I push off the door and start pacing, emotions crashing through me so fast I can barely breathe.
I need to see Kelly.In person.She deserves to hear from my own mouth what happened to her son. He might not have been the love of my life in the end, but he was still my husband. He still mattered. And I owe her the truth, or as close to it as I can get without destroying what's left of her heart.
Gabe doesn't get to decide that for me.
I stop in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the sprawl of Vegas below. The city looks smaller from up here. Contained. Controllable. Just like he wants me.
My nipples are still tight, aching against my bra. My thighs press together on instinct, trying to ease the slick, throbbing need between them. Even now, my body is betraying me. It remembers exactly how it felt when he pinned me against the wall last night. How his mouth felt. How his growl vibrated through me when he said he wouldn't be gentle.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
This is the problem.He's too much. Too intense. Too everything. He makes me feel alive in a way I haven't in years, and that terrifies me. How can I go from mourning my husband to drooling over a man who just admitted he'll kill anyone who threatens what'shis?
I drag in a shaky breath and wrap my arms around myself. I'm finally starting to feel likemeagain, the woman who stood on her own two feet before Pete, before the MC, before all of this. I won't let another man cage me. Not even one who looks at me like I'm the only thing worth burning the world for. I'm going to see Kelly. And if Gabriel D'Amato tries to stop me… he's going to find out exactly how much fight I still have left.
I wait until the penthouse goes quiet. My heart is still hammering from the fight, my skin too hot, my thighs still embarrassingly slick. I hate how my body refuses to calm down, even when my mind is screaming at me to get some distance. I creep out of my room like a thief in my own prison.
The living area is empty. No sign of Gabe. His espresso cup is still shattered against the fridge, a small, satisfying mess I left behind. Good. He's gone.
I let out a shaky breath and head down the hall to Mom's room. She's sitting up in bed when I slip inside, looking frailer than I want to admit but with that sharp, knowing look in her eyes that always sees too much.
"I wasn't feeling good," she explains. The sight of her in bed is nothing new to me. She spends more time in it than out. It's always been like that.
I force a smile and sit on the edge of her bed, taking her hand. "I need to go see Kelly today. I… I owe her the truth. Or as much of it as I can give her. I'll be back soon, I promise."
Mom searches my face for a long moment. Then she glances toward the door. "Oh. Are Jack and Mario going to be here?"
My stomach twists. The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I push it out anyway. "They'll be right outside the door the whole time," I assure her, squeezing her fingers, knowing fully well that when she's like this, she won't leave her bed all day. "You won't even know I'm gone."
She nods, trusting me completely, and it makes the guilt burn hotter in my chest. I kiss her forehead, lingering a second longer than I should, then slip back out before I lose my nerve.
The second I'm in the hallway again, the walls feel like they're closing in. The penthouse—this beautiful, luxurious cage—suddenly feels too small. Too heavy. I need air. Real air. The kind that doesn't smell like Gabe's cologne and power, or the ghost of last night's sex.
God, that sex! I've never in my entire life had that kind of sex before.It wasn't just the sex, though, was it? My inner voice reminds me. No, it wasn't. It was the way he made sure I found my pleasure. The way he held me and looked at me, like I was the most desirable person in the whole world. It was intense, passionate, and possessive. It was everything I had been missing. But what if I'm doing it again? Trying to fix my life by jumping from one man to another, as I did from Razor to Pete, only to end up years later regretting it.
Going out now might be a small step, but it's a step I have to take.
The mention of Jack and Mario reminded me of a problem, though. Guards are stationed by the private elevator. Ostensibly to keep the bad guys out, but I'm not kidding myself, they're also there to keep me in. The whole floor is locked down tighter than Fort Knox. Sneaking out of the penthouse won't be easy. And even if I find a way, it's possible, okay,highly likely, that Gabe will find out within minutes.
I press my back against the wall, eyes closed, trying to steady my racing pulse. I need a plan. Because I'm done waiting for permission. I'm done being handled. If Gabe thinks he can keep me locked away like some precious, breakable thing… he's about to learn exactly how far I'm willing to go to breathe again and assert my independence.
The only way out is through the guards and the elevator. I'll need a distraction. And shoes.
Think. Audra. Think.
My gaze snaps toward the kitchen. A fire. A fire would make for a great distraction. My mind is racing with options, probabilities. I need to warn Mom to stay where she is, no matter what she hears. I don't think for a second that causing a small fire would put her in danger. I'm certain Gabe has this floor fireproofed.
I just need to get the guards in here while I sneak out.
Good, good plan so far,I pep talk myself. So I make it to the elevator, then what? I can't exit on the casino floor. The guards will alert more security, who will be waiting for me by the elevator doors.
I make one more trip to Mom and tell her that I'm sneaking out, but it's going to make some noise.
"Whatever you do, Audra, don't piss Gabe off," she warns.
"Okay." I nod, knowing fully well that what I'm about to do is going to do a bit more thanpiss Gabe off. Next, I grab some shoes from my room, then I open the cabinets until I find towels and dishcloths. And who would have thought… a gun. Neatly nestled in between the towels. I grab it. Just in case. Gabe is right about Salazar and the cartel threat. I was caught off guard once; I promise myself not to be again.
Next, I twist the knob on the stove, listening for the gas to hiss softly into the air as the ignitor catches. A flame rises around the burner. My heart pounds so hard it's almost deafening. This is insane. This is exactly what I used to do. Getting into trouble, being in life-or-death situations. Only at fifteen it was a lot… less scary. My hand trembles for half a second before I hold the fabric over the flame. It catches instantly. Whoosh. Fire licks up, greedy and immediate, starting with the edge of the towel.
