We moved off the road and found a comfortable spot with grass to wait in, while I kept the gun at hand.
Ivy sunk onto a fallen tree, picking at something on her boot with her nose scrunched up.
"I can't wait for some food. Some bacon and eggs would be amazing," Elena said as she leaned back on her hands, staring down at her dusty, wiggling toes. The ocean green nail polish was chipped, and I wondered why she'd chosen the color.
"Don't start talking about food, I'd kill for a burger," Ivy groaned.
I just wanted a hospital first, food could wait. Dying from sepsis was not how I wanted to go out.
"How are you feeling?" Elena asked.
"Like I can't wait for Roman to get here," I admitted, offering her a genuine smile, which she mirrored.
She let her gaze move to the trees across the road, and I studied this remarkable woman beside me.
I'd watched her become someone who could stand on a country road with blood under her fingernails, lying to innocent strangers without blinking. Someone who could kill to protect those she cared for.
I wasn't sure how to feel about that transformation yet. For helping turning a civilian into a killer.
But I was damn grateful.
20
ELENA
Alfeo's eyes widened just as I pulled the trigger, my breath frozen in my chest.
We'd been waiting in the shade of trees for what felt like an eternity, though the morning sun hadn't even reached its peak. My body ached from the night's horrors, and my mind couldn't stop replaying the moment I'd pulled the trigger. Of how Alfeo's body had dropped.
I struggled to shove it aside, his lifeless corpse floating through my brain. I'd dreamt about the moment on repeat, the same final seconds stuck on a wheel.
"Anyway, so when Mercedes said that, of course shit hit the fan," Ivy's voice came into focus from the distant droning it had become.
She'd been filling the silence with chatter about reality TV drama and workplace gossip—anything to distract us from what we'd just survived. At one point, Jackson made a comment about how most dancers seemed to have terrible relationships.
"Of course we do," Ivy replied with that practiced nonchalance she'd perfected. "No sane woman without trauma becomes a working girl."
Jackson's expression shifted, something softer crossing his features. "I'm sorry for whatever led you down that path."
Ivy just shrugged it off like water rolling off a duck's back. The conversation died after that, leaving us in the oppressive quiet of the countryside for a few minutes, a warm breeze dancing across us. Nothing like the chill of yesterday's storm.
"I would literally die for a Starbucks Vanilla Frappuccino right now," Ivy groaned, fanning herself dramatically with her hand. "And maybe a burger. Or three. Possibly an entire pizza. God, when did I last eat real food not from a can?"
I nodded, too exhausted to even attempt humor. My stomach had been growling since we'd left the abandoned house, and my throat felt like I'd swallowed glass.
"There," Jackson said suddenly, his body tensing as he nodded toward the road.
A black SUV approached, moving deliberately down the country road, kicking up dust in its wake. The vehicle slowed as it neared our position, and I felt my heart rate spike again. Fight or flight instincts died hard, apparently.
"That'll be Roman," Jackson added with a relieved sigh. "Let me handle the talking." He dragged himself up from the ground, wincing as he held his injured leg. I rose with him, offering my support, which he resisted at first but quickly changed his mind after a few steps.
The SUV pulled to a stop, and the driver's window lowered. Roman barely glanced at me as his dark eyes locked immediately on Jackson, dropping to his wounded leg and the gun in his hand. "You good?" he asked, his voice clipped as his gaze flicked to the tree line for potential threats.
To see if we were being followed, or a trap was waiting, probably.
"Yes. I'll explain on the drive." Jackson gave one firm nod.
"Right. Hop in." Roman glanced at Ivy and I, not bothering to question us, but he did arch a brow at our selection of clothing, or lack of.
