15. Savannah

FIFTEEN

SAVANNAH

GENEVIEVE

I ’m glaring at the camera, holding my shoe in my hand.

Cross is watching me. He has his chin tucked into his chest, a closed-off expression on his face. His shirt is on again, which is unfortunate, and he’s sitting on the floor again, his back to the cinderblock, which is even worse.

All morning, he’s basically said three words to me: “How ya feeling?”

If he cared how I felt, he wouldn’t have waited until I passed out from a combination of endorphins and exhaustion to wiggle out of my arms, choosing to sit on the floor instead of the bed where he so carefully took my virginity.

And I know I wasn’t being fair. He’s as much of a victim as I am. More, honestly, because I did want to sleep with Cross. In another world, in another time, I would’ve gladly had my first time with him… but it was me he didn’t want.

Pretty words. Everything he said last night… that’s all they were. Pretty words.

So I said, “Fine,” and left it at that.

Besides, I knew what he was really asking me. Knowing full well that I was a virgin before Winter forced us to fuck for the camera, he’s checking to see how my pussy is recovering from all the attention he gave it last night. He wanted to make sure I wasn’t bleeding anymore, or that I wasn’t super achy and tender down below.

My initial retort was to tell him to ram a cucumber up his ass a couple of times, then tell me how he feels, but that was the rejection trying to run my mouth. After how gentle and supportive he was last night, both when we knew Winter was watching, and later, when it was just us under the blanket, I thought that sex might’ve done something to bring us even closer.

But that’s the Gen living in a fantasy world. The Gen who is naive enough to believe in things like ‘love at first sight’ and a hero who will do anything to save her. Twice now, Cross was pushed to do something he obviously didn’t want to in the name of protecting me . To keep Mickey away from me, and to prevent Noah from firing his gun at my knees.

And what happened after that? With at least an audience of one, I finally got to see what it was like to sleep with Cross da Silva.

As much as I could, I enjoyed it, and I have only Cross to thank for that. He talked me through it, even going so far as to eat my pussy first so that I would be aroused enough to take him. He was gentle and kind; the perfect lover, just like I knew he would be. If it wasn’t for the fact that he seems to think that he raped me…

I know that’s what’s running through his mind. Last night, when he thought I was asleep, he whispered as much. He apologized for forcing himself on me, as though he was the one who decided to fuck me on the cot instead of the both of us being threatened into the act. He sounded so mournful and upset, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that I heard him—and that he was wrong.

And that brings me to why I’m glaring at the camera while holding my shoe.

It’s all I have. My shoes and the clothes on my back, so I might as well make do with what I’ve got.

I wing it at the camera. Damn it. My aim is so shot, I miss it by, like, three feet.

“What are you doing?” Cross asks as my shoe hits the tile of our cell.

I snatch it back. “I hate these stupid fucking cameras,” I grumble. They’ve bothered me all along, but it’s been three weeks. Three weeks. I almost forget about them for a time before Winter inevitably reminds me that they’re there. And after last night…

“Are you trying to break it?”

“Why not? I know it’s unlikely. I know there’s two of them, so smashing the lenses on both… probably not going to happen. He’s probably still listening to every damn word we say anyway, but…” I sigh, shoulders slumping. Feeling frustrated and rejected and angry at this whole awful situation, I drop the shoe, jamming my foot back into it. “Forget it. I needed something to do to distract me.”

He doesn’t say anything to that. Mainly because he’s gotta be doing the same thing. If I know Cross—and, by now, I think I might —then he’s obsessing over last night in a way that can’t be healthy.

I can’t even talk to him about it. Once we knew for sure that the cameras worked, we made a pact not to say anything that Winter could use against us unless we keep our backs to the cameras and our voices down. Even then, with my luck, he has microphones or other types of surveillance equipment in here.

Winter gets a kick out of reminding us that he’s constantly watching. Any time Cross leans in, trying to whisper to me, his smarmy, obnoxious voice cuts through the cell. The only time we seem to have a little privacy is our designated ‘night’; with the lights never turning off, we have to use other clues to figure out what time it might be.

