38. AUDRA kitchen fire running mil
Oh, the audacity. I slam the door to my room so hard the frame rattles, then lean back against it, chest heaving like I just ran ten blocks.
My blood is boiling. My skin is too tight.
And worst of all—worst of all—my stupid, treacherous body is still humming from the way he looked at me out there.
That dark, hungry promise in his eyes that said if I didn't walk away right then, we were going to end up exactly like last time: furious, naked, and devouring each other until nothing else existed.
I hate how much I wanted it.
I hate even more that I almost stayed.
"God damn you, Gabe," I whisper, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes.
Nobody—and I mean nobody—has ever made me this furious.
Not even Razor in his worst moments. This man walks into my life, pays for everything, rearranges my entire existence without asking, and then has the nerve to tell me what I can and cannot do like I'm some fragile little doll he gets to keep locked in his tower.
I push off the door and start pacing, emotions crashing through me so fast I can barely breathe.
I need to see Kelly. In person. She deserves to hear from my own mouth what happened to her son.
He might not have been the love of my life in the end, but he was still my husband.
He still mattered. And I owe her the truth, or as close to it as I can get without destroying what's left of her heart.
Gabe doesn't get to decide that for me.
I stop in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the sprawl of Vegas below. The city looks smaller from up here. Contained. Controllable. Just like he wants me.
My nipples are still tight, aching against my bra.
My thighs press together on instinct, trying to ease the slick, throbbing need between them.
Even now, my body is betraying me. It remembers exactly how it felt when he pinned me against the wall last night.
How his mouth felt. How his growl vibrated through me when he said he wouldn't be gentle.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
This is the problem. He's too much. Too intense. Too everything. He makes me feel alive in a way I haven't in years, and that terrifies me. How can I go from mourning my husband to drooling over a man who just admitted he'll kill anyone who threatens what's his?
I drag in a shaky breath and wrap my arms around myself.
I'm finally starting to feel like me again, the woman who stood on her own two feet before Pete, before the MC, before all of this.
I won't let another man cage me. Not even one who looks at me like I'm the only thing worth burning the world for.
I'm going to see Kelly. And if Gabriel D'Amato tries to stop me…
he's going to find out exactly how much fight I still have left.
I wait until the penthouse goes quiet. My heart is still hammering from the fight, my skin too hot, my thighs still embarrassingly slick. I hate how my body refuses to calm down, even when my mind is screaming at me to get some distance. I creep out of my room like a thief in my own prison.
The living area is empty. No sign of Gabe. His espresso cup is still shattered against the fridge, a small, satisfying mess I left behind. Good. He's gone.
I let out a shaky breath and head down the hall to Mom's room. She's sitting up in bed when I slip inside, looking frailer than I want to admit but with that sharp, knowing look in her eyes that always sees too much.
"I wasn't feeling good," she explains. The sight of her in bed is nothing new to me. She spends more time in it than out. It's always been like that.
I force a smile and sit on the edge of her bed, taking her hand. "I need to go see Kelly today. I… I owe her the truth. Or as much of it as I can give her. I'll be back soon, I promise."
Mom searches my face for a long moment. Then she glances toward the door. "Oh. Are Jack and Mario going to be here?"
My stomach twists. The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I push it out anyway. "They'll be right outside the door the whole time," I assure her, squeezing her fingers, knowing fully well that when she's like this, she won't leave her bed all day. "You won't even know I'm gone."
She nods, trusting me completely, and it makes the guilt burn hotter in my chest. I kiss her forehead, lingering a second longer than I should, then slip back out before I lose my nerve.
The second I'm in the hallway again, the walls feel like they're closing in. The penthouse—this beautiful, luxurious cage—suddenly feels too small. Too heavy. I need air. Real air. The kind that doesn't smell like Gabe's cologne and power, or the ghost of last night's sex.
God, that sex! I've never in my entire life had that kind of sex before.
It wasn't just the sex, though, was it? My inner voice reminds me.
No, it wasn't. It was the way he made sure I found my pleasure.
