“For that, you pay,” the guard continued and again got close, “For Hettie, you burn in hell.”

The guard again pulled back but stayed kneeling beside him, staring in his eyes.

So he was the last thing he saw before Vincent Shade died.

* * * * *

Nine Weeks Later

The day had been long. All they’d seen was hard, cold road the length of it.

They hadn’t even stopped to eat.

After they checked in, she demanded they eat.

So they ate.

Now they were back at the motel in the middle of nowhere that was so in the middle of nowhere and so nothing it cost only twenty bucks a night.

Not what she’d worked her ass off her whole goddamned life to have.

He opened the door.

It didn’t happen until they were both through.

When the light came on, with the amount of guns on them, they didn’t move as the door swung shut behind them.

Her eyes were pinned to the man sitting on the edge of the bed, a woman standing next to him, her hand on his shoulder.

Benito Valenzuela and his woman, Camilla Turnbull.

Fuck.

Her man made a move at her side.

Stupid. So fucking stupid.

But he loved her.

There it was. Proof.

Love made you stupid.

And in Gill’s case, dead.

The shot only gave a sharp buzz. She felt the spatter hit her face but all she allowed herself was a flinch as he fell to the floor at her side.

Gone, now.

Everything.

Gone.

Her heart shriveled inside her.

Fucking shit, maybe in all her bitching, Liv had been right.

“You were simply affecting profit margins,” Valenzuela noted like a member of his crew had not just shot the man she loved in the face. “Which was annoying and needed to be dealt with.” He shook his head. “This business after what happened with your sister. Quite the nuisance.”

He said no more, just continued to shake his head.

“You burned her in her bed,” Georgia hissed.

“For many years, you haven’t been stupid. What’s turned you stupid now, Georgia?” Valenzuela asked.

“We have one enemy,” she returned. “You.”

“And as that enemy, you know me. You know it’s bad business to eliminate something that’s not a threat.” He tipped his head sharply to the side. “Worse business if eliminating that non-threat suddenly makes me the enemy of someone who gives not one shit about me and,” he leaned slightly forward, “I don’t want them to.”

“You don’t know your enemy either, obviously, since I gave a shit about you,” she snapped. “We could have made a deal.”

His eyes turned shrewd. “I was talking about Sebring.”

“Knight has dick to do with this,” she retorted.

“That’s not the Sebring I mean.”

All over her body, her skin got tight.

“Nick’s unhappy,” Valenzuela said softly.

“I don’t give a fuck about Nick,” she shot back.