22. Gabriel
I told Mauro to take them to the warehouse. Not the Oven. The Oven would be faster. Cleaner. More… effective. But it would also be too much. Too much screaming. Too much reality for someone like Audra.
I glance at her. She's staring out the window, quiet. Too quiet. Still. Not frozen. Not fragile. There's a difference. I've seen both. This?
This is something else.
Something coiled. Waiting. I exhale slowly. Maybe Brick breaking a finger or two will be enough. An arm if they're stubborn. That should get them talking. Hopefully, before things get… messy. I don't want her to see that. Not unless I have no other choice.
My gaze lingers on her profile. The line of her jaw. The way her lips press together slightly, like she's holding something back. She's beautiful. Too beautiful for this world. Too soft?—
No.
That's not right. I've always known there was steel under the surface.
Steel that didn't quite fit the life she built for herself.
I saw it that first night. At the police station.
Then again at the ball. A flicker. A crack.
Restlessness. But now? That's not a flicker.
It's there. Clear as day. Either she's putting on a hell of a performance, or the cartel pushed her right over the edge.
I grind back a curse. It doesn't matter.
I want any version of her I can get. And it's getting worse.
I can't stand the thought of her not being there.
Not breathing the same air. Not existing in the same space as me.
It's… wrong. But my world tilts slightly when she's not within reach. That's new. Dangerous. I've had women. Plenty. Enjoyed them. Forgot them. Moved on. That's how it works. That's how it always worked.
But this?
This is something I already know I can't ever walk away from. She's not something I can put down and forget. She's already under my skin. So deep. I don't even want her out.
A memory surfaces.
Uninvited. Unwelcome. Catarina.
My chest tightens. My twin. The only person who ever came close to this kind of pull.
We had a connection that didn't need words.
We could sit in silence for hours and still understand each other.
She was fearless. Wild. Always chasing the next thrill.
Dragging me along half the time. Laughing when things got dangerous.
Like nothing in the world could touch her. Until it did.
My grip tightens slightly. The day she died, part of me went with her.
I buried it. Locked it down. Vowed never to let anyone close enough to touch that part again.
Because that kind of connection? That kind of power over you?
It gets you killed. Or worse. Leaves you breathing when you don't want to be.
My gaze shifts back to Audra. And there it is again. That pull. That same dangerous edge. Different. But just as strong. Fuck.
Am I really doing this?
Letting someone get close enough to matter like that?
I should stop it. Shut it down. Keep this where it belongs.
But then she moves in her seat. Just enough to remind me she's there.
Real. Alive. And the thought of pushing her away—of letting her walk out of my life—lands wrong.
Completely wrong. My jaw sets. Yeah. That's not happening.
Whatever this is—whatever she is—I'm not letting it go.
The warehouse comes into view. Quiet. Isolated. Exactly how I like it. Mauro is already inside. Two guards stand by the entrance, straightening when we pull up. They open the doors without a word. I step out first, then turn, and offer her my hand. She takes it. No hesitation. No tremble. Nothing.
I help her out of the car, and my grip lingers for half a second longer than necessary. She doesn't pull away. Just looks around. Curious. Taking everything in.
Not scared. Not even close. That's when it hits me.
Hard. She's not afraid. Not of this place.
Not of what's waiting inside. Not of me.
That's not normal. That's dangerous. A flicker of unease moves through me.
Not for me. For her. Because this? This looks like someone who's decided life doesn't matter all that much anymore.
I don't like that. Not one fucking bit. I step closer. Just enough to keep her within reach.
"Stay behind me," I remind her.
She nods. But her attention is already on the building. On what's inside. On what's coming.
We step in. The air shifts immediately. Cool.
Still. The kind of place where screams don't travel far.
Brick is already there. Leaning against a table like he owns the room.
Which—in a way—he does. He straightens when he sees me.
Then his gaze shifts. Lands on Audra. And I watch it happen.
That moment. The one where grown men usually start sweating.
Where they realize exactly who they're dealing with.
Brick's a fucking nightmare to look at. Massive.
Scarred. The kind of man people avoid on instinct alone.
Not Audra, though. She just… looks at him. Her head tilts slightly. Like she's studying him, but not as something dangerous.
"What happened to you?" she asks.
Just like that. Curious. Almost… thoughtful. Silence follows. Thick. Immediate. Brick blinks. Actually blinks. Then he huffs out a low chuckle, glancing at me.
