Page 61 of Save Me
One week. A week to get myself as trained up as possible because I’m not letting Thayer walk into that situation with me as green as that grass outside. No. He’s going to be accompanied by a pseudo-badass who can fight her way out of a tricky situation or, at the very least, fire a gun without it missing its mark.
I let out a long breath and turn away from the window. Harry might have given me a taste of perfection tonight, but now it’s back to reality—the dark, twisted reality where every move is a calculated risk, and every breath could be your last. And there’s no time to waste. Sleep is for the dead, as they say.
In my sleep shorts and tee, I make my way to the gym and flick on the lights.
The punching bag hangs heavily from its chain, and I wrap my hands like Adam showed me before going at it with a fury that’s as much about preparation as it is about release. Each hit reverberates back into my fists and through my whole body. I’m too weak. I need to do better.Bebetter.
An hour passes, maybe two. I don’t keep track. Instead, I let my body dictate when I’ve had enough. When I’m finally spent, muscles trembling and lungs heaving, I peel off the wraps and head back to the shower.
The hot water eases my aching muscles, but it does nothing for the restlessness that churns in my soul. Life wasn’t supposed to be like this. Yet here I am, entangled in schemes that could either lead to riches or ruin.
Or maybe salvation. Who knows at this point?
Wrapped in a towel with droplets of water trickling down my back, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. There’s a hardness to me that wasn’t present before—a sharpness to my eyes that speaks of things seen and done that can’t be unseen or undone.
I feel a shiver skitter down my spine as I stare at the stranger in the reflection. I know what needs to be done, though. If I’m going to survive in this world, the old Vogue has to toughen up, wise up. It’s adapt or die, and I sure as hell don’t plan on laying down my life for anyone.
24
VOGUE
It’s pretty earlyin the morning when we set off for Dad’s office. More gun training, more cleaning house, more everything mafia. The guys have headed to campus to start the ball rolling for the masked ball and the heist, which is making me nervous but the thrilling kind.
“You okay?” Dad asks, cutting into my thoughts.
“Yeah, just thinking about the ball and stuff.”
“You know your role?”
I nod, staring out of the window at the tranquil countryside that surrounds the mansion’s grounds.
The engine hums, lulling me into a safety net of peace. Adam’s hands are steady on the wheel, guiding the SUV as we glide from the gates of our home toward the city.
“Did you sleep okay?” Aaron asks without looking up.
“Nah,” I reply, my gaze staring out the window, watching trees blur into green streaks against the morning light. “I did some more training.”
“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow. “On your own.”
“Yeah, trying to build up some physical strength. I don’t want to be one of those women who relies on the men to get her out of situations.”
He chuckles. “That’s my girl. But don’t overdo it and tell us when you plan on doing this. If we don’t know, Adam will work you hard, and it might cause an adverse reaction if you’re already tired.”
“Okay, that’s fair.”
“Have you spoken to the Admin office about downgrading to a part-time course yet?”
“No, not yet. I will. Things have been a bit hectic.”
“Don’t forget. I know this is important to you, but I’m glad you have chosen to stand by my side now.”
We exchange a smile as a shadow cuts across the road, quick and sudden. Adam’s body tenses, his grip tightens, and before I can process it, everything changes. The world tilts on its axis as a black van barrels into us with a violence that turns my stomach. Metal screams, and glass shatters. We’re thrown sideways, off the road, the SUV spinning out of control until we come to a dead halt. My head snaps to the side, smacking against the glass, stars burst behind my eyes, but pain is distant, a problem for later.
“Out, now!” Adam’s voice cuts through the ringing in my ears, sharp and urgent. He’s already moving, gun drawn. I fumble with the seatbelt, heart racing, trying to keep up with the chaos that erupted in what should have been an ordinary moment.
Dad’s out of the car already too, his face set in lines of grim determination. They stand side by side, firing towards the van that ran us off the road. Without being told, I know these are the moments that define us, the ones we train for, the ones we dread. This isn’t some nightmare; this is real, and it’s happening now.
Move, Vogue, move.
