Chapter 18. Your Guy?

Rae:

The car rumbles closer.

Then it stops.

Doors fly open.

Men pour out like sand from a broken sack.

Boots hitting the ground heavy.

Faces locked in stone.

Muscles built like mountains.

Not military.

Mafia.

I know the type.

The way they move, like shadows stitched to the earth.

The way they scan everything, not missing a goddamn thing.

These aren’t the kind of men who shoot you once and call it a day.

These are the ones who break you.

Peel you open piece by piece.

Make you beg for death.

Then deny it.

I grip the binoculars tighter, my breath frosting the lenses.

One of them—

Tall, brutal face, cold blue eyes—

Looks straight at me.

Through me.

I yank back instinctively.

Eliza does too, slapping a hand over her mouth.

"I swear he smirked at me," she hisses, eyes wide.

I stare at her.

"I saw it too.