28. Gabriel
Stacy is in bed by the time dinner arrives. Earlier, she pressed her fingers to her temple and said she felt funny in the head, like the words themselves confused her. I did my due diligence—do you have a headache? No. Are you dizzy? No. Tired? Yes.
I asked just in case there was something seriously wrong with her. After all, she just came out of the hospital a little over a week ago. And the last thing I need is Audra having to worry again. I've seen a lot of things. Shock. Grief. Withdrawal.
This with Stacy?
This is something else.
I'm starting to think the woman's not entirely right in the head. Not dangerous. Probably manipulative as hell. And… off. Which makes her unpredictable in a different way. I don't like variables I can't account for. I leave one of my men outside her door anyway. Precaution.
Always.
Kale dug into her medical records. Nothing raised any red flags, besides her constant ER and UR visits. The doctor from the hospital is still waiting on some test results, but so far, he hasn't found anything either. At least not physically.
Audra doesn't ask where we're eating. She just follows when I gesture toward the balcony.
Quiet. Compliant, but not in a way I trust. There's a distance in her.
Not fear. Not even grief in the way I'm used to seeing it.
Something… off-center. Like she's not fully here.
Which I guess is understandable. Given what she's been through, most people would be shattered.
She isn't. She's holding it together just enough to function.
But I can see the cracks. I watch for them. I always do.
People like her—people who don't break right away—they either fold later… or they become something else entirely. This afternoon has me fairly well convinced she's the second kind. I'm not sure yet whether that's a problem or exactly what I want.
She steps out onto the balcony ahead of me, and the city stretches out in front of her. Vegas lit up like a lie. She pauses at the railing. Not dramatic. Not fragile. Just… still. Like she's trying to place herself back into her own body.
My jaw flexes. I don't have patience for this part. The drifting. The quiet unraveling. Grief is inefficient. Messy. Slow. And I don't do slow. But for her, I do all kinds of things I didn't think myself capable of.
Because I want her.
Not the broken version.
Not the one still standing in a warehouse with her husband bleeding out in front of her.
The other one. The one from the range. The one who didn't hesitate.
The one who felt right with a gun in her hand.
That's the version I'm interested in. The one worth waiting for.
Even if I don't like how long it's going to take.
I move past her, pulling out a chair. "Sit," I invite.
She sends one of those green gazes my way that makes me want to level the world for her. To take out any obstacle that ever stood in her way. She takes the proffered seat, sinking down like the queen I know is hiding deep inside her.
Once I'm sure she's comfortable, I sit down across from her.
Dinner is already laid out, and I pour a drink, more out of habit than need, and watch her over the rim as she picks up her fork.
Still controlled. Still composed. But now I know better than to mistake that for harmless.
A few hours ago, she proved exactly what she is.
Now I just need to figure out how far it goes.
And whether I'm the one who gets to take her there.
We eat in silence for a minute. I let it stretch. Most people talk when silence gets uncomfortable. Audra doesn't. She eats like she's done this a hundred times. Like she belongs here. Interesting. I set my glass down. "Did you always want to be a vet assistant?"
Her fork pauses for half a second. Barely noticeable before she sets it down. Buying time. Or choosing her words. Or debating if she should let me in on the secrets I know she's been guarding.
"No," she admits. She looks up in a so-not-Audra fashion, which makes me imagine all kinds of ways that look could be directed at me. "Don't laugh."
Something in the way she says it—not defensive, but… careful—hooks my attention. "I promise I won't."
Her eyes flick up to mine, searching. Measuring. Like she's deciding if my word is worth anything.
Then, slowly, a wry smile curves her mouth. "I wanted to be a card dealer."
I don't laugh. But I do lean back slightly, studying her like she just revealed a different language I didn't know she spoke.
"A card dealer?" I repeat, more amused than curious. "Why?"
Her smile lingers, but there is a small hint of regret in it. "Because I sucked in school. I knew I wasn't going to college."
She shrugs one shoulder, casual on the surface, but her fingers tighten slightly around her glass. "We're in Vegas. I heard you could earn good money without schooling if you knew what you were doing."
