ELEVEN

CAMbrIA

TRUST YOUR GUT

Trust your gut

There’s a chill in the air that doesn’t belong to spring. The kind that sinks into your bones and whispers that something’s coming. Something bad.

Yesenia’s walking beside me, loose-hipped and confident like always, her high ponytail swinging like it’s on a mission all alone. Her nails are sharp red with black lines, gleaming as she taps them against the metal of the shopping cart. She’s talking about some new pastry she wants to try, but I’m barely listening. The parking lot’s too quiet, too still. There’s no wind, no birds. Just the sound of our boots on asphalt.

Then I feel it. That prickling itch at the back of my neck. Being watched.

I glance over my shoulder casually, like I’m checking for traffic, and catch sight of a black SUV idling three rows down. The windows are tinted too dark for street legal. No one gets out. They’re just sitting there.

Watching.

My stomach drops.

“We’ve got company,” I murmur under my breath.

Yesenia doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t even stop her monologue about key limes. She smiles wider, leans in like she’s about to share a dirty secret, and whispers, “Been following us since the gas station.”

Damn it.

We push the cart through the sliding doors of the grocery store, the cold blast of AC smacking us in the face. I try to keep my breathing steady, try to pretend like I’m just here for paper towels and frozen peas. But every aisle feels like a trap, every endcap like a dead end. My pulse is sprinting in my neck.

“They won’t try anything in here,” Yesenia says, grabbing a can of black beans and inspecting the label like it’s made of gold. “Too many cameras. Too many witnesses.”

I nod, but I don’t relax. If they’re smart, they’ll wait until we’re alone. And if they’re really smart, they’ll force us into that position.

We make it halfway through the produce section before she nods toward the employee-only door in the back. “Time to ghost.”

“Now?”

She dumps the cucumber she was holding back into the bin. “Now.”

We abandon the cart and slide through the door like we belong there. A kid stocking lettuce barely glances at us. We hustle past him, out through the narrow hallway that smells like bleach and onions, until we reach the back exit.

Yesenia opens it a crack, peeks out, then gives me a look.

I don’t get a chance to ask what she sees.

Because the moment we step outside, he’s there.

Frankie.

Tall, lean, with a face like a villain in an old Western. Too smooth. Too smug. His teeth are too white, his eyes too dead.

“Cambria,” he purrs. “Long time no see.”

My blood turns to ice. My lungs forget how to work. For a second, I just freeze. My hand curls into a fist without thinking. That voice—God. That voice is a blade I’ve heard before. I’ve paid the price over and over for my crimes against him. He has literally killed my mother in front of me and yet, it’s never enough for him.

Yesenia doesn’t freeze. Not for a damn second. She steps forward, like a goddamn lioness, her arms stretched wide like she’s claiming the space.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” she says, voice like smoke and steel. “Turn around and walk away, no harm, no foul, buddy.”

Frankie grins. “Oh, I’m anything but your buddy.” His eyes slide to me, full of venom. “You think you’re safe with her? You’re not.” Then he locks his gaze to Yesnia, and he puts my past out in front of me. “She’s a killer. A whore. Go ahead, Cambria. Tell her what you did. Tell her what you are.”

My throat closes. The words get caught behind my teeth.

But not for long.

I step forward, put myself right in his space, chest to chest. “Do your worst,” I growl. “I know what I did. And I know why I did it. You don’t scare me.”

His hand is a blur. The slap cracks across my face, loud as a gunshot. Pain explodes in my cheek, white-hot and searing. My knees buckle. Yesenia catches me before I hit the ground. Her fingers dig into my shoulders, keeping me upright. My vision swims but I see the fury burning in her eyes, and it lights something in me too.

“You just declared war,” she snarls. “Tell Salentino that.”

Frankie laughs. Like this is all a game. “The Hellions don’t bother me.”

She smiles, and it’s the coldest thing I’ve ever seen. “It’s not just the Hellions, sweetheart. You’ve got Almanza after you now.”

Something changes in his expression. A flicker of doubt. Of fear.

Yesenia steps closer, her lips curling around the words like poison-tipped knives. “I’m Javier Almanza’s daughter. You came for the wrong one.”

Silence. Thick. Heavy.

There is a screech of tires. A bike roars into the alley, dust and gravel spinning behind it. Toon. He doesn’t even stop the bike all the way before he’s off, walking toward us with a gun in his hand like it’s just another part of him. Calm. Controlled. Lethal.

