Page 71 of Gabriel

Whatever game Jet was playing, Amara was walking into a deathtrap and dragging my sister and me into it, all because she refused to see Jet for who he really was: a loaded gun.

And she thought I was the threat.

A bitter laugh rose in my throat. I swallowed it. I didn’t have time to tend to my wounded pride, not now when Anya’s life was in danger of getting caught in Jet’s web.

I leaned forward and started to strategize.

Amara wasn’t stupid, but she could be distracted.

By me.

She tried to hide her reaction to me behind a clipped tone and stiff shoulders, but I’d seen the flicker. The heat she tried to crush. The way her body responded before her brain could catch up.

It would be my leverage.

Brute force, threats, and reason could never work on her. However, desire was an entirely different matter. She didn’t trust my words, but she was starting to trust how I made her feel.

That, I could work with.

A dual-purpose plan started to form in my mind: save my sister and win Amara. Not with lies, but with carefully offered truths.

It would be the best of both worlds, and then I’d deal with Jet and his twin once and for all.

Amara was used to liars, manipulators. So I’d be different. I’d make her feel safe with me. Needed.Wanted.

The old Gabriel would’ve played it light, flirty. But that wouldn’t work on her. No, Amara didn’t need sweet words. She needed intimacy disguised as honesty. Moments that felt real, even if they weren’t. She needed vulnerability.

I stared at the spot where she’d stood by the door. It was still faintly scented with warmth.

She’d made it clear she’d shoot me. Maybe even kill me if I pushed too far.

But her hands had trembled when she pointed that gun at me. Her eyes had flashed when I said Jet wanted Anya. That wasn’t just fury. That was confusion, a crack in her foundation.

And I could widen that crack.

Tomorrow, I’d apologize. I’d offer a breadcrumb of truth about Jet’s proposition back at the club. Not enough to reveal everything, but enough to raise doubt.

And in the quiet moments—when we were alone in this floating prison of hers—I’d let her see something real in me.

And if I played it right, she’d not only uncuff me.

She’d trust me. She’d want me. And that… that would be the real shift in her loyalties.

Because the second Amara wanted me more than she trusted her twisted siblings, I’d own her.

And from there?

Everything would unravel exactly the way I wanted.

But first… I had to wait.

Chains rattled as I shifted back against the bed frame and closed my eyes, letting the steady pitch of the sea rock me into calm.

We were halfway to Albania, and by the time we got there, she’d be mine.

Amara

Elira had been pacing the yacht all morning, citing a strange noise coming from the generator. I didn’t question it. Whatever excuse she needed to vanish for a while, I welcomed it. The silence she left behind was a relief.