I walk up to the battered Hummer and open the boot, throwing my bag inside. Jude is standing just outside the door of the house talking to Gabe. He glances over at me, a frown marring his face. I ignore him and climb into the driver's side, starting the engine. He glares at me as he stars walking this way, and I know he's going to lose his shit in three, two, one...

He rounds the front of the car and opens the passenger door, climbing in. I glance at him, waiting for him to kick off, but instead he simply faces the window. I'm glad he's not pulling his macho shit and insisting I stay safe, but at the same time, I'm not. It means he doesn't care if I'm safe anymore, and that hurts. After everything that we've been through, everything that I've done to try and protect our daughter...

I guess I always believed that he would forgive me.

I pull away from Gabe's house and head down the long driveway. Jude and I don't talk as we make our way through the streets of Juarez. He simply gives me directions every now and then. Eventually we arrive at a small airfield on the outskirts of the city. There are several men standing around when I pull up next to a private jet. The stairs are already down, the door open and waiting.

I don’t even have the car fully in park when Jude opens the door and gets out. I shove the shift in park and he’s already around back, grabbing the bags out of the car. I climb out of the car.

“Give Benji the key,” Jude says, pointing at the man now standing next to the car.

Without question, I hand the key to the man. He bows his head and gestures towards the steps leading into the plane.

I climb the steps and take a seat in one of the plush leather chairs. Jude steps in and glances at me, the muscles in his jaw ticking. I completely expect him to sit as far away from me as possible, but instead he takes the seat opposite me. We don't say a word to each other, and he simply sits there, his shoulders so tense it looks as though he's forcing himself to remain seated.

The engines start and the plane hums like an angry bee on the runway. Jude's hardened gaze remains fixed out the window, and I hate it. I hate the tension that stretches between us, but he's here. He's helping me. I want to say something to him, but I don't know what. I don't know when Jude and I became strangers, or worse, enemies.

"Ronan came to me like the fucking hand of god,” I say, “willing to make sure Cayla was safe while I killed Jésus." I shake my head. "And the whole time, he was screwing me over."

"Sure, Tor. Sure," he grumbles and tosses his head back against the seat and closes his eyes.

I hate that we're here, but I can't bring myself to regret what I did. Cayla is still alive, and that has to be enough. I lean forward and bounce my leg nervously. "He won't hurt her." I say, more to myself than to Jude. If being with Jésus has taught me one thing, it's that everything is strategic. Ronan used Cayla as motivation for me to kill Jésus, and now she's motivation for something else.

Jude scrubs his hands over his face and groans. I can feel his aggravation, his anger, but underneath it all I feel this drowning sense of helplessness swallowing us both whole. "You do realize," he says, his eyes trained out the window as the plane taxis to the runway, "this is not something we can all escape alive, right?"

"Nothing new there," I mumble. The plane bumps along the tarmac, picking up speed and soon enough the wheels and my stomach catch as we lift into the air. The tension fills the small space until I feel as though I can barely breathe. He's like a force of nature, the static electricity that hangs in the air before a storm. And I'm just waiting for the thunder, so I call it forth.

"Just say it, Jude." I sigh.

He slowly looks at me, cold, detached...this is the man I met three years ago. The bookie. "Did you enjoy fucking him?"

I sigh, tightening my fists until my nails cut into my palms. "I didn't fuck him."

Jude snorts and I want to slap him. "Another one of your lies? "

"Why would I lie to you? At this stage, why would I lie to you, Jude?"

He sighs. "You expect me to believe he just kept you there. Some sick son of a bitch like him—and he didn’t touch you?"

I drop my gaze to my lap. I can't lie to him anymore. "He kissed me, but he said he wanted me to come to him willingly. I was never willing, so..." I lift my head and tilt my face to the side, watching him. "That's why he told me you were dead. As long as you were alive, all the time in the world couldn't make me betray you. Not like that." I frown. I still can't understand why Jésus did the things he did, why he was kind to me, why he never forced himself on me...until he did. "I only stayed for Cayla. Be mad all you want, but deep down, you know that."

His jaw tightens and he drags his hand through his hair. "It doesn't matter what you did, Tor." His voice softens but he still won't look at me.

"Then why can't you look at me?"

"Because, I'm fucking pissed." He drags in a deep breath and swipes his hand over his face. "I can almost understand why you did what you did, Tor. Almost. What I will never fucking understand is why you lied to me about Cayla." His nostrils flare and he closes his eyes.

I don't know what to say to him. What can I say? “Jude, what would you have done if you'd known where she was?"

"Gone and fucking gotten her."

"Exactly, and I would have come to you, Jude, and we would have never stopped running. From Jésus, or Ronan. Whoever."

"And now?" He laughs sarcastically. "Now, how is it going to be any different?"

"It wasn't supposed to go like this!" I fight tears of frustration. "Ronan fucked me over, but I tried, Jude. I tried to do the impossible." A choked laugh leaves my lips. "God, I used to be a doctor, now I'm killing cartel members. Just how I always dreamed my life would be." This blind hysteria clings to the edges of my consciousness and I feel like I'm losing my grip on reality.

"There is no way outta this. Ever. It will always be like this. Us constantly running. We're in too deep. We're—"

"No!" I shake my head. "No. We're going to end it, Jude. We'll end it, and....and it will be fine." My hands shake and I turn my face towards the window in the hope that he can't see the blind panic consuming me. I've lived for months with one purpose. Protect Cayla. Kill Jésus. I sacrificed everything for it, and that has to be worth something. Jude always fixes everything. He makes it right. He keeps us safe.

"This type of lifestyle, Tor—the kind I've lived since the day I was born, you never escape it. It's like a shadow that clings to you and sucks the life right out of you. There is no ending it, only postponing the final blow."

I turn my gaze towards him and close my eyes, allowing the tears to fall. "Please don't," I whisper.

"Well, what the hell do you want me to say then, huh?" His fists are clenched, his knee bouncing.

I open my eyes and meet his green gaze, so turbulent and angry all the time. I feel like I'm splintering, like the shattering of a mirror. I'm now distorted, an ugly reflection of what I once was. "Tell me you'll fix it," I breathe. "Like you always do." My breaths come in rapid pants as my chest constricts. This cannot be it. His expression softens and he leans forward, stroking his fingers over my cheek as he presses a soft kiss to my forehead. I lean into him, gripping handfuls of his shirt, inhaling the scent of his cologne mixed with smoke. I hate that he thinks we're defeated, because Jude is never defeated. "Please," I beg, my voice breaking.

"I'll fix it," he sighs, brushing his fingers through my hair.

I know it's naïve to believe him, but I do. I have to.