It’s firmly in the ‘day’ part of our routine. Baker came by earlier to slide a plate of somewhat stale blueberry muffins into the room. No Noah. No Luca. I remember how they mentioned that Luca was supposed to be bringing another woman down here, replacing the Haven woman who was ‘relocated’—whatever the hell that means — and I wonder if that’s where he is now.

Before Winter interrupted us the other night, Cross was able to press his lips to my ears and whisper that the new guard, Luca, isn’t just another one of Winter’s goons. He’s Luca St. James, the Devil of Springfield’s personal driver, who used to live in the town of Hamilton, the next state over from where we live. He’s been a respected sinner for the last three years, and if he’s here? That means two things to Cross: that Devil sent him, and that wherever we are, it’s near Hamilton.

I thought that meant he was our way out. He might still be, but if so, there’s some real shitty timing going on. He wasn’t there when Baker and Noah came in, telling us they wanted to watch us fuck, and if they found us earlier, maybe that would never have happened.

Maybe Cross wouldn’t be sitting on the opposite side of the cage as though he can’t get far enough away from me…

He straightens from his slight slouch. “Incoming,” he mutters.

He’s right. I hear footsteps, heavy ones, including the rap-tap-tap of a pair of heels stutter-stepping down the hallway.

My gut goes tight. Part of me wonders if, now that Winter got what he wanted on his camera, there isn’t any more use for Cross and me. Especially if Winter arranged for a new prisoner, he might not want to deal with the Sinners Syndicate or the Dragonflies now. Plus, I feel bad for her. She has no idea what she’s walking into?—

—and then I see her profile as she’s marched between Luca and Noah past the glass door of our cell and I think I might’ve jumped the gun on that one.

Because just like how Cross recognized Luca, I know that woman’s face. Her hair is shorter than it was when I saw her weeks ago. She’s dyed it again, making it more auburn than mahogany, and she has it in an updo that I’ve never seen her wear before.

Her clothes are different, too. Instead of the comfortable sweater and jeans she usually wears when she’s lounging in the TV room with Damien, Vin, Orion, and me, she has on a tight maroon dress with long sleeves that flare out around her wrists. Her three-inch-high heels are the same color, and nearly as pointed as the stiletto I hope she’s hiding under that dress.

Savannah.

That’s Savannah .

Holy shit .

A bubble of relief mixed with hope rises up my throat. I forced it back, refusing to give away the fact that I recognize her. Especially when Noah grabs her arm, shoving her faster past my cell, and she’s careful not to glance my way.

It doesn’t matter. Luca did it. He brought a new prisoner down to the cells.

But it’s not another gun runner’s girlfriend.

Nope.

It’s my murderous sister-in-law.

Cross can tell right away that something’s different. He gives me a curious look, but I just shake my head.

I don’t have enough details yet. Whether they changed their mind and snagged Savannah instead, or if she’s here to… what? Infiltrate the place where I’ve been held captive these last three weeks? I could see that happening. If Luca confirmed that Cross and I were trapped in here before telling my brother where to find me, I could totally see Damien trusting Savannah to find some way to break us out of here.

If there’s a flaw in my logic—that it should be impossible for her to free me when she’s trapped herself—I pointedly ignore that, too.

I do finally tell him the identity of the newest prisoner later that night. And if I encouraged to lay next to me on the cot so we could whisper beneath the blanket instead of stubbornly offering to sleep on the floor like I’m sure he wanted to, I don’t give a shit. He’s the one who told me that he can’t sleep unless he’s holding me.

I’m stubborn, too. I absolutely refuse to let one night change anything. If he wants to go back to being friends, if he never wants to fuck me again, fine . But after all we’ve been through, I think the one thing that will break me is losing Cross because of something Winter made us do.

So I cuddled up next to him and admitted that my sister-in-law, Damien’s new wife who is also a Dragonfly enforcer, is the newest prisoner. Doesn’t matter that she seems to have gone through a transformation before she came here. That’s her .

