It’s a twenty-five minute drive from the private runway to Uncle Jack’s home. During the ride, I think of ways to get back. What do I tell them? Do I ask him to send me back to Mexico? Would he even do it?

Would he think I’m crazy?

I don’t know, but I’m getting back somehow. I don’t care if he thinks I’m crazy for wanting to. My place isn’t here.

We pull up to a large, two-story log cabin made of smooth, golden brown wood. There are four long rectangular windows that make up the front top half of the home—windows that reveal some of the brown furniture inside. The gold chandelier is the most prominent object, giving the front of the home a warm glow.

Uncle Jack’s driver—whose name I now know is Alvin—navigates around the circle driveway, parking the SUV in front of the house.

“Well,” Uncle Jacks sighs beside me. “We’re here, Gia. Home.”

I don’t look back at him. I can only look ahead. A new place. A new start.

I hear their seatbelts unbuckle, and Alvin is out first, opening Uncle Jack’s door and then hustling around to open mine. I step out in Uncle Jack’s coat that he demanded I wear on the ride here, and the sole of my right flip flop rolls over a pebble.

“What do you think so far?” Uncle Jack asks, stepping up to my side.

“It’s a nice home,” I tell him.

“Come on. Minnie and the kids are waiting for you. I’ll warn you now—that son of mine, Clark, is as hardcore and as blunt as they come. Don’t let his remarks and crazy insults get to you. Don’t know where he gets it from, ‘cause it sure as shit isn’t me. Might be his mother.” He laughs, taking out his keys and sifting through them. “That woman is the feistiest little thing I know. Jen, she’s everyone’s friend. You don’t have to worry too much about her.”

My lips stretch into a small smile as he glances back.

He stuffs the key into the lock and unlocks the door, and as soon as he does, a waft of warm aromas hit me. A home-cooked meal. Fresh. Probably still being prepared.

Uncle Jack lets me walk in first, but I step aside to let him take the lead.

Their home is…beautiful.

To the left is a staircase, but not just any staircase. The railing is made of carved wood, dark and light grain. Between the railings are dark, intricate carvings, appearing smooth to the touch.

Ahead of me is a stone fireplace, flames already dancing, making the hard oak floors shine. Above are thick, mahogany beams keeping the beautiful cabin in place.

Clean, broken-in leather furniture is set up in front of the fireplace, with plaid red and black blankets, quilts, and tan throw pillows scattered over it.

I’m relieved when I don’t see any animal hides or deer heads. I don’t know why, but that has always creeped me out.

It’s cozy here—a completely different setting than the homes Draco had me in. I like it.

I look up, at the guardrail to the left, and someone is already standing there. His short, cropped hair is black like the wings of a raven, his eyes a deep golden-brown. I can see the brightness of them from here. His skin is the color of mocha, tan and smooth.

He’s wearing a black thermal shirt, dark blue jeans, and in the corner of his mouth is a toothpick. He chomps on it slowly, his nose in the air as he looks down at me and then at Uncle Jack.

“That her?” he asks, and I assume he’s Clark. He’s older now. More mature than what I remember. His jaw is square and cut, slight stubble surrounding his lips and the lower half of his face. I remember him being two years older than me.

“Who else would it be?” Uncle Jack says, moving aside and letting Alvin come in with my suitcases. Alvin places them down in the corner and then walks back outside, bobbing his head at Uncle Jack, who nods back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Al,” Uncle Jack tells him.

“Goodnight, sir.”

“How long is she staying for?” Clark asks, now at the top of the staircase.

“For as long as she feels like it. Now stop asking questions and take her suitcases to her bedroom. She’s been through enough.”

Clark’s face doesn’t change. He watches me intently, but I watch just as carefully as he takes the steps down. When he’s at the bottom of the staircase, he takes the four steps it takes until he’s only a small step away from me.

He looks me over. Twice.

I do the same.

Then he shoots his hand out, revealing rough, calloused fingers. “I’m your cousin, Clark. My dad’s told me all about you and about the man who had you.” He looks down at his hand, waiting for me to take it.

I lift mine and grab it, shaking once before letting go. “Gianna.”

“Obviously.” He walks to the suitcases and picks them up. Before he can get to the staircase, he stops and looks my way. “My dad won’t tell you what I said, so I’ll let you know now. Don’t fuck with me. Don’t go in my room. Don’t ask me any questions because I fucking hate questions. I like to be left alone. I don’t like people who snoop or dig for shit they have no business digging for. You keep your distance, and I’ll keep mine.”

“Oh, shut up, Clark,” Uncle Jack mutters. “Take the damn suitcases to her room.”

“Trust me,” I laugh softly, “you don’t have to worry about that. I’m sure you aren’t doing anything I haven’t already seen happen.”

