Chapter 30
Sabine
Kara refilled her water glass and left without looking at me. I stood, gathering my plate, and carried it to the sink. The kitchen was too quiet now. I rinsed the dish methodically, letting the water run over my fingers until they pruned.
Time to retreat upstairs again. Hide in my gilded cage.
I padded across the tile toward the foyer, but stopped when I heard their voices from the command room.
"Alex won't like this plan. It’s too soon," Cam said, her usually quiet voice carrying through the partially open door.
Kara responded immediately. "Tough shit. Sabine is our responsibility."
"Right," Ellie agreed. "The job comes first."
The job. The fucking job.
My stomach clenched so hard I nearly doubled over. I pressed my palm against the wall to steady myself, feeling the cool plaster against my skin.
The job comes first.
I thought about Kara's hands on my thighs the other day. Ellie whispering in my ear as I came. Cam watching me with those dark, knowing eyes. The tangle of limbs and sheets. The way they made me feel safe for the first time in months.
All of it was just work to them. A professional courtesy. Keep the witness happy so she cooperates.
Was any of it real? Or had they sat around and strategized the best way to handle me?
Maybe they'd drawn straws to see who had to fuck the traumatized journalist first. Ellie, with her gentle hands and worshipful energy—was that just her assigned role?
And Kara, the way she'd held me in the shower like I was something precious.
Had she practiced that move in the mirror?
Even the small things. The French toast made from Ellie's grandmother's recipe.
My favorite beer already stocked in the fridge.
The way Cam had known exactly how much pressure to use, how much I could take.
All of it could have been reconnaissance.
Data points in a file. Subject responds well to praise. Subject prefers IPA over lager.
I was such a fool.
I stepped into the doorway without planning to. "Is that all I am to you? A job?"
My voice shook. I hated that it shook.
They spun around like they'd been caught stealing. Three faces I had thought I knew turned toward me with expressions I'd never seen before, not even when I confronted them about the cameras.
Horror bloomed across Ellie's features, her mouth forming a perfect O. She reached toward me, fingers trembling, then let her hand drop like she'd touched something hot.
Kara's professional mask cracked right down the middle.
For once, she looked completely lost for words, her clipboard hanging forgotten at her side.
I could see papers spread across the desk behind her—maps, maybe?
Exit routes? Had I interrupted them planning our escape while discussing how I was just another assignment?
And Cam? She went completely still. Not frozen, not startled. Still like a predator deciding whether to pounce or retreat. Her eyes never left mine, dark and unreadable. I searched them for something—pity, guilt, remorse. Found nothing I could name.
The command room stretched between us. Monitors glowed with camera feeds.
Notes were scattered across every surface.
And there, in the corner, the bank box of Bellante evidence Alex had given me months ago.
The thing that started all of this. Physical proof that I'd been stupid enough to trust the wrong person.
The silence stretched between us like a rubber band pulled too tight, ready to snap back and leave a welt.
"The job comes first?" My voice cracked as the words spilled out. "After everything we've done together..." The rest of the sentence died in my throat, a knot of anger and humiliation choking me. I swallowed hard, tasting bile. "God, you really were just using me, weren't you?"
Ellie shot to her feet, her face pale. "No! Sabine, that's not what—"
"Sabine, that's not what I meant—" Kara started, her clipboard forgotten at her side.
I turned away, unable to bear their explanations. Just words. It was always just words with them. Promises and reassurances that meant nothing when it came down to it.
I walked back to the kitchen, my heartbeat thundering in my ears.
The marble counter was cold under my palms as I leaned against it, trying to steady my breathing.
Something metallic caught my eye. The van keys.
Someone had gotten sloppy. I hadn't been downstairs in days, and they'd left them out like they didn't expect me to notice.
My fingers closed around them before my brain could catch up. The metal bit into my palm, solid and real. I just needed out. Away from their lies, away from the suffocating safety of these walls, away from the memory of their hands on my body.
