Page 51 of Captured Heart

Sounds great, but...what the fuck will happen to her?

Option two:Tell her the truth. Expose Victor. Call the cops and—

That plan doesn’t even make it to full thought because it’s that dumb. If Victor finds out I betrayed him, she’s dead. I’m dead. It’s totally counterproductive.

Option three:Do the dirty work. If I’m part of it, I have some control. I can keep her safe. The only snag is that I could lose everything and ruin my entire life...again!

The truck roars to life as I slam the key into the ignition, my mind racing faster than the engine. My throat feels like it’s closing in on itself, and every breath burns. I grip the wheel, my palms slick with sweat, making it harder to hold on.

Second thoughts start to creep up at the back of my mind. What am I doing? I don’t even know this girl. I don’t owe her a damn thing. And if I go through with this, I’m either going to end up dead or back in prison. Option one is still an option. I could leave and no one would ever know I was involved in any of this.

The new life I want is right there, so close...yet impossibly far away.

Katie’s face flashes through my mind, and I can’t do it. I can’t just leave her. After everything I’ve done to push her away, she’s alone and completely vulnerable.

Victor said the plan was in motion, so I’m already a few minutes behind schedule. I floor the gas, tires screeching as I tear down the street. The houses blur into shadows, but all I can do is hope that I’m not too late.

My pulse hammers in my ears, each beat driving home the fear. Victor’s goons are efficient. Ruthless. They won’t waste time. If they’re already there, she could be—

I force the thought away, shaking my head as if I can physically throw it out. No. I can’t think like that.

My chest tightens further. The panic is building as a cold sweat runs down my back. My vision narrows, and for a second, I don’t even realize I’ve blown through a stop sign.

I slam my foot on the brake, skidding to a halt. My hands grip the wheel so tight my knuckles turn white. My breathing is ragged, shallow, and I force myself to focus.

When I turn onto her street, the van is the first thing I see. Black. Tinted windows. Parked a few doors down from her house to avoid being spotted by the cameras.

My stomach bottoms out, and I feel a wave of nausea because I can’t believe I’m going to go through with this.

I pull over, kill the engine, and sit there for a second, staring at the van. My heart is hammering so hard it feels like it’s trying to break free from my chest. Slow and steady, I take in each breath, trying to enjoy it because this might be the last time I breathe in fresh air as a free man.

I climb out of the truck, my legs feeling like I’m dragging a concrete slab behind me. The cold night air does nothing to settle me. My muscles are coiled tight, ready to spring, but I don’t even know what the hell I’m about to do.

The side door of the van is open slightly, and leaning against it is Bowman.

Tall, broad, with a face like a slab of concrete—scarred and weathered. His buzz cut is graying at the temples, but the years haven’t softened him. If anything, they’ve made him harder. He’s wearing his usual bomber jacket, the one with a faint bloodstain near the cuff that never quite washed out.

Bowman isn’t just one of Victor’s men; he’s his right hand. Loyal to a fault. The kind of man who doesn’t flinch when ordered to do the unthinkable. We’ve done jobs together before, so I’ve seen him in action. I’ve watched him take out a mark without so much as blinking. Cold. Precise.

He spots me, his steel-gray eyes narrowing. “Well, look who’s here.” His voice is gravelly and laced with amusement. He shakes my hand, then roughly pulls me in for a hug. “Good to see you, Johnny boy.”

“Likewise, Bowman.”

He nods his head toward the van. “You remember Smith, right? And we’ve got a new rookie in the back there, too.”

We say these names like they’re our own, but no one knows the real identity of anyone who works for Victor. We’ve all got our own backstory and an alias, some generic name that’s easilyforgotten. Nothing about us is supposed to be unique or draw attention. We are whoever Victor wants us to be.

I look into the back of the van and see a scrawny, young boy, can’t even be over twenty. “He doesn’t have a name yet?”

“Not yet. He’s still learning the ropes.”

I nod. “So, Vic sentthreeof you for one girl?”

“Says he can’t risk any mistakes,” he replies with a shrug. “Besides, I figured it’d be good for the rookie to learn from the pros.”

Smith leans out from the driver’s seat, his skinny frame a contrast to Bowman’s bulk. He’s got the same smirk he always has, the one that makes you want to punch him just to wipe it off his face. “Thought you were out, Turner.”

Hearing him call me that solidifies every bad decision I’ve made. I promised myself that I was done being John Turner. He was cold and callous and that wasn’t the type of person I wanted to be. I wanted to ground myself in who I really was, which is why I gave Katie my real name in the first place.

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