Clark glares at me before turning and marching up the stairs.

When he disappears, Uncle Jack places a hand on my shoulder. “Ignore that idiot. Only reason he’s living with me right now is because he doesn’t know how to stay out of trouble. Come on. Let’s go see your Aunt Minnie. She’s in the kitchen.”

I follow him down the hallway, hearing dishes moving and a sizzling noise, like something is being fried or sautéed. We step around the corner, into the kitchen, and there she is. Aunt Minnie. I remember her very well.

“Minnie,” Uncle Jack calls, and she spins around quickly, her eyes wide and just as bright as Clark’s.

“Oh! She’s here!” Aunt Minnie drops her wooden spoon and turns around completely, wiping sauce-stained hands off on her apron.

She’s still so beautiful. Brown skin, like the oatmeal muffins she used to make me for breakfast when I slept over, and bright golden-brown eyes. Her hair is still in those beautiful, wild corkscrew curls she always wore. She’s a thick woman, with full hips and a full bosom. She’s gorgeous.

The family was surprised Uncle Jack married her, but he loves her deeply. He refused to let her go and even put a ring on her finger as soon as he found out she was pregnant…or so I was told.

I wave and smile at her. “Hi, Aunt Minnie.”

“Oh—don’t you do that. Don’t you get shy around me.” She comes my way, opening her arms. “Come here.” I step into her arms, and she squeezes me tight. She’s so strong, but the hug is comforting. Welcoming, unlike her rude-as-hell son. She releases me, looking me in the face. “I swear you get more and more beautiful, the older you get.”

I laugh a little. “Thank you.”

She studies my eyes. “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”

“I’m fine, I promise. I’m alive, right? Still breathing. Daddy used to tell me that’s all that matters.”

“He sure did,” Uncle Jack chuckles. “You take after him a lot. Even when you don’t speak, you’re just like him. He was always quiet, doing more observing than action. I still don’t get how he could be so stupid around that man and let him take his life like—”

“Jack,” Aunt Minnie scolds, staring at him. He clamps his mouth shut. “Please. Not now.”

“It’s okay.” I wave a dismissive hand. “I’m just happy to be here. Thank you guys so much for taking me in.”

“Of course, sweetie. We are glad to have you here, and you’ll always be safe—”

“OH. MY. GOSH!” A high-pitched voice chimes from behind me, and I turn to look back, spotting a familiar girl.

Her green eyes are locked on me, her mouth parted, like she can’t believe what she’s seeing. Her hair is just as dark as Clark’s, straight and pressed, touching the middle of her arm. She’s wearing a coat, gloves, and boots, like she’s just come from outside.

“Oh, Jen,” Uncle Jack exclaims. “I was wondering where you were. Gia’s arrived.”

“I was chopping wood for the fire.” She’s still staring at me as she speaks, shrugging out of her coat and snatching off her gloves.

It’s completely unexpected and catches me way off guard when she rushes my way after placing her coat on the back of a chair, throwing her arms around me and squeezing me tight.

For a moment I tense up, ready to shove her away, but I remember I’m safe.

They’re family.

They won’t hurt me…I don’t think.

“You are still so pretty!” she says, and I’m assuming she’s Jen, their daughter. “I still have a picture of us in my room. When we were like twelve, I think. When I had that sleepover. Do you remember?” She pulls back, grinning, looking me all over. She smooths my hair back and then holds my face. “You don’t look like you were harmed.” She looks down at my hands, and then her brows dip.

She grabs my arms, bringing them up and studying my wrists. “What happened here?”

“Happened when I was taken,” I tell her.

“What did he do?” she asks with way too much sympathy in her voice. I almost want to cry, but I keep it together.

“What he had to do,” I murmur.

“Well,” she sighs, dropping my arms. “You don’t have to be worried anymore. My dad has guards who live only a house away—not that anyone will do anything around here, but still. You are safe here. We’ll protect you.”

I force a smile at her. “I appreciate that.”

“Jen, why don’t you go show Gia to her room. Get her settled in, while your mother finishes up dinner,” Uncle Jack suggests.

Jen nods eagerly, stepping back. “Sure. Come on, Gia.”

I look back at Aunt Minnie, who smiles, and then at Uncle Jack, who bobs his head. I follow Jen out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

“You’ll love it here,” she says as we make our way up. “We have a hot tub, which feels so good when it’s not too cold. The chill and the heat feel so amazing.”

“Does anyone know you live here?” I ask.

She thinks on it. “Besides our guards, no.”

“Any other family?”

“You mean the family members who would have tried to ship you off to another evil bastard?”

I look up at her as we meet at the top of the staircase. “You know about them too?”