I moved without thinking, past the command room entrance toward the side door. The main exit to the outside world. The handle was cool under my touch, and for a second I hesitated. Bellante's people were still out there. Still hunting me.
I turned the handle anyway.
The door swung open, and I stepped onto the porch.
The cold hit me first—sharp and immediate after two weeks of central heating. I wasn't wearing a coat. Wasn't even wearing shoes, just the socks I'd put on two days ago. The bricks were frigid beneath my feet, but I didn't care.
Fresh air rushed into my lungs, so different from the recycled warmth I'd been breathing. It tasted clean, alive, like a reminder that the world was bigger than four walls and locked doors.
Above me, the evening sky stretched endlessly, streaked with orange and purple as the sun sank toward the horizon.
Two weeks of looking at ceilings, and I'd forgotten how vast the sky could be.
Wind moved through the trees at the property's edge, their branches swaying and creaking.
Somewhere, a bird called out. Real sounds. Unfiltered by glass and walls.
My ankle protested as I stepped down onto the uneven porch boards, the old injury flaring with each shift of weight. The boards creaked under my feet.
It was dangerous to be out here. Exposed. Vulnerable.
I didn't care.
"You can't be out here. It's not safe."
I didn't turn around. I knew Cam's voice by now, low and certain. She must have followed me from the command room.
I laughed, the sound bitter even to my own ears. "If someone's hacking the security system, it's not safe in there either."
When I glanced back, Cam's mouth had curved into the barest hint of a smile. "Touché."
We stood in silence for a moment, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between us. The van keys dug into my palm.
"Come on," she said finally. "Sit with me."
I hesitated, then followed her to the porch steps. We sat side by side, not touching but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from her body. The sinking sun cast long shadows across the gravel driveway that stretched ahead like an escape route I couldn't take.
The gate was maybe a quarter mile down that drive. Could I run for it? My ankle throbbed at the thought, and even if I made it—then what? Barefoot and coatless with the Scorpions hunting me.
The absurdity of it all hit me then. Here I was, being babysat on the porch of my own prison by a woman who'd watched me come apart under her tongue days ago. The cold seeped through my clothes, biting at my skin, but I still didn't want to go back inside.
Trees surrounded the property on all sides, their bare branches dark against the dying light. I couldn't see the fence line from here, but I knew it was out there. Keeping things out. Keeping me in.
Cam sat solid and warm beside me. Not demanding anything.
Not trying to convince me of anything. Just..
. there. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes—American Spirit, yellow pack.
She tapped it against her palm twice, then slid one out.
She put it between her lips, and lit it with a silver Zippo.
She took a long drag, then exhaled slowly, the smoke curling up into the darkening sky. Without looking at me, she offered the pack, a wordless gesture that felt more genuine than any explanation the others might have given me.
I shook my head. "I don't smoke."
She nodded once, returning the pack to her pocket before taking another drag. Unlike Kara or Ellie, she didn't try to fill the silence with explanations or reassurances. She just sat there, smoking, comfortable in the quiet, not pushing conversation.
Just present.
I watched her profile against the twilight, the strong line of her jaw, the steady rise and fall of her chest. Of all of them, Cam had always been the hardest to read, but somehow the easiest to be around.
She didn't demand anything from me—not cooperation, not forgiveness, not understanding.
She simply existed in the same space, solid and real in a way that anchored me despite everything.
I watched Cam's fingers as they held the cigarette.
There was something mesmerizing about the way she did it, like she'd been smoking for decades.
Her thumb and forefinger pinched the filter with just enough pressure, the ember glowing orange against the darkening sky.
Each movement was practiced, natural. Real.
Unlike everything else in my life right now.
The cigarette passed from her lips to the night air and back again. Something about the ritual pulled at me. I found myself extending my hand toward her, not saying a word.
Cam's eyes flicked to my outstretched fingers, then down to my other hand where the van keys still glinted in the fading light. Her expression didn't change, but she held out her empty palm.
"Give me the keys and I'll share the cigarette," she said.
I stared at the keys in my hand. Freedom?