"I don't know if that's a story for a lady," he snickers in his rough-as-gravel voice. I watch her closely. Waiting for it. The hesitation. The regret. The realization that maybe she stepped into something she doesn't understand. It doesn't come. She shrugs slightly. Unbothered.
"I'm sure I've heard worse," she states simply. She's not pretending. This isn't bravado. She means it.
Brick studies her again. Longer this time. Then a slow, amused smirk pulls at his mouth.
"Well," he mutters, still looking at me, "she's different."
Yeah. That's one way to put it. I don't respond.
I can't. Because right now, I'm not watching Brick.
I'm watching her. And realizing I was right.
She's not out of her depth here. Not the way I first thought she'd be.
Not the way I hoped. No, she's stepping into it.
Like she belongs. And that? That scares me more than anything I'll see in this room today.
Or so I thought. Until we step into the room where two men are tied to chairs in the center. My men didn't take it easy on them. Blood mats their hair. Their faces are swollen, barely recognizable. One's lip is split clean down the middle. The other is missing a few teeth already. Not good enough.
"Are these the men who thought they could kidnap my mother?" Audra doesn't ask, she demands. Her voice is steady. Too steady. Brick grunts in confirmation. Before I can say a word, she steps forward.
Slap.
The crack echoes sharply across the room. The first man's head jerks sideways. Then she turns. Slap. The second one takes it. Her hand trembles slightly when she pulls it back. I'm willing to bet it's not from weakness but adrenaline.
"Why did you try to take my mom?" she demands.
The men exchange a look. And then, they laugh. Actually fucking laugh. One of them lifts his swollen gaze toward me.
"Is that all you have, Jefe?" he spits, blood dripping from his mouth. "Some gringa slapping us?"
I take a step forward. "Enough."
The word lands heavy. Final. It's not a suggestion.
It's an order. But before I can reach her, Brick moves.
His arm comes out. Blocking me. Blocking me!
For a split second, the room stills. Because that?
That doesn't happen. Not to me. Not ever.
Slowly, I turn my head. Look at him. The kind of look that's ended men.
Brick doesn't flinch. Doesn't move his arm. Doesn't even pretend to.
"Wait." The word is a hiss.
Not challenging. Not disrespectful. But not backing down either.
A muscle ticks. He's walking a very fine line, and he knows it.
The room feels it too. Every man in here knows exactly how close this is to going very, very wrong.
I take a step closer to him. Not around him.
Into him. Close enough that most men would fold.
"Move," I say quietly.
Brick's eyes flick toward Audra for half a second. Then back to me. He shakes his head. "She's not done."
He's choosing every word like it might be his last, which they might very well be if he doesn't move.
But then I follow his gaze. My eyes lock on her.
The shake in her hands. The fury. The grief bleeding through it.
The way she's standing there, on the edge of a line she won't be able to uncross. My chest constricts.
Fuck.
He's right.
I exhale slowly through my nose before I step back. Just one step. But it's enough. A decision. A concession. The room breathes again. Barely. Brick's arm drops. Just like that. Because he got what he wanted. And he knows better than to push his luck any further.
Audra doesn't look at me. She looks around. Her gaze lands on the table against the wall where our tools have been laid out. Clean. Precise. Surgical.
She walks toward them. And I force myself to stand still.
"Are these what they used on Pete?" she asks quietly.
"Audra," I warn.
She picks up a pair of cutters. Tests them. The metal clicks once. Twice. The sound slices through the room.
"Careful, gringa," one of the men sneers. "You'll get your pretty outfit bloody."
I warn again, "Audra?—"
She doesn't look at me. Doesn't even acknowledge I spoke. She steps back toward the chair. Raises the cutters. And presses them against the man's finger. Everything slows. The man's smirk falters. Just a fraction. When he realizes her intent, sweat beads instantly along his temple.
"Hey—wait?—"
She squeezes. Nothing. The blades press into skin and cut, just enough that blood pours out, but not enough to cut through the bone. It takes more strength than people think.
The man lets out a strangled laugh. "See? I told you?—"
She pushes harder. Her hands shake from the effort. From fury. From something deeper, clawing its way out of her. The metal bites. Skin dents, breaks. More blood wells up. The man screams.
High. Sharp. Real.