His voice is a growl as he guides me to stand behind him and Yesnia moves as if it’s second nature. “Your goons are laid out. Their bodies are stacked in your SUV.” Frankie blinks, disoriented. “You got no one motherfucker.”

Axel approaches behind Toon, yanking Yesnia close to his side. “You get to live long enough to tell Salentino to back the fuck off,” Axel finishes, leveling the barrel at Frankie’s chest. “I don’t know what shit you spewed to him, but Salentino will want no part of what you just started.”

For the first time, Frankie looks unsure. His gaze darts between the three of us—me with a split lip, Yesenia with fire in her eyes, and two Hellions with a loaded weapons staring at him with fury.

He calculates. You can see it in the twitch of his jaw. He’s realizing this didn’t go the way he thought it would. We aren’t uncovered and he’s now outmatched.

Still, he tries to smile. “This isn’t over.”

“No,” I say, tasting blood on my tongue. “It’s just beginning.”

He backs away slowly, hands up, eyes never leaving Axel’s gun. Then he disappears around the corner, boots crunching gravel.

We wait until we hear the SUV start and peel away, tires screaming into the distance.

Only then do I let myself breathe.

I sag into Yesenia, and she holds me tighter.

Axel holsters the gun and walks over, brushing a strand of hair from Yesnia’s face before his lips crash to hers.

Toon comes over to me. “Little Foot is gonna be pissed. Wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” he mutters. “He didn’t want him to touch you ever again.”

“He didn’t win,” I whisper. “He never will.”

“What now?” I ask.

Axel looks down the alley, where the SUV vanished. “First, I get you to my brother before he loses his fucking mind. Then we bring this to their doorstep.”

Toon meets my eyes. “Then we burn it down.”

* * *

The porch creaks under my weight, but I don’t move.

I’ve been sitting here for what feels like hours, knees tucked to my chest, my arms wrapped tight around them like they’re the only thing keeping me together. The late afternoon air is warm, thick with the scent of the pine trees around me. My breath feels tight, like the heat is coiling around my ribs and pulling them inward.

And still, I wait.

My eyes sting, and my cheeks are already raw from wiping at them. The tears don’t stop. They come and go in waves, like my body can’t decide if it’s grieving or relieved. I’ve run so far and held so much inside me that now, with the world slowing down around me, it all comes out in pieces. Messy, broken pieces.

I hear the gravel shifting and the rumble of his bike before I see him.

That crunch beneath his boots as he approaches—it’s a sound I know better than most voices.

Familiar. Steady. Home.

I look up.

Drew walks up like the past hasn’t shattered everything in its path. His shirt is damp with sweat and dust clings to his jeans. He looks tired, but his eyes—God, his eyes—they find mine like they’ve been looking this whole time.

And he stops cold.

“Cambria?” he says, voice cracking around the edges like it’s been rusted with time and disbelief.

I stand too fast, the porch railing catching me as my legs wobble. My whole body is trembling, and I don’t know if it’s from the emotion or the exhaustion, or just the weight of everything I’ve been holding in for too long.

Tears fall again. “I need to tell you why,” I say, voice catching on the first syllable.

He climbs the steps without hesitation, two at a time, and then he’s there—right in front of me. His hands reach out, hesitating for only a heartbeat before he cups my face like I’m something sacred. His thumbs brush my cheeks, chasing the tears as they fall.

His touch is gentle, but his eyes burn. Not with anger. With something worse—concern, grief, something that looks too much like love.

I press my hands to his wrists, holding them there like an anchor. “You need to know why Frankie is coming for me.”

His brow tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt. He nods once. I feel it in his fingertips, his pulse beating steady beneath my grip. I close my eyes. And then I speak the truth I’ve buried so deep it hurts to drag it out.

“I killed his brother, Drew.”

His hands twitch against my skin. He doesn’t pull away. I open my eyes again, and they meet his.

“He was going to rape me.” The words don’t even feel like they’re mine. They sound distant, like they belong to someone else—some other broken girl in some other ruined life.

“It happened fast,” I whisper. “In a blink. He had me cornered, and something in me just reacted. I didn’t think. I grabbed at him. The knife cut through my neck, but somehow I managed to get it away from him. I stabbed him where I could.”

I shake, but his hands stay steady.