Maybe. Escape? Possibly. But to where? The Bellantes were still hunting me.
I had no phone, no resources, nowhere to run that they wouldn't eventually find me.
The keys were just an illusion of control, a fantasy of freedom that would probably get me killed.
I dropped them into her waiting palm.
Cam pocketed them without comment, then passed the cigarette to me. I brought it to my lips and inhaled deeply.
Big mistake. The smoke hit my lungs like fire, and I doubled over coughing, my eyes watering. I expected Cam to laugh, but when I looked up, her face remained impassive. She just waited for my coughing to subside.
"Again," she said. "Slower this time."
I tried again, drawing the smoke in more carefully.
It still burned my throat, but I managed not to cough.
The taste was acrid and harsh, nothing like the sweet smell had suggested.
But there was something grounding about it, something that anchored me to this moment, this porch, this woman beside me.
A light-headed sensation washed over me as the nicotine hit my bloodstream for the first time. The world tilted slightly, then righted itself.
I passed the cigarette back to Cam. Our fingers brushed, just barely.
She took a long drag, then returned it to me.
We continued this exchange in silence as the cigarette burned down, sharing this small, quiet intimacy between us.
It wasn't sexual or romantic. It was just..
. human. Two people existing together in a moment of truth.
Around us, dusk deepened into night. Stars appeared one by one above the trees. The ember of the cigarette glowed brighter as darkness fell, like a tiny beacon in our shared solitude.
Cam finally broke the silence. "You should be just a job. But you aren’t." Her voice was low, almost reluctant.
"Just words," I said. The bitterness coated my tongue like the cigarette's aftertaste.
"I'm not good with them." She took another drag, the ember flaring orange in the growing darkness. She held the smoke in her lungs for a long moment before exhaling slowly. "But I've done a lot of jobs with these women. I know them."
The smoke curled between us, dissipating into the night air. Her profile was sharp against the darkening sky, all clean lines and quiet certainty.
"And I can tell you," she continued, "you are not just a job to any of us." She paused, and I felt her gaze slide toward me. "Not even to Alex."
I scoffed. "Fuck Alex."
Cam didn't flinch at my venom. Instead, she turned fully toward me, her dark eyes steady on mine. "I hear you," she said simply. "And I see through it."
I looked at her, caught off guard by her directness.
Most people backed away from my anger, but Cam leaned into it.
Her eyes held mine without judgment or expectation, just a quiet understanding that made my chest tighten.
No one had ever looked at me like that before, like they could see past all my carefully constructed walls to the raw hurt beneath.
"Look who raised her," Cam said, her voice softer now. The cigarette between her fingers had burned down to the filter, the orange glow barely visible. "But she cares."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to hold onto my anger like a shield. But sitting here in the cold dark with Cam's quiet certainty beside me, some of the fight leaked out of me.
My eyes drifted to the driveway again, that long gravel stretch disappearing into darkness. I could leave. The gate was right there. But I wouldn't. Not because of the cold or my ankle or the Bellantes. Because somewhere in the last hour, I'd made a choice without realizing it.
The van keys sat in Cam's pocket now. That felt right, somehow. Like I'd handed over more than just metal and plastic. Like I'd admitted something I wasn't ready to say out loud.
The cold finally registered, seeping deep into my bones. My body was done with this rebellion, demanding warmth and shelter even if my mind wasn't ready to forgive.
I took the cigarette from her fingers, our skin brushing briefly.
I inhaled one last time, feeling the burn in my lungs, somehow less harsh than before.
With a flick of my wrist, I sent the butt arcing into the gravel, where it joined the darkness.
Evidence that we'd been here. That this moment had happened.
I stood, my legs stiff from sitting on the cold step. Looking down, I found Cam still seated, her face tilted up toward mine. She didn't move to follow me, didn't try to convince me of anything more. She just waited, patient and steady, a fixed point in my spinning world.
"Fuck Alex," I said again, but the words lacked their earlier heat.
I turned and walked back inside, letting the side door close behind me with a soft click that echoed in the quiet night.