I tuck her into my side. Stroke her back until her breaths even out.
And then, finally, she’s asleep.
56
AMARA
“So, what’s it going to be, sweetheart?”
I’ve never wanted to run so bad in my life. Not even when my dad would come home stinking of booze and his own vomit. Somehow, this makes me sicker than that. Tristan makes me sicker.
Say what you will about my father, but he never killed anybody.
I take a deep breath. Fight against the nausea rolling through me in waves.
Despite myself, my eyes keep darting to the door.
“Waiting for Ransome to walk in?” Tristan barks out a laugh. “Don’t bother. He’s looking for me.”
“Then I should probably give him a call.”
“You could try.” His gun glints, catching the single ray of fading sunlight filtering in from the blinds. “But I don’t think you’d get very far.”
Regrettably, I agree.
“Or,” he whispers as he leans into me, “you could say you’re in. Jump over to the side that actually has the power to protect you and yours.”
I’m shivering hard. I don’t want to believe him. I don’t even want to consider it.
But Eliza—Gianni—Bella?—
“How about this?” Tristan draws back. “I’ll give you until midnight. My number’s in your cell.”
I blink. “When?—?”
“I have my ways. Now be a good girl and step back from the door.”
I hesitate. Just a moment too long, and then his eyes are hard again.
“Amara. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Drained and helpless, I step away from the door.
Tristan smirks. “Good girl.” Then he holds a device to the handle.
The magnetic lock comes undone in seconds.
“I’ll expect your call.” He throws me one last look. “And if I don’t hear from you, you’ll most definitely hear from me.”
With that threat, he steps out.
I fall to my knees in the dark as the door clicks shut again.
It’s early when my phone buzzes. Once, twice, again and again.
I snap out of my dreams and jolt awake.
No, not dreams. A memory.
