Page 72 of Made for Reign

The vulnerability in her voice makes something fierce and protective surge through my chest. “I promise you, Audrey.You’re going to be free, and you’re going to be mine. Both of those things are going to happen.”

“I do trust you. It’s everything else I don’t trust.”

I understand what she means. It’s not about trust between us. It’s about trust in the world to let us have what we want. It’s about trust that there’s a way out of this mess that doesn’t end with one of us destroyed.

“I’ll call you tonight,” I tell her. “After visiting hours are over and you’re home.”

“Okay.”

“And Princess?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember what I told you this morning. Be ready.”

“I will.”

The line goes dead, and I stare at the phone for a moment before shoving it back into my pocket.

Marcus is watching me with the expression of a man who just watched his partner’s carefully laid plans explode in real time.

“Let me guess,” he says. “Vega’s not dead.”

“Nope. Vega’s not dead.”

“Fuck.” Marcus runs a hand through his hair. “What happened?”

“Food poisoning. He was puking on the side of the road when the car went up.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I wish I was.” I grab another beer from the cooler and crack it open, draining half of it in one pull. “The bastard survives a professional hit because he couldn’t handle airplane food.”

Marcus shakes his head slowly. “That’s some Grade A bullshit luck right there.”

“It gets worse. Audrey’s stepmother wants him to move into their house while he recovers.”

“Jesus Christ.” Marcus leans against the truck, processing this new complication. “How long?”

“Three, maybe four days in the hospital. After that, however long it takes his ribs to heal.” I finish the beer and crush the can harder than necessary. “He’ll be sleeping under the same roof as her.”

“That’s a problem.”

“That’s a fucking disaster.” The rage I’ve been keeping in check threatens to boil over. “I should drive down there right now and finish what the Torrinos started.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” Marcus’s voice is sharp, cutting through my anger. “You do that now, and you might as well paint a target on both your backs. The cops will be all over this bombing. They’ll be looking at everyone who had contact with Vega, everyone who benefits from him being dead.”

I know he’s right, but that doesn’t make it easier to swallow. “So, what, I just sit here and let him move in with her?”

“You sit here, and you think. You plan. You wait for the right moment.” Marcus moves closer, his voice dropping. “This isn’t over, Reign. It’s just more complicated now.”

“Complicated is an understatement.”

“Maybe. But complicated doesn’t mean impossible.” He nods toward the truck bed where Audrey’s painting sits under its protective cover. “You still submitting that?”

For a moment, I’d forgotten about the art competition entirely. The painting that started this whole conversation, the reason we’re out here in the first place. Now it seems like a small gesture in the face of everything else that’s happened.

But maybe that’s exactly why I need to do it.

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