“It’s not a matter of how big or strong someone is or whether you’re ‘tough,’ it’s a matter of being trained, being prepared. Knowing your enemy. Got it? I can prepare you, but you have to put the mental work in.”

“Is it possible for a woman to feel safe in a world where men leverage their physical strength?”

“Safer,” Tito told her. “No one’s gonna get you if you can help it, eh? You’re gonna be the last woman that man ever fucks with because there will be nothing left of him when you’re done.”

She didn’t believe him then.

When he stood up from the stool, he didn’t sway, and that’s what she’d wanted to see. Instead, he took a step toward her, lifting the gun. She was cornered between him and the grill, his body a barricade.

“I have a drug dealer. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?” She made a face. “I wasn’t really sure what you used on us back in the cult days, so I had to guess.”

He lunged to grab her, but she dove right under the table and peddled backward on her palms. On the other side of the table, Rainy was on her feet in three seconds. Adrenaline was a good drug. Anger was a better one.

“I smuggled them in under Band-Aids.” A burst of laughter rippled from her throat. “And now here we are.” She rubbed the palms of her hands on her thighs.

He hadn’t lifted the gun yet but she knew he would. Her back was to the walk-in freezer; it pressed against her shoulder blades. Taured considered the table between them. He perched on the edge, on one side of his buttocks, never lowering the gun. Swinging his legs over, he landed on the other side. Rainy was impressed. She’d never stopped moving away from him, small, shuffled steps.

“You can shoot me, but it won’t matter. You’re going to jail this time. I sent the police everything you’d thought you’d hidden.” The air was heavy, and it burned through her nose and deep into her lungs. She ducked and ran, and she heard the gun go off. So, so loud. And then she felt a white-hot pain in her upper arm, the impact almost throwing her off-balance. The pain in her arm was fire—a burning hot stone.

She turned to look at him; he was chasing her, but he slipped in her vomit. A piercing noise suddenly split the air: the fire alarm. She could still see him, and he was standing up now. Lungs straining, she ran for Braithe, who was still cuffed to the table leg. She yanked at the cuffs, swearing. The key had to still be on Ginger.