The way he held me and looked at me, like I was the most desirable person in the whole world.
It was intense, passionate, and possessive.
It was everything I had been missing. But what if I'm doing it again?
Trying to fix my life by jumping from one man to another, as I did from Razor to Pete, only to end up years later regretting it.
Going out now might be a small step, but it's a step I have to take.
The mention of Jack and Mario reminded me of a problem, though.
Guards are stationed by the private elevator.
Ostensibly to keep the bad guys out, but I'm not kidding myself, they're also there to keep me in.
The whole floor is locked down tighter than Fort Knox.
Sneaking out of the penthouse won't be easy.
And even if I find a way, it's possible, okay, highly likely, that Gabe will find out within minutes.
I press my back against the wall, eyes closed, trying to steady my racing pulse.
I need a plan. Because I'm done waiting for permission.
I'm done being handled. If Gabe thinks he can keep me locked away like some precious, breakable thing…
he's about to learn exactly how far I'm willing to go to breathe again and assert my independence.
The only way out is through the guards and the elevator. I'll need a distraction. And shoes.
Think. Audra. Think.
My gaze snaps toward the kitchen. A fire.
A fire would make for a great distraction.
My mind is racing with options, probabilities.
I need to warn Mom to stay where she is, no matter what she hears.
I don't think for a second that causing a small fire would put her in danger.
I'm certain Gabe has this floor fireproofed.
I just need to get the guards in here while I sneak out.
Good, good plan so far, I pep talk myself. So I make it to the elevator, then what? I can't exit on the casino floor. The guards will alert more security, who will be waiting for me by the elevator doors.
I make one more trip to Mom and tell her that I'm sneaking out, but it's going to make some noise.
"Whatever you do, Audra, don't piss Gabe off," she warns.
"Okay." I nod, knowing fully well that what I'm about to do is going to do a bit more than piss Gabe off.
Next, I grab some shoes from my room, then I open the cabinets until I find towels and dishcloths.
And who would have thought… a gun. Neatly nestled in between the towels.
I grab it. Just in case. Gabe is right about Salazar and the cartel threat.
I was caught off guard once; I promise myself not to be again.
Next, I twist the knob on the stove, listening for the gas to hiss softly into the air as the ignitor catches.
A flame rises around the burner. My heart pounds so hard it's almost deafening.
This is insane. This is exactly what I used to do.
Getting into trouble, being in life-or-death situations.
Only at fifteen it was a lot… less scary.
My hand trembles for half a second before I hold the fabric over the flame.
It catches instantly. Whoosh. Fire licks up, greedy and immediate, starting with the edge of the towel.
Heat blooms fast. Nearly too fast.
"Shit," I exclaim as I drop the towel to the floor, where the flames catch on to the little rug.
Good. That's good. It needs to be convincing.
Smoke starts to curl toward the ceiling.
I step back, grab a pan, knock something over for good measure, noise, chaos, panic.
I drop the oil by accident, spilling it from the counter to the floor.
Then I scream. "HELP! FIRE!"
Loud. Desperate. Raw. The fire alarm picks this moment to start in too.
I only hope Mom will stay put. She's probably busy with her cats, I assure myself.
This is insane, Audra, a voice screams in my head, but fuck it, it's laughing too.
Water sprays down from the ceiling. Of course, Gabe has fire sprinklers.
Still, the fire is burning. Flames lick against wooden cabinets, another dishtowel, a box of Kleenex…
I cough, adding to the effect, waving smoke toward the hallway. "HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!"
The door bursts open. Rushed footsteps follow. Heavy. Fast. Two guards hurry in, their eyes immediately snap to the flames climbing higher now, the thickening smoke.
"What the?—"
"Kitchen!" I choke out, pointing, backing away like I'm terrified. Which—God help me—isn't entirely fake. They move past me without hesitation. And that's my window.
I slip past the men, out the door, straight into the hallway. My pulse is a drumbeat in my ears when my eyes fall on a lone guard by the elevator. Gun in hand, he turns towards me. "What's going on?—"
"My mom and her cats!" I blurt, breathless, frantic, pointing back toward the apartment. "They're still inside, you have to help?—"
"I can't leave this post, miss." His tone is firm. Unmoved.
