Page 162 of Crave

He exhaled slowly, tilting his head slightly, watching me with something unreadable in his gaze. “Maybe you can’t.”

The words hit harder than I expected, but I didn’t pull away. I reached out instead, my fingers brushing against his wrist, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my touch.

His breath hitched. Just slightly.

I looked up at him, my pulse pounding, and for a split second, I saw it.

The hesitation. The war inside him. The way his gaze dropped to my lips before snapping back up.

He wanted this.

He didn’t want to want it.

But he did.

I took another step closer, my chest brushing against his. “Gabe…”

His hand twitched like he was about to grab me. Like he wanted to pull me in, like he wanted to break the space between us.

But then?—

“Shouldn’t you be with the others?”

Jude’s voice cut through the air, sharp and knowing.

I pulled back immediately, my stomach twisting. Gabe’s entire body went rigid.

Jude stood near the entrance, watching us with that same unreadable expression. The flickering light above cast shadows across his face, and for a second, I could have sworn I saw something almost smug in his eyes.

Gabe took a slow step back, putting distance between us.

The moment shattered.

Jude didn’t move, didn’t react, just waited.

I turned and walked away before either of them could see the way my hands were shaking.

The air inside the warehouse felt thicker—like the walls were closing in, like something was crawling beneath my skin. The silence stretched, tight and suffocating.

And then?—

Gunfire.

The first shot cracked through the air, shattering the uneasy quiet. Then another. And another. The warehouse exploded into chaos as bullets slammed into the walls, into the steel crates, ricocheting with deafening force.

A cry ripped from my lips.

Someone shouted—Gabe or Theo or maybe Silas—but I didn’t hear the words. I was already moving, throwing myself behind astack of crates as the gunfire ripped through the warehouse like a storm.

Screams.

The sickening crunch of bodies hitting the ground.

The sharp, acrid scent of blood and gunpowder filled my nose.

I peeked around the edge of the crates, my heart pounding. The cartel wasn’t holding back this time. They moved in from the open bay doors—fast, ruthless, brutal.

One of our men went down, a bullet tearing through his throat. He dropped without a sound, his blood splattering across the concrete floor. Another staggered back, clutching his stomach, eyes wide with shock before his legs gave out.