Page 76 of Gabriel

She strode in with the casual grace of someone who knew exactly what kind of storm she could stir.

She hadn’t sent Elira this time.

Thank all the saints, because I was more than glad to see Amara. In fact, I was lit up like a boy holding his first BB gun on Christmas morning, hands shaking with excitement too big for his body.

“I’m not freeing both of your wrists,” she said, not meeting my eyes as she entered. “Not after last time.”

“Understood,” I replied evenly. “Thank you for coming.”

She glanced at me then, clearly surprised by my civility and lack of resistance.

“I only came because Elira refused to and the men are busy running maintenance checks down below,” she mumbled.

Her guard stayed up as she unshackled one wrist.

I took the tray, settled it on my lap, and began eating with one hand while the silence stretched between us.

“You were right,” I said eventually. “I’m overprotective of Anya.” She didn’t respond, just shifted her weight. “And you’re right about my flirting. It’s a reflex. Not one I’m proud of.”

She walked over, her steps careful, and came to stand at the foot of the bed before she replied, “I didn’t say anything about your flirting.”

“I was out of line the last time you were here. Not just what I said about Jet… but how I said it. You didn’t deserve that.” I looked up and met her eyes. “I was angry. And scared for Anya’s safety.”

She crossed her arms thoughtfully. “Scared of what?”

I swallowed, gaze dropping, and let the silence simmer before answering.

“Of losing Anya,” I murmured. I heard the subtle shift in her breath. She didn’t sit, but she didn’t leave either. “My mom’s sacrificed so much for me. I owe it to her—and Raphael—to keep Anya safe.”

She finally sat beside me and I resisted the urge to exhale in relief.

“I called Anya,” she said. “She’s safe. She told me she’s never met Jet.”

I tensed. “You believe her?”

“I do.”

“What if he’s using an alias?”

She shook her head. “He isn’t.”

I placed the tray aside, appetite fading, and leaned back, eyes on the ceiling. “What makes you so sure?”

She sighed. “I don’t want to betray Anya’s trust. The man she described… it can’t possibly be Jet, because he’d never run from you.”

“So there’s a man?” Why hadn’t she mentioned him to me? Maybe it was a recent thing, and deep down, I was certain it had to be Jet. “Amara, I promise you, that’s Jet.”

“Santos, drop it. There is no Jet and Anya,” she claimed stubbornly.

“Did you call Jet and ask him?” She tensed, and I silently cursed myself. “If he has nothing to hide, he should be answering your calls.”

“I’m not calling him,” she gritted. “And this has nothing to do with him, so put it through your head once and for all. Besides, let’s say—hypothetically—that Jet has met Anya. He would never hurt her.”

“But he’s a Tijuana heir, and even if it doesn’t hurt Anya, it will hurt the woman who I consider my mother.” Amara shot me a surprised look, clearly not following. It was comical how clueless she was about me, considering I’d looked into every detail of this woman. But that was not what mattered right now. “Sailor was kidnapped and tortured by Santiago Tijuana. It almost destroyed her, and I won’t allow the reminder of that dark time to touch her again.”

“I didn’t know that,” she muttered.

“You wouldn’t, but now you see why Jet cannot be allowed to put his hands on Anya or nurture whatever twisted thing he has going on in his mind.”