Page 47

Vega is stronger than he looks, his fighter’s instincts kicking in as he drives a knee into my ribs.

The gun skitters across the floor, out of reach for both of us.

I slam my elbow into his face, feeling cartilage crunch beneath the blow.

Blood sprays from his broken nose, but he doesn’t stop fighting.

We grapple in the hallway, trading blows that echo through the house like thunder. Vega's smaller than me, but he's quick and dirty, going for pressure points and old injuries. His fist connects with my wounded shoulder, and white-hot pain explodes through my arm.

I absorb the hit and drive my knee into his ribs, feeling something crack under the impact. He grunts but doesn't go down, spinning away and coming back with a vicious uppercut that snaps my head back.

Blood fills my mouth. I spit it out and circle him, waiting for an opening.

He lunges again, this time going low, trying to tackle me. I sprawl back, my hands finding his throat as we crash to the floor. We roll across the hardwood, each fighting for position. He drives his elbow into my wounded shoulder, and I roar, my grip loosening just enough for him to break free.

We both scramble to our feet. He's breathing hard, nose streaming blood, but there's still fight in him. His hand slides inside his jacket.

The gun comes out fast. I dive left as the first shot explodes, feeling the bullet whistle past my ear. Before he can adjust his aim, I'm moving, closing the distance as quickly as I can.

My shoulder hits him in the midsection like a battering ram, driving him back into the wall. The gun goes flying, clattering across the floor. We both scramble for it, a tangle of limbs and desperation.

Vega gets there first, his fingers closing around the grip. I grab his wrist with both hands, my full weight bearing down as we struggle for control. The weapon wavers between us, his finger searching for the trigger.

I twist hard, feeling bones grind in his wrist. He screams but doesn't let go. His other hand comes up, fingers clawing at my eyes. I jerk my head back and drive my forehead into his nose. Cartilage crunches and blood sprays across both our faces.

Still, he fights. Kicks at my legs, tries to knee me in the groin. I shift my weight, using my size advantage to pin him against the wall. The gun is between us now, pressed against his chest as we strain against each other.

I wrench the gun away and step back, breathing hard. He's slumped against the wall, dazed, blood running from his nose and a cut above his eye. But his hand is already moving, reaching inside his jacket again.

A knife appears in his palm, the blade flicking open with a metallic click. He lunges forward with a wild slash that would have opened my throat if I hadn't jerked back.

I grab his knife hand, my fingers digging into the pressure points in his wrist. He drops the blade and throws a wild punch with his free hand. I catch that wrist, too, holding him spread-eagle against the wall.

He spits blood in my face and tries to knee me again. I step back and let him fall forward, then bring the gun down hard on the back of his skull. He drops to his knees, swaying.

For a moment, I think he's finished. Then, his hand moves again, this time toward an ankle holster I hadn't seen. A small pistol appears in his grip.

"Persistent bastard," I mutter.

I don't hesitate.

The shot echoes through the house like a thunderclap. The bullet takes him center mass, punching through his chest and slamming him back against the wall. The ankle gun clatters away across the floor.

He slides down slowly, leaving a red smear on the white paint. His eyes are still open, still aware, but his breathing is labored and blood froths at his lips.

I walk over and stand above him, the gun pointed at his head.

His mouth works soundlessly, trying to form words. Blood bubbles between his lips.

"This is for Audrey."

The second shot is final.

Silence falls, broken only by our ragged breathing. I turn to Audrey, scanning her for injuries.

“Are you okay, Princess?” I ask, my free hand cupping her face.

She nods, her eyes wide but clear. “You’re bleeding.”

I glance at my shoulder, noticing for the first time the spreading stain on my shirt. “It’s nothing. Through and through.”

“It’s not nothing.” She presses her hand against the wound, her touch gentle despite the firmness in her voice. “We need to get you help.”

“First, we need to get out of here.” I holster the gun and take her hand, leading her toward the stairs. “Marcus and Ben are waiting.”

We move through the house quickly, stepping over the body of a guard at the bottom of the stairs. Outside, the first hints of dawn streak the sky, turning the lake water to molten gold. Marcus and Ben stand by the tree line, weapons ready, bodies tense until they spot us.

“Thank God,” Ben says, lowering his rifle. “We heard shots.”

“Vega?” Marcus asks, his eyes going to my bloody shoulder.

“Dead.” I keep Audrey close to my side, unwilling to let go of her even for a second. “We need to move. Now.”

Marcus nods, already heading toward the boat. Ben falls in beside us, his eyes scanning the property for any remaining threats.

“Nice to see you again,” he says to Audrey, offering a smile that looks strangely like mine. “Though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Thank you for coming,” she responds, her voice steady despite everything she’s been through. “For helping him find me.”

“Family helps family,” Ben repeats my earlier words, his eyes meeting mine over her head. Something passes between us, an unspoken understanding, acceptance, a bridge across years of distance.

We reach the boat, Marcus already preparing to push off. I help Audrey in, then climb in beside her, pulling her against my side as Ben takes the oars. The pain in my shoulder throbs with each heartbeat, but I barely notice it. All that matters is the woman beside me, safe and whole.

As we glide across the lake, the rising sun painting the water in shades of pink and gold, Audrey turns her face up to mine. Her eyes are clear, determined, filled with a strength I’ve always seen in her but that shines even brighter now.

“It’s over,” she whispers, her hand finding mine. “We’re free.”

I pull her closer, pressing my lips to her forehead. “We were always free,” I tell her, the words rough with emotion I don’t bother hiding. “From the moment you walked into that hotel bar in San Diego. From the first time I touched you. You’ve been mine since then. Nothing’s changed that.”

She smiles, the first real smile I’ve seen since finding her in that locked room. “Take me home,” she says, resting her head against my chest. “Take me to our cabin.”

I look past her to the mountains rising in the distance, to the place where we’ll start our new life together. The sun breaks fully over the horizon, bathing everything in golden light. A new day. A new beginning.

“I’m already home,” I say, my arms tightening around her. “You’re my home now.”