Page 17

Diego

One week later

It’s been a week since I started watching her from this spot—a rundown rooftop two blocks from her apartment. I knew that if I parked my truck where she would see it, then she would get annoyed. I have never been the kind of man who yields to the commands of others, but yet here I am.

She needs my protection. The cartel is hot on her tail, and she is too out of her depths to notice where the danger lies.

The true danger has always been you.

My mind scolds me and repeats the words that I have been punishing myself with for weeks now. After all of this is said and done, I am going to make sure that I walk away from her. She deserves a shot at a normal life where darkness isn’t tailing her.

The vantage point gives me a clear view of her window, though I’m always careful to stay out of sight. I don’t know why I’ve stayed so long.

The sun has already set, another day coming to a close. Camille’s window glows softly against the fading light. She steps into view, dropping a bag of groceries onto the counter in her small kitchen. Her cheeks are flushed, her blonde hair a little messy from the cold wind outside. There’s a quiet energy to her movements, the way she pushes her hair back as she unpacks, the slight furrow in her brow when she fumbles a can and catches it just in time.

I clench my fists, forcing myself to stay put.

I began this all by watching her from a distance, until I was able to get close and I broke the lasting barrier between us. I have been obsessed with her from the moment I laid my eyes on her. I should have just kept my distance. étienne told me to watch out for his sister, not to bed her and fall in love with her.

“Forgive me, brother,” I mutter under my breath.

I want to feel the warmth of her skin, hold her in my arms, and take away the weight I can see pressing down on her. The same weight that I placed on her.

Killer.

It is something I always knew I was but it wasn't until I heard that word leave her lips that I finally understand the gravity of that title. I am no better than the devil. I destroy life and I ruin light.

I swallow hard, pushing the thoughts away. They’re dangerous, a weakness I can’t afford. I know that better than anyone, but the knowledge doesn’t make it easier.

She moves to the window, wiping at the glass absentmindedly. For a moment, her eyes scan the street below, but they don’t find me. I am sure she knows that I linger in the shadows but she hasn’t yet asked for me to leave them.

I will give her anything she asks but one thing I will not do is allow her to go unguarded. She is far too precious to me for that.

Minutes pass, the air grows colder, but I don’t move. I keep my eyes on her, watching as she finishes unpacking and leans against the counter. She looks tired, her shoulders sagging slightly. Even from here I can see the bags under her eyes. She isn’t sleeping and that alone is a sucker punch to the gut. I hardly see her eat, either.

She walks away from the window and then proceeds to turn off her light. I see the shadow of her silhouette move through her apartment as she makes it to her room. The rest of her curtains are drawn, so I can’t see her beyond the shadow that moves about.

I look down at my watch. 9:08 pm. This is about the time that she turns off everything and heads to bed. So I wait. The minutes bleed into hours and I wait for the light to go out but it never does. I look down at my watch again, 11:35 pm.

That’s when I feel the small churn in my belly. Something in the particles that surround me shift and the kinetic energy in the air resets.

Something is off.

I’ve learned to trust these instincts. They’ve kept me alive more times than I can count. And right now, they’re screaming at me to pay attention. My eyes dart across the street, scanning every corner, every shadow. The alley to the right of her building, the parked car down the block—it all seems normal, but the feeling doesn’t fade.

My hand moves to the gun holstered at my side, the cold metal grounding me. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to focus.

It’s late—too late for her to still be awake. She’s usually in bed by now, the light in her living room off. But tonight, it stays on. A single lamp, casting a dim golden hue, barely visible through the thin curtains.

A prickle of unease runs down my spine. The feeling of impending doom floods my system.

I shift, scanning the street below for anything out of place. It’s quiet, almost too quiet, the kind of stillness that makes your instincts flare. My gut churns, the warning clear and urgent now.

I can’t stay here.

Sliding down from the rooftop, I make my way toward her building, my pace quick but deliberate. The unease grows stronger with every step, my mind racing with possibilities. Did someone get to her? Is she hurt?

By the time I reach her door, my pulse is hammering in my ears. I knock, my knuckles rapping hard against the wood.

“Camille.” My voice is low, firm, but not loud enough to draw attention from the neighbors.

No response.

I knock again, harder this time. “Camille, it’s me. Open up.”

My jaw tightens as I press my ear against the door, straining to hear anything—movement, breathing, anything to tell me she’s okay. But there’s nothing.

Something’s definitely wrong.

Without thinking, I step back and deliver a swift kick to the door near the handle. The wood splinters on impact, the lock giving way as the door swings open.

“Camille!” I call out, stepping inside, my hand instinctively moving to the gun at my side and releasing it from the holster.

The apartment is eerily quiet. The living room light glows faintly, casting long shadows on the walls. My eyes dart around, scanning for signs of a struggle, but the space looks untouched.

“Camille?” My voice is louder now, echoing through the apartment.

I move further inside, my footsteps slow and deliberate. The atmosphere feels heavy. My gut twists tighter with every second that passes without an answer.

She’s not here. And that thought sends a fresh wave of panic crashing over me.

I move toward the window, my muscles coiled tight, ready for anything. My hand hovers over the sill, the cold glass beneath my fingertips sending a shiver through me. The rustling sound comes again, faint but deliberate. I glance outside, scanning the alley below, but there’s nothing—no movement, no sign of Camille.

But then, something catches my eye.

A small piece of paper, half-hidden beneath the windowsill, fluttering slightly as if it had been placed there deliberately. My stomach churns as I reach for it, my fingers trembling slightly as I pull it free.

I unfold the note, my eyes narrowing as I read the scrawled words:

I told you I would get her. Let’s play a little game, shall we? We hide while you seek, the winner keeps the girl, sounds fair?

Felix

That motherfucking bastard. I resist the urge to turn the small dining table over. The rage that pours into my system is lethal and leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Suddenly I am overcome with this bloodlust that leaves my entire system rattled.

I want to kill a man.