Audra gasps. Just for a second. A flicker crosses her expression: shock. At herself. At what she's doing. Her eyes widen. Her breath hitches. Like she didn't expect to get this far. Like, some part of her is standing outside her own body, going, what the hell are you doing?
Pete must be crossing her mind as her grip tightens.
"That's what you did to Pete!" she yells. Her voice is cracking, raw, furious, shattered.
She pushes again. The blades dig deeper. The man thrashes against the restraints, screaming now. Begging. Cursing. Brick lets out a low whistle. Maybe we've done it all wrong all this time? Instead of a quick flick, doing it slowly seems to be far more effective.
I don't move. I can't. I've seen men do this. Men trained for it. Men built for it. But her? She's not built for this. And she's doing it anyway. That's what gets me. That's what grips the dark and possessive part buried deep in my chest. Brick leans closer to me, keeping his voice low, amused.
"If you don't marry her," he mutters, "I will."
I don't even look at him. Because I'm too busy watching her. Watching as she crosses that line. Knowing there's no pulling her back now.
The man screams again. Sweat pours down Audra's face. That's enough. I step in. Close the distance. My hand wraps around Audra's wrist, firm but careful.
"Easy," I murmur, low enough only she can hear.
She resists. There's blood on her hands. Fire in her eyes. She's not done. I feel it. But she's shaking now. Not weak. Overloaded. I pull her gently to the side. Not forcing. Guiding. Just enough to get her out of the direct line.
"Watch," I tell her quietly.
Because if she's going to be here, she's going to understand what this really is. I turn. Step right into the first man's space. Close enough that he can smell me. Fear rolls off him now. Good. I grab his jaw. Hard. Force his head up.
"Enough with the foreplay," I growl in a calm voice. Dead calm. "Why the fuck did you try to abduct her mother?"
He groans. His breathing gets hard. Blood bubbles at the corner of his mouth.
"Boss…" he rasps.
I tighten my grip. "Be more specific."
His eyes flick toward Audra. Then back to me.
"Boss wants her," he manages, jerking his chin in her direction. Icy coldness settles in my chest. Not rage. Worse. Focus. "Why?"
"Don't say another word, Chico," the other man yells. Chico hesitates.
"Brick," I call, because I've seen it too many times. I had him, but the moment is gone.
Metal scrapes next to me, then Brick steps up beside me. Places something in my hand. A blowtorch. Small. Industrial. Efficient. I don't rush it. Click. The flame bursts to life.
Chico starts shaking. "No—no, I told you?—"
I grab his hand. The one Audra started on.
The finger is barely hanging on by torn flesh.
Blood drips steadily. Messy. Unfinished.
I don't like unfinished. I twist and pull it off before I press the flame to the wound.
The reaction is immediate. A scream rips out of him.
Raw. Animal. The smell hits seconds later. Burnt flesh. Thick. Sickening.
I don't flinch. Don't blink. Don't look away. I hold it there just long enough to cauterize. To stop the bleeding. To make a point. Then I pull it back. Turn the flame off. Silence crashes back in. Broken only by his ragged sobbing. I crouch slightly. Bring my face level with his.
"Now," I say quietly, "try that again."
His whole body shakes. His eyes are wide. He's completely broken now.
"He—he doesn't like loose ends," he stammers. "Anyone who might know—anything—he cleans it up?—"
"Shut up," the other man yells.
I don't need to look at Brick; he's at the man's side in an instant, hitting him upside the head. "Quiet."
"Salazar," I finish for Chico before he can process anything that just happened.
He nods frantically. "Yes—yes—he still thinks—she might know something—about the accounts—the deal?—"
I roll my shoulders, trying to bleed off the tension.
So that's it. Not personal. Just business.
Sloppy. Paranoid. I straighten slowly. That confirms it.
Pete stuck his nose where it didn't belong.
And Salazar doesn't tolerate curiosity. My gaze drifts back to Audra.
She's watching. Every second of it. No flinching.
No turning away. Just… taking it in. Processing. Becoming.
Something dark twists in my chest.
Pride.
Concern.
Desire.
All tangled together. I turn back to the man. Coldly, I inform him, "If I find out you're lying, I won't cauterize the next one."
He nods so hard I'm surprised his neck doesn't snap.
"Good," I murmur.
Then I step back.
"Clean him up. Keep him alive," I order.
I glance at the second man. "Let's see if his friend has any more to say."