The next morning, I leave my apartment and smile when I see the body-painted sheets flapping in the breeze. Thankfully, I stayed away long enough for Harriet to finish, and avoided seeing her and her gentleman friend.

My resolve almost falters when I make it to the road and wave down a cab, but I remind myself I have more than one pressing reason to go to the warehouse—my Bronco is locked inside, the Tahoe is at a tire shop because apparently all of them needed replacing, and I’m sick of not having a vehicle.

I’m not touching any of the other cars or SUVs, though, I promise myself as the cab driver brings us closer and closer to the dot on the map on my phone.

When we reach the nearest cross street, I knock on the divider.

“Let me out here.”

He brakes to a stop, then looks back at me and the largely unoccupied buildings around us. “You sure? This don’t look safe, lady.”

He’s probably right, but something feels wrong about having him drop me off directly in front of it.

I don’t know why I care about keeping the location a secret from some random cab driver, but I do. Maybe because it was kept a secret from me for so long.

Besides, a text to Mount confirmed that it’s his man in a dark SUV that’s been following the cab since I got in it. Which means I have at least a thin layer of security.

“It’s fine.”

I cringe as I say the word. Fine. I hate it. It’s always full of shit. No one actually means they’re fine or something is fine when they say it. But today, I’m determined to be one step closer to whatever the hell fine really means.

“Your funeral,” he says as I shove cash through the Plexiglas divider.

The word funeral hits me like a cheap shot.

“Thanks a lot,” I mumble as I climb out and look down at the map on my phone as he drives away. I should be staring at the route, but all I can see in my mind’s eye is my brother’s casket being slid into a vault at the mausoleum. It took a decent chunk of my payment from that first sculpture I sold to Valentina to pay for everything, but regardless of how badly Rafe had screwed up in this life, he deserved to be honored in death.

Blinking back tears, I force myself to walk in the direction of the warehouse.

The dark SUV idles slowly behind me as I walk. Super covert. I snort-laugh to myself because it’s better than giving in to the tears that want to slip down my cheeks.

With every footstep, I brace myself for what’s coming next.

I can do this.

It’s just a building. That’s all it is. A pile of bricks and steel beams full of metal and lies.

I grit my teeth and keep pushing forward. When I stop in front of what appears to be the right building on the map—one with no address—I approach the door.

This could be it. I look over my shoulder at the SUV as it pulls into the parking lot of the building across the street.

What the hell does that mean? That I’m at the wrong building? Or that whoever is driving doesn’t want to draw attention by being parked in front of the right one?

My temper flares as I reach into my pocket and pull out the keys. I jab one into the lock and it slides home.

I steady myself before turning it. The bolt slides. With all my courage shored up, I twist the handle . . . and it doesn’t budge.

“Are you fucking kidding me!” I kick the door with one of my steel-toed work boots and instantly regret it as pain shoots up my leg.

“How the hell am I supposed to get in then, huh?” I yell the question to the universe, wanting to punch something next, but not dumb enough—or male enough—to do it.

That’s when I spot the box. It’s dark blue and it matches the overhead garage door. There’s a padlock on it, but no place to insert a key.

Great. Super-spy technology for the super-secretive hit man.

Fuck you, Kane. Every time I say his name, even in my head, another spike feels like it’s been jammed through my belly.

I’m not saying his name anymore. I’m done.

I grasp the padlock between my thumb and index finger. As I twist it from side to side, the shank opens.

“What the hell?” I unhook it from the box and look down at the flat front. It’s a fingerprint reader. And it knows my fingerprint.

He planned this too.

The knowledge is another fist to the gut that almost doubles me over.

He knew I’d come here without him. I bury the tears and betrayal and open the box to find a keypad.

Fucking great. Like I know some magic combination to get inside.

I don’t even know his goddamned birthday.

More pain.

Blindly, I punch in the only thing I can think of—my birthday.

The fucking overhead door moves. A single tear tracks down my cheek as more well in my eyes, blinding me to the beautiful cars inside as I slam the cover closed and relock it.

It takes everything I have to walk inside.

One foot in front of the other. Right. Left. Right. Left.

I have one destination in mind. The control box to lower the door and lock myself inside.

When the door touches the floor, I finally allow myself to breathe.

Mistake.

The familiar scent of motor oil, brake dust, and exhaust fills my nostrils, and a pang of longing hits me hard enough to make my knees wobble.

By force of will alone, I stay upright.

I scan the bodies of the four-wheel drives I was in lust with before, and realize I was wrong.

I can’t do this.

Not today.

Not even a little bit.

I need to get in my Bronco and get the hell out of here as fast as I possibly can before I lose all the ground I’ve gained.

My Bronco is parked facing the overhead door on the opposite side of the warehouse. I sprint for it, ignoring the fact that I’m losing the battle with my tears. One after another, they hit the floor as I dodge mirrors and bumpers.

I wrap my hand around the door handle and yank it open, climbing inside like I’m being chased by snarling wolves . . . or memories I can’t face.

I throw myself into the seat and close my eyes, congratulating myself on a narrow escape from letting him break me again.

Until I open my eyes and see a piece of paper on the passenger seat with familiar bold handwriting.

---

---

Agony tears through me like the ragged edges of metal.

“Don’t you fucking apologize to me, you coward! How dare you apologize to me!” My scream echoes through the whole warehouse.

I grab the piece of paper, crumpling it in my hand, and shove the door open again.

“You don’t get to apologize for lying to me over and over again and killing my fucking brother!”

As I scream like a woman possessed by demons she’ll never escape, that moment my world ended comes rushing back in vivid clarity.

One month and a few days earlier

One moment Kane’s hand is empty, and the next, he’s holding a gun and it’s pointed at Rafe.

He pulls the trigger.

Chaos explodes as a deafening shot echoes in the lobby of the airport. Everything goes quiet in my mind when I see Rafe grab his chest, a look of shock on his face as the fabric of his suit darkens with blood.

I can’t hear myself screaming.

I can’t hear anything.

Another gunshot shatters every dream I had for the future as my brother’s body jerks again before he collapses, lifeless, on the carpet.

I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

Blood. So much blood. Everywhere.

“No!” I scream, jerking my head to look at Kane, but his face is expressionless. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. I’m making this up.

Someone tackles me to the floor just before another shot rings out and pain explodes in my head. With my cheek pressed to the carpet, my vision goes blurry as another body hits the floor beside me.

Kane.

No longer expressionless, Kane’s face is contorted with agony. He clutches his chest the same way Rafe did, and his eyes roll back in his head.

His lips move, and I swear he utters two words.

“I’m sorry.”

Another wave of anguish rips through me as I watch the man I love die.

“No! This can’t be real! Kane can’t die!” My lips move, but I don’t make a sound.

When everything goes black, I don’t care if I ever wake up again.