Page 50 of Forbidden Fate

“Do you see anyone?” I ask.

“No.”

“Keep checking.”

“I will.”

I grit my teeth. “You okay?”

She scoffs. “Great. I love dungeons, kidnappings, sexual harassment, and grand theft auto.”

“Robin.”

She turns her head. Looks at me. “I’m not okay,” she says quietly. “But I’m not back there, and we’re moving, so I’m better than I was.” She combs her hands through her hair, runs them down her face. “I’ll pay them back.”

“What?”

“The owner of the car.”

I squint at her. “That’s what you’re thinking about?”

“Yes.”

“We’re fleeing for our lives.”

“I’m multitasking.”

I huff out something that almost passes for a laugh.

She lifts her chin. “When I get home, I’ll figure out who owns it. I’ll make sure they’re compensated. Handsomely.”

“Handsomer than a stolen sedan?”

“Very.”

“Assuming we don’t dump it in a ditch and light it on fire.”

She gasps.

“Joke,” I say.

“Was it?”

I blink. “No.”

I think of the way she looked at me when she realized Zabala might have caught us. Her fingers crushing mine. The trust there, even under suspicion. Even when she had every reason to think I lied.

I don’t deserve that trust.

I take another turn.

Then another.

The road narrows as we leave the thicker streets behind. Houses appear farther apart now, set back behind walls and iron gates, some dark, some glowing with warm light.

A brothel isn’t a perfect destination for a woman under threat of being broken for sport. It’s not clean, it’s not innocent, and it’s not free of ghosts. But it has doors that lock. Women who know how to keep secrets. Men who know better than to ask questions if Valentina tells them not to.

The large house appears after another mile. Even in the dead of night, the place looks alive, softened by the exterior lighting and magenta flowers everywhere.