“They tried to bribe my dad into marrying me to some Italian guy. I saw the letter he left in his office. He has a P.O. box in Utah. They think he lives there. Our guys used to go every month to check it, stay up to date, until we got those pictures of you months ago—heard about you and saw you were still alive. We started sending the guards every week then. Every week we got a new picture. Helped us sleep a little better at night.” She starts down the hallway until we’re at the third bedroom on the left. “I…don’t want to seem like I’m all in your business. I know you probably don’t want to think about it right now, but . . . did he try to kill you? He kept making threats.”

I look her in the eyes. “He did once.”

“And what happened?”

“He found out who I was. He was close to my dad.”

“Yeah, they said that’s the only reason he was keeping you alive.” Oh, but little does she know.

“Yeah. It was.”

She opens the door and lets me in. “Are you glad to be back?” she asks.

I step inside, looking from the canopy sheets hanging over the queen-sized bed, to the french doors on the left. There is a balcony out there, and I sigh. Good. I can get air when I need to.

The floors are still hardwood up here too, a vanity on the west wall. The walls are painted a soft salmon, matching the quilted comforter on the bed, the white pillows, and the salmon throw pillows.

It’s so basic.

So simple.

So beautiful.

So…different. All of this feels foreign to me now.

“I am,” I answer, peering over my shoulder at her.

She smiles. “Well, good. You’ll have fun with me here. We can go shopping. There’s a ski resort only two hours away. We could go there. I have a few friends—but they know me by an alias. Chrissy Harrison. If you want, I can have someone make one for you, get you fake IDs so no one knows your real name.”

“Sure. That’d be fun.”

“Great. We can talk about names later.” She points to the door on my left. “That’s your bathroom. It’s fully stocked. Like everything is in there. My mom and me went shopping for tampons, pads, body washes of all kinds for you to choose from, and I have some nail polish if you ever want to paint your fingernails or toes.”

“You guys are very sweet. Thanks, Jen.”

She nods. “I’ll let you settle in. I know you’ve had a long trip. I’ll come back when it’s time for dinner.”

I bob my head, and she walks out, giving a quick smile before disappearing and shutting the door behind her.

I sigh, looking around, up at the thick, brown beams, and then at the french doors. Walking over to the doors, I unlock them and grip the doorknobs, twisting them and drawing the doors apart.

The view is absolutely breathtaking.

The mountains stand tall, crowded with thick trees. The wooden guardrails lead down to a set of stairs that give way to the backyard. The backyard has a fire pit with cushioned lawn furniture set up around it.

Trees surround the home. It’s like being in the middle of nowhere, where no one can find you. No one will bother you. I have a feeling they moved here for a reason—to escape the dangers of the world. To have a safe haven.

The sky is darker, the crescent moon coming into view. I stare up at the mountaintops, breathing in the crisp, clean air, wanting so badly to drown in this fresh start…take it in and accept it.

But I can’t.

Because the only thing on my mind is him.

I can’t get rid of my thoughts about him. I hope, after a few days or even weeks here, he’ll become a distant memory that feels like it happened years ago.

But right now, with tears rimming my eyes, he is not that. My memories with him are fresh and deep, and it hurts to know that I’m the reason we can’t create more.

I wonder what he’s doing. How he’s holding up.

He is self-destructive and angry, and those things don’t mix.

An angry Draco is a dangerous one.

If only he’d given me another chance. If only he’d forgiven me…maybe things would be different.

I pick up my suitcase, tossing it on the bed, blinded by tears. I unzip it and shuffle through it for something—anything he may have left for me. There is the phone Emilio gave to me, with the voice recordings, but I don’t think I can bear listening to that again. It’ll only break my heart all over, and I need to keep it together.

I dig deeper, wrenching out the shoes and dresses and even the makeup bag until, finally, I’m at the bottom of the suitcase. My hands stop when I see the hard black case there. It’s leather, all black. I pick it up, weighing it in my hands, caressing the smooth, cool surface.

And then I slowly unzip it.

Something shiny and silver appears. I open it all the way, and my heart races. It’s a black-handled, silver-barreled 9-millimeter. I told him this kind of gun was my favorite.

There’s money inside the case as well, and a sheet of paper tucked beneath it. I start to pull it out, but someone knocks on the door. “Gia? Getting settled in well?” Uncle Jack calls.

I zip the case quickly, shoving it back in the suitcase and picking up some of the dresses to cover it.

“Yeah! Great!” I call. “Just about to take a quick shower.”

“Okay. Don’t take too long. Dinner will be ready in about thirty.”

“Okay!”

I listen hard until I can no longer hear his footsteps.

Shit. They’re too concerned, breathing down my back.

I’ll have to check later when things are quieter.