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She lowered her foot on the accelerator and her car responded. In another life she might’ve been a racecar driver, but for now, she could only dream... and practice. She hoped like hell Jackson was right about getting her out of any speeding tickets she clocked up today.
She gave a small grin as she lowered the window, letting the cool breeze hit her face as her car all but flew through the air.
That was one of the reasons she’d always loved fast cars.
It felt like she was flying.
Flying away from this crappy life.
Flying away from the pain and despair it caused.
It was a nice escape for a few seconds, but the reality—which she was all too aware of—was that the only place she was flying to was Diaz’s house.
Anna made it in record time, opened the gates, and drove in.
She frowned, seeing a black Dodge Charger parked beside Diaz’s car. Who did the car belong to? She pulled up beside it, pulled her bloody T-shirt over her head, climbed out of her car and stopped for a moment to admire it. Either one of the boys had gotten a new car, or Diaz had a guest.
Dominic, she realized, stilling.
If one of the guys had bought this car, she’d have heard about it. They knew her love for cars and they often asked her opinion before they bought anything. Sometimes she’d even gone with them to look at the car.
But this... this was a surprise.
Her eyes locked on the house.
She strode toward the back door, inserted her key, and let herself in.
The house was eerily quiet for having guests.
She checked the kitchen, but it was empty.
She checked the living room—but it, too, was empty. Two glasses sat on the coasters on the coffee table, though. She picked them up, sniffing the remnants.
Whiskey.
Anna looked up at the security cameras. If Diaz was home, he’d know she was here. And if he wasn’t, the alarm should’ve been set.
She called out his name.
Silence.
Something wasn’t right.
She took the stairs to his office, her heart pounding in her chest.
His office door was nearly closed but she could see him through the slight opening. He sat at his desk, his eyes closed. He didn’t look dead, and she couldn’t see any wounds. For a moment she questioned if he’d been using his own supply—something she’d never seen him do, but knowing what she did now, she wondered if that counted for much.
Anna looked over her shoulder as she pulled her pistol from her back pocket, placing her finger on the trigger as she used her foot to gently open the door.
Her heart pulsed in her ears as she wondered what she would find, but the office was empty except for Diaz.
“Diaz!” she said, and he opened his eyes.
He stared at her for a moment. “Anna?” he asked as his forehead creased. His eyes dropped to the weapon in her hand then the blood on her T-shirt. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice a warning.
“Here to ask you the same thing, Diaz,” she said, her voice but a growl. She didn’t raise her weapon at him—she knew better than that. He’d have a pistol within reach and she wasn’t there for a shoot-out.
“Anna, put your weapon away, right now,” he commanded.
