Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 71949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“Come in,” he says quickly. “I pulled up the camera feeds.” He places a finger to his lips. “We need to be quiet. Gwen is finally asleep and I don’t want to wake her.”
“Thank you.” I step inside.
Chef’s house smells of vanilla and coffee and the lingering scent of garlic and curry. He must have prepared something Indian for dinner earlier.
We move to his home office, a small room off the kitchen lined with cookbooks and framed awards. A laptop glows on the desk, already open to his camera app.
“I haven’t looked yet,” he says. “Frankly, I was apprehensive.”
I nod, sitting beside him. “I don’t blame you. Let’s start with the front door.”
He scrolls through the timeline, his finger trembling just a little. The footage jumps in thirty-second intervals. Midnight. One. Two. Then—
At 3:04 a.m., motion triggers the camera.
A man in a dark hoodie approaches the porch. He keeps his face downward before moving out of frame.
My breath catches. “There. Stop. Rewind.”
Chef does. We play it again, slower this time. The man doesn’t ring the bell. Just stands there for a second. Then turns toward the side of the house.
“Front yard camera next,” I say. “Then the back.”
Chef switches feeds. For a minute, there’s nothing but stillness—the wind in the trees, a raccoon scurrying across the grass. Then the back door creaks open.
Belinda steps out.
She’s wearing her pink sleep shorts and an oversized T-shirt, her blond hair loose around her shoulders. My heart sinks.
“Oh, God,” I whisper. “That’s her.”
She glances around, clearly nervous, before walking toward the man. They meet near the hedgerow. He bends down to speak to her. She nods, arms folded tight against the chill.
“Can you zoom in?” I ask.
Chef hesitates. “The resolution isn’t great—”
“Try.”
He adjusts the playback. The image enlarges. It’s still grainy and pixelated, but it’s enough to catch the flash of movement when a breeze gusts through the yard. The man’s hood slips back for half a second, and in that instant, his face tilts toward the light.
Every muscle in my body locks.
“Rewind,” I say, gulping. “Go back. Slow it down.”
He does.
Frame by frame.
And there he is again. Full lips. Strong jaw. Eyes I know as well as my own nightmares.
Diego Vega.
The breath leaves my lungs all at once.
But he’s dead.
Vinnie promised. Had photographic evidence.
So it can’t be.
It can’t.
But it is.
13
HAWK
The road back to Bellamy Ranch feels longer tonight.
Maybe it’s because the highway’s empty. Or maybe it’s because I left a piece of myself tied to a chair in Reyes’s basement, bargaining with a man who should’ve been behind bars years ago.
The air outside the cracked window smells like hot dust. I roll it down farther, needing the sting of wind to remind me I’m still free. At least for now.
The steering wheel creaks under my grip as I think about what I agreed to.
A favor.
One favor.
No one gets hurt. Reyes promised.
Then again, what does that mean? Physically hurt? Emotionally?
Reyes’s voice still echoes in my head, smooth as poison.
Because no matter how I turn it over in my mind, I can’t see that man asking for anything clean.
Maybe he never calls it in. Maybe this was just a power play—his way of reminding me that even the Bellamys can bleed.
I didn’t need Reyes to tell me that.
I’ve done plenty of bleeding for the Bellamys.
The thought sits in my gut like a rock.
Mile markers tick by. My reflection stares back from the windshield, my jaw tight. The blue of my eyes is apparent even in the reflection.
My father’s eyes.
The thought makes my stomach twist.
Austin Bellamy.
A man who killed another man and called it justice.
I told myself for years I wasn’t him. That I saw the line and didn’t cross it.
But the truth?
That line’s been fading for a long damned time.
It started that night in the old barn when Falcon and I buried who we thought was Diego Vega. And then again when I let my older brother take the heat for something he didn’t do without speaking up.
Yeah.
Line.
Crossed.
I shake my head hard. I can’t go there now. Not tonight.
Not when Belinda’s missing.
That’s the center. Everything else orbits that fact until gravity gives out. Reyes and his twisted leverage will have to wait. A little girl is gone, and the longer she’s gone, the worse the odds get.
I press harder on the gas, watch the needle climb.
The ranch comes into view. Miles later, my own place.
I feel like an intruder. Like I don’t deserve the safety waiting at the end of that driveway.
I pull off the road before I reach it, easing under a stand of oaks. For a moment I just sit there, gripping the wheel, staring at the dirt lane stretching ahead.
What the hell am I doing?
Reyes has my blood. My DNA. My mistake in a vial. He could end me whenever he wants, and I walked right into it. I should’ve known better than to go back there, should’ve known better than to think I could fix this alone.