She's not wrong. A good dealer is worth his or her weight in gold. Her gaze lifts to mine again, steadier this time. "I wanted to deal at high-stakes poker games."
That… I didn't expect.
Something low and amused hums in my chest, but it's not mockery. It's interest.
"High stakes," I repeat. "Not blackjack? Not roulette?"
Her lips tilt again, that same almost-smile. "Too predictable."
I lean forward slightly, resting my forearms on the table.
"Interesting," I murmur. "So how did you go from that… to patching up injured animals?"
She huffs out a quiet breath, glancing down at her plate before looking back up. There's another flicker of regret there.
"Life," she says simply.
I don't let her get away with that. "Not good enough."
Her eyebrow lifts. "No?"
"No." My voice lowers just enough to shift the air between us. "You don't strike me as someone who just lets life decide things for her."
That lands. I see it in the way her shoulders still, just slightly.
In the way her gaze sharpens, like I just stepped a little too close.
Silence stretches between us again. But this time it's more…
charged. Her fingers trace the rim of her glass, slow and absent, but deliberate enough to pull my attention. She knows I'm watching. Doesn't stop.
"Maybe I changed my mind," she challenges.
"Or maybe," I counter, not looking away, "something changed it for you."
Her breath catches, so quiet I almost miss it. Almost. For a second, I think she's going to deflect again. But then she leans back in her chair, mirroring me now, her gaze locked with mine.
"Why does it matter to you?" she asks.
There's no attitude in it. Just… curiosity. Real curiosity. I hold her gaze, letting the question sit between us. Letting her feel it.
"Because," I choose my words carefully, "people don't just walk away from something they want. Not unless they're forced to… or they're hiding from it."
Her lips part slightly, like she's about to say something, but stops herself. The pause is telling. That woman is challenging me. Me! There are so many layers to her, I can't wait to peel them away one by one until I finally see her fully. In all her naked glory. Physically and metaphorically.
She picks up her fork again, but she doesn't look away.
"Careful," she warns.
I tilt my head. "With what?"
Her gaze flicks over me once—not shy in the slightest—before settling back on my eyes. "With asking questions that you might not like the answers to."
A slow smile pulls at my mouth. There she is.
"I don't mind answers," I tell her quietly. I let my gaze drop—just briefly—to her lips before coming back up. "I mind lies."
"Sometimes omissions make it easier to… get along," she lowers her gaze.
"I'm not Pete; there is nothing you can say or do that will shock me."
Her head snaps up so fast I almost regret it.
The name lands harder than I intended. She coughs, a small, sharp sound.
For a second, I think I pushed too far. Hell, I know I did.
But then she stills. And just like that, it's gone.
Whatever cracked open a second ago seals back up, piece by piece, like it was never there.
When she looks at me again, it's different.
"The truth is, I used to be someone else."
I find that hard to believe. My men dug deep. I've seen pictures of her from birth to her wedding to that asshole. Even after. She's always been Audra Hale, née Connor. "What kind of someone?"
Her gaze drifts past me for just a second, out toward the city. She's not really avoiding me; it seems more like she's sinking back into long-forgotten memories.
"The kind who didn't flinch," she admits.
My fingers tighten slightly around my glass. "Before you met your husband, I assume." There is no way that loser would have had the nerve to ask someone like Audra out, not the way she must have been back then.
Her eyes flick back to mine. "Yes."
"Who taught you?" I ask.
I have a feeling this answer will matter more than the rest. She pokes at a piece of meat with her fork. Still trying to figure out how truthful she should be with me.
"I want it all, Audra." I catch her gaze when it lifts, hold it. "I want to know all about you. The good, the bad, and the ugly."
She lets out a derisive sniffle. "Nobody wants the ugly."
"I do," I emphasize.
She doesn't blink; I give her the time she needs to make up her mind. Then I remind her, "You watched me kill people."
Not many people get to do that and live. I leave that part out, though. It serves as a reminder that she can trust me.
"There was a man named Razor."