Page 162 of Vendetta Vows

Three black cars drive past me, but all I can focus on is my phone and the road ahead.

"Good girl." His tone oozes satisfaction. "You know, I never stopped looking for you. Even after I saw that police report about how you died out in the Eastern Sierras. And look how my patience has been rewarded."

My stomach twists with revulsion. "Let me speak to Hannah."

"All in good time," he says. "You haven't even asked about the photos. Those little girls are so photogenic."

Rage boils inside me, momentarily overpowering the fear. "If you so much as think about touching them?—"

"You'll what?" He laughs. "You're not exactly in a position to make threats, Jamie."

"Jamie Fields is dead," I say through clenched teeth. "She died seven years ago when you murdered her family. My name is Aurora Dragunov, and I'm coming for you."

The line goes silent for a moment, and I wonder if I've pushed too far. More black cars appear on the road, speeding past me in the other direction.

Then he chuckles, low and dangerous. "Call yourself whatever you want. It doesn't change who you are on the inside. Just a scared little girl who only knows how to run."

"Not running now, motherfucker," I spit.

"No, you're not," he says. "But maybe you should have. Maybe you should've left this life behind too. Because when I get my hands on you, Jamie, don't think for a moment that I'lleverlet you out of my sight again."

"Whatever happens, just let Hannah go," I whisper. "This is between you and me."

"Oh, she'll be allowed to walk away from this," he says, mockingly emphasizing my name. "I'm a man of my word. Just don't be late, Jamie."

The line goes dead, and I'm left with nothing but the sound of my ragged breathing and the hum of the engine as I drive.

My hands shake for a moment as I reach over to the glove compartment.

Inside, just as Daria promised, is a sleek black handgun. My breath stops in my throat as I lift it out.

It's heavier than I expected. Colder. More real.

How many times have I handled prop guns on set? Dozens? Hundreds? I've checked them for blanks, handed them to actors, taught them how to hold them convincingly.

But this isn't a prop. This is real. And soon, I'll have to use it.

I examine it carefully, my fingers moving with muscle memory I didn't even know I had. I check the magazine and find it's full. I reinsert it with a solid click that echoes in the quiet car.

I feel a hysterical laugh bubble up in my throat.

All those years of handling fake weapons and teaching actors how to look convincing, it's been preparing me for this moment.

To face Kristofer.

To kill him.

The thought should horrify me, but instead, a cold calm settles over me. I take the safety off, rack the slide back, and feel the satisfying resistance of a bullet loading into the chamber.

I place the gun on the passenger seat where I can reach it easily.

No more running. No more hiding. No more innocent people getting hurt because of me.

Seven years ago, I fled from Kristofer after he murdered my family. I let Jamie Fields die so Aurora Castellanos could live.

Kristofer was right.

Jamie didn't die. She's been here all along, waiting for the day when she would face her monster.

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