He agrees with me that, between Luca and Savannah, our respective families have put the first stages of an escape plot into motion. Until they make they’re move, all we can do is wait.

It takes two days. If Winter suspects anything, he doesn’t make it obvious that he knows. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he caught on to the sense of anticipation in the air and chalked it up to the obvious chasm that exists between me and Cross after the other night.

But two days after Savannah gets led to a cell, I’m curled up on the cot when the glass door slides open and both she and Luca rush in.

Cross was pacing again. He meets Luca in the middle of the room, clasping his hand, pulling him into a sideways hug. “Fucking finally,” he says. “It’s time, yeah?”

“Finally,” Luca agrees. “Sorry, Cross. I would’ve tried to get you out of here my first night at this place but that wasn’t the plan. Damien wanted one of his people on the inside to make sure that his sister was safe, and then as soon as we had the opportunity, the two of us would work to get you out.”

“Savannah,” I breathe out, rushing forward and giving my brother’s wife my own much tighter hug. A giddy laugh escapes me as I squeeze. “Took you long enough to make your move. What happened? Finally missed my brother?” Relief has me a touch reckless as I pull back add, “Or was it just his cock?”

Luca chokes on his breath in front of me while I catch Cross shaking his head out of the corner of my eye, a hint of the first smile in days tugging on his lips.

Savannah doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, a hint of relief touches the corner of her mouth as she flashes me a quick grin. “Good to see that being kidnapped and held against your will hasn’t changed you one bit, Gen.”

Oh. It has. I’m sure I’m going to be traumatized for a fucking while after we get out of here. But when I have hope that we will? I’m giddy with relief.

I just wish I had the chance for it to last.

I’ve never forgotten the cameras for a moment. From the moment Luca let Savannah out of her cell before plugging in the digits on the keypad to ours, the clock’s been ticking. Either Winter knows we’re breaking out, or he will shortly. I’m listening for the speaker to crackle and for his voice to fill the room, so when it doesn’t, I think we’re golden.

And then Luca cocks his head. His dark green eyes seem even darker as concern fills his expression. “Did you hear that?”

No. No, no, no. I don’t want to hear anything except my feet on the stairs as we make a break for it. I listen anyway, and I nearly wail when I know exactly what caught Luca’s attention: footsteps over our head.

Cross’s dark eyes seem to turn black. “What the hell, Luca? I thought you just said this place was empty except the four of us.”

“It was supposed to be. Shit. That’s why I went and got Savannah. No one else was coming in until later tonight, but Winter must’ve sent another guy over for backup.” Luca scowls. “I knew he didn’t completely trust me.”

Well, yeah. To be fair, I’m kind of surprised he lasted this long. With Winter’s ability to learn details about those he’s screwing with, it wouldn’t have taken a lot to figure out that he’s a Sinner now.

Did he have his own reasons to let Luca in? A plot to get his paws on Savannah pretending to be Falco’s girlfriend? I don’t know, but she turns to Luca.

“Should I go back in my cell?”

Luca gives his head a rough shake. “No point. We knew we only had one shot at this.”

Savannah curses under her breath. “The cameras. Fuck. I forgot.”

I wish I could.

“Right. Winter isn’t always watching them, but if he logs in and sees the four of us in here, he’ll know something’s up. Might as well stay here and protect these two while I go check to see what that was.”

“Protecting Genevieve is my job,” rumbles Cross.

Savannah’s eyebrows wing up at the possessive note in his deep voice. “Right. That’s fine. But unless you have a weapon that you’ve neglected to use since you’ve been in here?—”

It’s my turn to choke on my laugh. Since this isn’t the time to explain just how powerful Cross’s jaw can be in the right circumstance, I keep that little tidbit to myself even as he reluctantly admits that we have nothing more than the clothes on our back and the thin blanket covering our cot.

