There was a Maserati in my alley. He helped me into the front seat, threw my bag in the trunk, got in beside me and took off like a shot down the alley.

We were three blocks away before I looked back.

The flames consuming the vast mansion that was so not me (even when I didn’t know what me was) were already dancing toward the sky.

“Valenzuela,” Knight stated.

I settled back in my seat and looked to him.

“Sorry?”

He looked at me out of the side of his eye quickly before returning his attention to the road.

“Benito Valenzuela murdering her sister’ll keep Georgia occupied while we take care of the rest of the business. Same time it does that, obviously it’ll keep her from thinkin’ she needs to look for you.”

They were framing Valenzuela.

I did not want to know and knew not to ask. Filled body bags. Gasoline. It was not for me to know. I knew this because, even if I asked, Nick would have made it so they didn’t tell me.

Still, I started, “Knight—”

He didn’t look out the side of his eye then, but glanced fully at me before he looked back to the street.

“No matter what you saw, no one got harmed in the making of that scenario, Livvie.” He jerked his head to indicate behind us. “That you can trust. Now you just gotta keep trusting and let Nick’s plan play out.”

I drew in a sharp breath.

This was Nick.

All Nick.

I closed my eyes.

When I opened them I knew two things.

One, I was smiling at the windshield.

And the other, I knew what was happening to my heart.

For the first time in my life, it felt light.

We did not go to DIA.

We went to a private airstrip and Knight and I got into a private jet.

We were taxiing not even five minutes after the doors were closed.

Wasting no time.

Nick was wasting no time getting me back to him.

I closed my eyes as we took off.

When we were climbing into the sky, I opened them, turning my head so I was looking out the window.

We were flying east.

We were flying into the dawn.

We were heading straight to the morning light.

I was going to Nick.

Another first in my thirty-one years of life.

I was going home.

* * * * *

Creed

Thirty Minutes Later

His wife’s back to the wall, her ass in his hands, his cock drilling inside her, the noises of them fucking filling their hotel room, Creed felt her move her hands so they framed his face.

He lifted it out of her neck and looked to his Sylvie.

At the look in her green eyes, he stopped moving, buried deep inside her.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Yeah.

Fuck yeah.

His Sylvie.