Page 14 of Crushed Vow
“You look sad,” Vincent said, watching me closely. “Are you sure you’re okay staying with Ethan?”
I nodded, though sadness was written all over my face. “I’m fine.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened. “Cassian’s going to die by my hands one day. For what he did to our mother.”
“Please don’t chase revenge,” I warned. “Cassian’s not just dangerous. He’s destructive. You hunt him, you get burned. You stand too close, you burn. You breathe wrong near him—and you still burn. There are no games with men like that.”
He didn’t argue. “I’m not chasing anything. But when the chance comes, I’ll look him in the eye and put a bullet through his skull.”
I reached for his hand. “Just stay alive, Vincent. You’re all I have left.”
He nodded, and led me toward the car.
Cassian had sent the burial site’s location to my phone that morning, and I’d managed to get word to Vincent so we could honor her together.
Vincent had picked me up from Ethan’s house, and now we were driving back in silence, the air thick with grief.
“You don’t think I’d tell Father where you are, do you?” Vincent asked as we neared Ethan’s street.
“I don’t,” I replied. “And even if you did, it wouldn’t be easy for him. Ethan’s house is like a maze built by a paranoid genius.”
Vincent gave a dry chuckle. “Don’t worry. I’m not snitching.”
When we reached Ethan’s place, he pulled up to the curb and I stepped out, waving at him with an ache in my chest. He was the only piece of my family that still felt real.
But before I could turn toward the house, another car tore down the street and screeched to a stop in front of me.
My heart slammed against my ribs as the dark jeep sped toward the curb outside Ethan’s house. Panic surged through me like a lightning strike.
It looked just like the one from that night.
The night I left Cassian. The night I was supposed to stay with Ethan—just for a while, just until I figured out what to do with my life.
I hadn’t even made it inside.
The memory crashed over me in full color: the screech of tires, the masked men in black, the chemical sting of chloroform. My scream muffled by a gloved hand. My body going limp.
Then—white walls. Straps. Padded rooms. A forged file saying I was a junkie. A liar. A danger to myself.
My breath hitched, shallow and sharp, and I stumbled back from the sidewalk. My hands shook as I pressed them to my chest.
Not again. Please, not again.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. Couldn’t do anything but watch that dark vehicle creep closer to the curb, headlights slicing through the early dusk.
Then the window rolled down.
“Get in,” Cassian said, his voice deep, steady—too calm for the chaos inside me.
Relief hit me like a slap.
It wasn’t the men in black. It wasn’t chloroform. It wasn’t a psych ward waiting behind a locked door.
It was him.
Still dangerous. Still unwanted. But not a stranger.
My hand flew to my chest, my breath ragged. “No,” I said, voice hoarse, my body still trembling. “I’m not doing this again.”
