Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Gabbi
The sun had barely begun to rise when I slipped back into Victor’s camp.
The air was damp with the morning mist, the ground still soft from the previous night’s chill.
I moved carefully, retracing my steps from the day before, my body low, my breathing measured.
Every muscle in my body was alert, my mind sharp, tuned into every shift of the wind, every distant footstep.
I had done this before—in war zones, in crime rings, in places where a wrong move meant never making it out alive. But nothing had ever felt as dangerous as this.
I reached the clearing before the camp, my heart pounding a little harder.
The place was quieter now, most of the men still sleeping, their shifts just beginning to rotate.
A few were awake, standing near the fires, talking low, watching the perimeter.
I timed my movements, waiting until their backs were turned before slipping past a stack of crates and closer toward the main cabin.
I needed to act normal. Like I belonged.
Like I wasn’t out here meeting Bobby in the dead of night, making reckless promises, letting him touch me in ways that still burned under my skin.
I exhaled slowly, forcing those thoughts away. Not now. I needed to focus.
As I stepped past a row of supply barrels, something small moved in the corner of my vision. A soft rustling, a faint shuffle. I stopped, my muscles tensing, expecting a guard.
But it wasn’t a person.
It was a cat.
A tiny, scrappy thing, curled up beside a crate, its fur damp and matted, its body thin, ribs pressing against its skin. The poor thing looked like it had been surviving on scraps, its tail twitching as it licked at a small puddle of water pooled in the dirt.
I stared, my breath catching for a second.
It was just a cat. Small. Vulnerable. Alone. But something about it hit me harder than it should have, made something twist deep in my chest. It reminded me of Liam.
I didn’t want to make the connection, but it was too late. The way the cat looked—half-starved, cautious, skittish—was exactly how I imagined Liam must look now. He had been gone for six years. Six goddamn years. And if he was still alive, if he was still in this place, trapped, alone, forgotten...
I swallowed hard, crouching slightly, keeping my movements slow, controlled. The cat flinched, watching me with sharp, wary eyes.
"Hey," I murmured, barely above a whisper.
The cat didn’t move.
I extended a hand, careful, knowing it would bolt if I rushed. "It’s okay," I continued softly. "I won’t hurt you."
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, carefully, the cat inched forward, its small nose twitching as it sniffed the air between us.
That was when I heard the door behind me open.
My entire body stiffened.
I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
Victor.
His presence was a slow, looming force, the sound of his boots hitting the wooden steps, the casual way he exhaled a breath of smoke from whatever cigarette he was holding. I felt his eyes on me immediately, felt the weight of his scrutiny settle like a warning.
"You have a soft spot for strays," he remarked, amusement laced in his tone.
I forced my body to relax before turning to face him. My hands stayed loose at my sides, my expression carefully neutral, maybe even slightly embarrassed—like he had caught me in something ridiculous. Like I was just some girl, crouched in the dirt, playing with a useless animal.
I let out a small, breathy laugh, rubbing at the back of my neck. "I guess I do."
Victor tilted his head slightly, his sharp gaze flicking from me to the cat, then back again. "You’re an interesting one, Gabbi."
I shrugged, keeping my movements casual. "I saw it yesterday. It looked like it was starving. I—" I hesitated, just enough to make it look real, before exhaling. "I don’t know. I couldn’t just leave it."
Victor watched me for a long moment, the cigarette burning between his fingers. He wasn’t the type of man who kept pets, who cared about anything that didn’t serve a purpose. He didn’t have compassion—not for people, and definitely not for animals.
But that wasn’t what mattered.
What mattered was that I had just given him a reason to believe I had come back.
I had disappeared last night. I knew that hadn’t gone unnoticed. If Victor had any suspicion about me, I had to erase it now. And the cat—this tiny, fragile thing—just gave me the perfect excuse.
Victor exhaled a slow stream of smoke, then gestured lazily. "Fine. Keep it. But don’t expect me to feed it."
Relief swept through me, but I didn’t let it show. Instead, I tilted my head, letting my lips curve just slightly, amused. "I wouldn’t expect you to."
Victor smirked, shaking his head as he turned away, heading back inside.
I didn’t move until the door closed behind him.
Then, slowly, I crouched back down, my hands shaking slightly as I reached for the cat again. This time, it didn’t flinch. It let me touch it, let me lift it gently into my arms.
Its tiny body trembled against me, but its heartbeat was steady. Warm. Real. Alive.
Just like Liam had to be.
I swallowed the tightness in my throat, holding the cat close as I turned toward the cabin. I had just bought myself more time.
But time was running out.