“There is so much blood. I didn’t know what to do. I pushed him off me. He wasn’t moving. There was blood shooting out with the knife still stuck in his neck.” The words tumble out as my entire body trembles remembering that night. “I called 911. They came. They took me in. Questioned me. I was shaking so bad I couldn’t even remember what I’d done at first. Couldn’t explain what happened. But eventually, they ruled it self-defense and let me go.”

I pause, my chest tightening. “That’s when Frankie came and got tied to my mom.”

Drew’s eyes are locked on mine. He’s so still. I can’t read him.

“I didn’t even know Mike was Frankie’s brother. Not then,” I say. “I didn’t know until it was too late. Until after my mom… after she was in too deep.”

His hands slide down from my face and wrap around my shoulders, pulling me in just slightly, like he needs to hold me without letting me disappear inside myself.

“He got my mom hooked,” I whisper. “Drugs. Real bad. And when she couldn’t pay… he made her work. Pimped her out. Kept her in the same trailer where he knew I’d see him every day.”

The sob that breaks from me is raw, but I don’t look away.

“He told me he wouldn’t kill me. Said that would be too easy. Said he wanted to make sure he watched me suffer until the end of time. That he’d burn everything I loved to the ground.”

I bite down on the inside of my cheek until I taste blood. “I didn’t think he’d follow me out of Arkansas. He had my mom. He made money off her. I lived life struggling. I knew pain and loss. I watched my mother die in front of me even though she was still breathing. He doesn’t see it, but his brother killed my innocence that night too. A part of me died when I took his life and I still wish anything else could have happened.”

Little Foot steps forward, his body pressing against mine as he wraps me in his arms.

I bury my face in his chest and inhale so sharply it’s like I’ve been drowning without realizing it.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he says quietly, his hand running up and down my back. “You didn’t deserve any of it.”

“I left everything,” I choke out. “I took the opportunity you gave me and I ran. I didn’t think Frankie could follow me. How did he find me? I don’t call home. I haven’t talked to my mom, Drew. She could have overdosed being alone in the hotel or a John beat her up. I turned my back on her to save myself. And still I’m going to lose it all.”

Little Foot pulls back just enough to see me. His hands cradle my face again, warm and steady. “You didn’t tell me because you were protecting me.”

I nod, barely. “But it’s here now. He’s here now. I don’t know how, but he found me. And he’s going to make me pay, this time using you and your family.”

His jaw tightens, and there’s a fire in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “He’s not gonna touch you again,” he says, low and hard. “I promise you, Cambria. He’s not gonna get to any of us, me, you, or our family. Because you’re with me, they are your family too.”

Tears keep coming, hot and angry now. “I didn’t want you to see me like this,” I whisper. “I didn’t want to be someone broken in your eyes.”

“You’re not broken,” he says, his voice a gravel-soft oath. “You’re the strongest damn person I’ve ever known.”

“I’m scared, Drew.” He leans his forehead against mine.

“So am I.” His honesty—it breaks something open in me. “But I’m here,” he continues. “I’m not going anywhere. Whatever comes next, you’re not facing it alone.”

I grip the front of his shirt like a lifeline. “I need you,” I admit. “Not because I’m weak. But because you’re the only person who ever made me feel safe.”

He kisses me. Not gentle. Not soft.

It’s a kiss full of everything we have yet to say. It’s his promise between us, one pressed to my lips. His vow to stand by me and my vow to stay in this with him. When we break apart, I’m breathing hard, heart pounding like it’s trying to run out of my chest.

All the pieces of myself I’ve been holding together fall apart in his hands. But he doesn’t flinch. He just holds me tighter, like he’s piecing me back together one breath at a time.

“I love you, Cambria,” he says into my hair. “Every scar. Every moment. I love you.”

I clutch him tighter. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “For not telling you. For not trusting you. For thinking I had to do this alone.”

He lifts my face again, his fingers gentle but firm. “You survived, Cambria. That’s what matters. And now you’re not alone anymore.”

The sun dips low behind the trees, casting gold over everything. The porch is quiet, except for the cicadas starting up their evening song. The world should feel heavy, but for the first time in a long time it doesn’t. It feels like maybe we still have a chance.

Maybe love isn’t what I thought it was. Maybe it’s not clean or perfect or soft.

Maybe it’s standing in the ruins with someone who refuses to walk away.

Maybe it’s this.

Just this.

Me and him. And whatever comes next.

Together.