Page 159 of Cara

And that’s it.

They vanish into the hangar. My legs lead me to the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows as I envision the trek I’ll make to Bo’s truck parked a few blocks from the airport. The weapons concealed under the seat just waiting to be used.

“Come on,” I urge under my breath, my eyes veiled under a navy baseball cap, fixated on the plane slowly retreating from the gate. “Come on.”

The moments stretch on like excruciating hours.

As the plane hurtles upward from the runway and into the churning storm clouds, a shaky breath escapes my lips.

She’s safe.

She’sgone.

Once again, I stand resolutely alone, transforming into the shadow of someone I thought had vanished forever. A woman with a calloused heart, wielding hands that yearn to inflict pain. This isn’t a dream or a nightmare. All that’s left is to find my husband.

That’s why I stayed behind.

I’ll either find him or die trying.

I know that. I'm prepared for it.

With a sharp inhale, as their plane is swallowed by heavy clouds, I turn for the exit.

Sophie

The sun did not rise.

Night flowed into day with vast cumulus clouds stretching across the sky, enveloping the restless world in gloom.

Horns blare nonstop as pedestrians curse at the constant near accidents as if everything around me is also consumed by the same rage festering within.

My boot applies more and more pressure to the accelerator until I’m screeching onto the tight ramp leading to the warehouse district. I’m straining my eyes to keep them open, battling against the burn. It’s fitting when the sky opens, punishing the world with a torrential downpour.

This goddamn night hasn’t relented, but there’s nothing left to take. It’s all gone. And the feeling of isolation I once barely survived in has returned with a vengeance, seeping hate into my veins like a fatal poison.

That hatred fogs everything I lay my eyes on.

And it’s exactly what I need—to shut down. To forget that I have a heart that can somehow still be broken further. There shouldn’t be an ounce of anything good left in me, and if they kill him—if he’s already dead—there won’t be.

AsI park, rain thundering against the pickup truck, my bloodshot eyes fix on the imposing concrete structure that looms over the river. A river I was thrown into just hours ago by the man I love.

The woman I once was would be absolutely terrified. A naive girl in Greece, fighting for her life by striking a man with a pocket knife. The hardened woman who fired a lethal shot into her sister’s skull. Even the woman I was last night, when I wished to die for what I did to those men.

She still longed for peace.

As my hands meticulously check my weapons, my cutting gaze pinned on the building, I'm convinced she died last night, as there is no overwhelming panic now. No trembling fingers. Just blind rage.

Fuck peace.

This iswar.

They shaped me into who I am. For an entire year, from dusk to dawn, I endured every beating, each time becoming bolder and stronger, until my fist was swift enough to strike and inflict damage, preparing me for this.

Dominic Strata will regret the day I entered that hideout.

He doesn’t understand that no one can endure pain like I do, functioning through what would incapacitate others. I’ve always been running, pleading for my life. They’ve never seen me in pursuit, tracking them like animals.

While it may seem like a foreign concept at first, the thought of my husband in that building slows my veins to a controlled stream. The revolver satiates the emptiness in my palm, an extension of my fury with which I’ll punish anyone in my way.