Page 82 of Vega

My stomach turned.

The next image focused on his chest. The gunshot wound sat exactly where I remembered it. I could still see the moment Roman raised the gun. I could still hear the shot crack through the loading area and watch Donovan’s body jerk before blood spread across his white shirt.

Seeing the wound up close made the memory feel fresh again.

I pulled my face away, frowning. “Why would you show me that?”

“Because this is what Roman did to his own son. I need you to understand what happens if Roman gets you.”

Nausea climbed into my throat as Vega lowered the phone.

“If you run, you won’t be running toward freedom. You’ll be running into whatever Roman has waiting.”

I looked at him, insisting, “I promise I won’t run.”

He studied me for another long moment. Then he nodded. “I’ll unlock the door. You can move around the house freely.”

Relief came so quickly that my eyes burned.

“The entrances and windows will stay secured,” he continued. “That’s for your protection, not punishment.”

I reached for my glasses on the nightstand and slid them onto my face. “Thank you.”

Staring down at me, his eyes slowly darkened. They moved over my face slowly before settling on my mouth. He licked his lips, and my breathing changed pace without my permission.

Vega noticed, then tore his eyes away.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s eat breakfast.”

He held out his hand. I placed mine in his, and he pulled me from the bed with enough ease to remind me how strong he was.

A ridiculous giddiness fluttered through me as I stood beside him. I immediately checked myself, though. I was an assignment that had become a problem he needed to fix. Nothing more. He was a kidnapper and an obvious killer, no matter how beautiful his eyes were, how cute those damn freckles were, or how safe his hand felt wrapped around mine.

My hormones and emotions needed to remember that.

I followed him through the house barefoot, wearing an oversized T-shirt and shorts that barely showed beneath it. My bundles felt disheveled since I had never put the bonnet back on. The floors were cool beneath my feet, and simply being able to move without waiting for permission made something inside me loosen.

“Can I cook?” I asked.

Vega glanced over his shoulder. “Can you cook?”

I frowned. “Yes, I can actually cook.”

“You sure? Who taught you?”

“I’ve been feeding myself for years, so I had to teach myself.”

He looked over his shoulder again, still not believing me.

I rolled my eyes. “I really miss eating my own breakfast. Can I please cook?”

He stopped walking and turned towards me. “A’ight,” he said with a shrug. “I’m starvin’, so you better show out.”

I smiled behind his back.

“If anything’s missing, tell me what you need. I’ll get it.”

Something about that softened the little girl inside me who had spent years learning not to ask for things because nobody cared enough to provide them. He said it like making sure I had what I needed wasn’t inconvenient, like taking care of me didn’t require negotiation.