Savannah actually looks thoughtful when he mentions the blanket, but instead of entering into a dick-measuring contest with my lover, my sister-in-law recognizes that it’s better to just accept that Cross feels protective of me.

Cross looks Savannah up and down. If there was any heat in his stare, I might’ve actually been jealous, but he’s more scrutinizing than appreciative of her build. “What about you? Doesn’t look like you have a weapon, either.”

“Couldn’t risk it. I’m pretending to be Camille Hedges. She’s arm candy for this hotshot, Falco, and would never be armed. But that doesn’t mean I’m helpless. Damien’s been teaching me self-defense lessons for months now.”

“Fine,” he concedes. “You can help me protect her.”

Savannah can be a bit of a smart ass at times, too. I learned that once I got to know her. Like Cross, though, she carries the weight of her own traumatic experiences with her. I’m not so sure what they are—only that, if you ask me, being forced to marry my brother would’ve been traumatic to anyone—but her eyes are as sometimes as sad as Cross’s.

Now? She simply nods, and Cross motions for me to get up and stand by them. Savannah is in front because, well, there’s nowhere she can really hide in this tiny room. Cross is standing at my back, prepared to move if necessary.

I don’t know who I’m expecting when, a few tense minutes later, the footsteps come closer and, instead of it being Luca coming back to tell us everything’s okay, it’s fucking Noah .

Damn it. God damn it.

The gangly guard with the ponytail gapes when he sees that Savannah is in the cell with us. He points at her, points at Cross and me, then races over to the keypad. He came down here with a gun in his hand—not food—and I wonder if that’s because he expected to see Luca.

The door slides open. He marches in and, before he says a word, he raises his gun.

It must be a warning shot. Unless Winter gave the order to take us out after all, but considering his aim is wide and, rather than blow Cross away, his bullet ends up in one of the cinderblocks. It doesn’t matter. The fact is that he shoots past me, closer to Cross, and his instincts have him pushing me out of the way right before he falls forward and ends up on his knees on the floor.

Now I know why Savannah was eyeing our blanket before. With the echo of the gunshot still ringing out, she grabs the blanket, tossing it in front of Noah’s face. It’s only a split second’s distraction, the material blocking his sight just long enough for Savannah to kick out at his knee before he can get off another shot.

Noah stumbles sideways. Instinctively, he throws out his hands—and the gun in his grasp goes flying in front of him even as he twists his body just enough to latch onto Savannah’s slender shoulder, shoving her to the ground. Not expecting his brutal hit, she actually lands on the ground while the big man recovers his balance just in time for his discarded weapon to land by my feet.

I think he’s about to make a break for it, lunging forward to grab his gun. Some part of my instincts—self-preservation perhaps, or the Libellula blood running through my veins—has me swooping down, grabbing the weapon by its butt.

I’ve never held a gun before. I’ve wondered what it would be like, but Damien was careful to keep any firearms out of the house when sixteen-year-old Gen professed an interest in them.

As part of my obsession and morbid curiosity of my brother’s criminal empire, I entertained myself by learning all about the business when I wasn’t playing my part, dancing away my fascination. This one is a semi-automatic pistol with a single round of bullets—but that should be enough, right?

I have every intention of passing it off to Savannah. I mean, she’s the killer here. The enforcer. I’m a ballerina. Cross is an artist. Savannah is a killer… but Savannah is staring in horror as the big brute reaches behind him.

And I realize that Noah must have another gun there.

If he shoots again, he’ll go for Savannah. I can’t go back and tell my brother that his wife got killed because of me. And what if he aims for Cross?—

“Shoot him, Gen,” orders Savannah. “Shoot the fucker!”

I know that death is a part of the life. Damien’s killed before to protect the Family. Vin’s an enforcer with a bicep full of leaves so I can’t even pretend that he’s a Libellula who doesn’t murder. Same with Savannah. She might’ve married into the family name, but she has four leaves.

Four deaths.

Four murders.

I’m not a killer.

But as I close my eyes and squeeze the trigger, I think I’ve just become one.