Right. I should have known that Gabe would have given orders for at least one man to stay behind, no matter what.
They're well-trained. They're not MC, who react first and asks questions later.
Something cold settles inside me. The time for hesitation is long gone.
I've committed to this path, and I'll see it through.
The gun I'd stuck behind my waistband is in my hand before I even register reaching for it.
My fingers fold around the cold, matte-black handle.
It's a SIG Sauer P226 Legion, and it looked custom-made when I pulled it out.
An extended magazine is in place, which struck me as Gabe.
Always ready. The Sig doesn't have a safety switch.
Once you rack the slide—which I already did, old habits die hard—it's ready.
The only safety feature is that the first shot requires a little more pressure, preventing an accidental shooting. I raise it, point it straight at him.
At first, he looks surprised, then amused. Like I'm a joke. Like I'm just another hysterical woman playing at something she doesn't understand. My finger tightens on the trigger, and the shot cracks through the hallway. Deafening.
The bullet flies past his head, so close it has to burn. His amusement vanishes. Gone in an instant. My arm stays steady. My aim doesn't waver.
"The next one," I warn, "goes between your eyes."
For a second, we just stare at each other.
Scenarios must be playing through his head.
He could shoot me, his gun is still up too, but he knows that won't go over well with his boss.
Finally, he takes a step back. I free one hand from around the grip and fumble behind me for the elevator switch, never letting the guard out of my eyesight.
Not even a second later, the doors ding open like they had been waiting for me.
Backing up, I slide inside, yelling, "Stay back!
" at the guard who is taking a hesitant step towards me.
More footsteps pound down the hall, probably alarmed by the sound of the shot. The other guards flood into the doorway. One already has his phone to his ear. Calling it in.
With the gun pointed at the men, I press the button for the casino floor with my other hand.
The doors start to close, slow. Always so slow.
For one horrible second, I think they'll reach me and that I'll have to start shooting.
That a hand will wedge between the doors to stop them from fully closing.
Thankfully, the doors slide shut, sparing me from deciding if I'm prepared to shoot any of them.
For the time being, I'm sealed in. The elevator begins its descent.
Now I'm faced with the next problem: I forgot that the elevator only goes to the casino floor—that and a couple of basement levels, which must be fingerprint or card-activated because nothing happens when I press them.
My hands are shaking badly when I put the gun back into my waistband.
No matter what happens next, I've decided I won't shoot at Gabe's men.
If they take me back to the penthouse, so be it.
But I won't have their deaths on my conscience.
I have no doubt that Gabe's men will be right by the elevator doors on the casino level, waiting for me. Think. Audra. Think. The numbers tick down faster than I like. Not enough time. My gaze snaps around the elevator, mirrors, control panel, emergency buttons—emergency!
Yes.
My hand slams against the panel, hitting the red button. An alarm blares instantly. Loud. Piercing.
Because now it's not just me. Now it's a situation the security detail will have to deal with once the elevator reaches the casino floor.
Suddenly it stops. The cart jerks slightly, slows, then stops.
The doors open. My breath catches. I have no idea which floor I'm on, but, yes.
Yes, that works. I rush out and run towards the stairway.
I need to go down if I want to get out. My knees and legs are burning by the time I make it down about ten floors.
I'm huffing and shaking, but finally I reach the ground level.
The whole time, I expect to hear shouting from above, but nothing happens.
I notice a sign, Ground Floor, which means casino level, but the stairs keep going down.
To the underground parking garage for the employees. Yes!
I ignore my spaghetti legs and make it down one more flight of stairs. I open the door to the dank air in the underground garage. A light mix of gas, exhaust, and uncirculated air.
I did it!
The sound of tires screeching has me turn my head. A large blacked-out Escalade stops right next to me, the passenger door is pushed open, and my heart sinks when I see Brick grinning at me. "Going somewhere?"