But I didn’t make that vow for their approval—and I’m not breaking it to earn it back.
Jagger
Four weeks later…
The little store sits where the road bends, tucked between trees like it’s trying not to be noticed. No sign big enough to read at speed. No gas pumps. Just a gravel lot with more mud than gravel and a handful of trucks parked crooked, like everyone assumes they’ll be back out in a minute.
I sit in my truck longer than necessary, watching a man in rubber boots argue with a goat tethered to the hitch of his pickup. The goat wins. The man sighs, scratches his beard, and keeps talking to it like this is a conversation he’s had before.
No one is watching me.
That alone feels unnatural.
I climb out, the limp not as pronounced now that the stitches are gone and the tight pull in the muscle has eased.
Inside, the store is narrow and dim, shelves stocked with whatever the last delivery truck felt like bringing. Canned goods. Feed. A mismatched rack of winter gloves even though it’s barely autumn. The floor creaks under my boots, announcing every step like the building’s keeping score.