Chapter 6

The black Rolls-Royce Phantom glided smoothly through the neon-lit streets of Sterling City.

Inside the cabin, the thick soundproof glass completely isolated them from the noise of the traffic. The dim, yellow reading lights cast soft shadows over the leather seats.

Alana sat quietly, staring out the window at the passing city. Her mind was pulled back into the dark abyss of her previous life.

The fake, pitying smile of her stepmother, Euphemia. The shrill, victorious laughter of Jessica. The memories played on a loop behind her eyes.

Without realizing it, Alana curled her hands into tight fists, resting them on her knees. Her fingernails dug painfully into her palms.

Sitting beside her, Corbin felt the sudden shift in the air. He noticed the rigid tension in her shoulders and the slight change in her breathing.

He frowned. His eyes dropped to her hands.

He saw a thin, red scratch on the back of her pale hand. She had gotten it from the glass shards when she held his bleeding hand in the living room.

A sharp spike of guilt hit Corbin's chest. He reached forward and popped open the hidden first-aid compartment built into the center console.

He pulled out an antiseptic swab and a small bandage. He reached over and gently took her hand, his large fingers wrapping around her wrist with surprising care.

Alana blinked, pulled from her dark thoughts. She looked down, surprised to see this ruthless, terrifying man bowing his head to treat a tiny scratch on her skin.

His warm breath fanned across her knuckles, sending a strange, comforting shiver up her arm.

He wiped the swab over the cut. "Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice low and gruff.

Alana shook her head. The thick wall around her heart cracked just a fraction more.

Corbin carefully applied the bandage. When he was done, he didn't let go. He shifted his grip, completely engulfing her small hand inside his large, warm palm.

The radio on the dashboard crackled. The lead security vehicle reported in. "Approaching the Knox estate now, sir."

The Rolls-Royce slowed down, turning onto a long, tree-lined driveway.

Alana looked through the window. Standing near the entrance of the driveway, illuminated by a streetlamp, was a man in a white tuxedo.

It was Jaison Boyd. Her ex-fiancé. The man who had sold her out.

Jaison was standing by the curb, talking on his phone, wearing that same arrogant, repulsive smile she remembered so well.

The warmth in Alana's eyes vanished. Her pupils dilated with pure, unadulterated murderous intent.

She closed her eyes for a split second. Her consciousness dove straight into The Cache.

She bypassed the medical supplies and went straight to the weapons vault. She locked onto a custom, matte-black handgun equipped with a silencer. She hadn't fully realized until this exact moment that the surreal, futuristic space accompanying her rebirth was also an arsenal harboring lethal firepower. The sheer, dangerous reality of what she possessed sent a cold thrill down her spine. It was perfect. She had the ultimate tool to deliver a very specific kind of gift.

Item retrieved.

Alana opened her eyes. She slid her free hand into her small, velvet clutch resting on her lap.

Her fingertips brushed against cold, heavy metal. The gun had materialized perfectly inside the bag.

Corbin felt the sudden, drastic drop in her body temperature. He followed her line of sight out the window.

When he saw Jaison standing under the streetlight, the atmosphere inside the car plummeted below freezing.

Corbin's grip on Alana's hand tightened painfully. The bones in his knuckles turned white. The violent, destructive rage ignited in his eyes once again.

He was convinced she was reacting this way because she was looking at the man she truly loved.

The Rolls-Royce rolled to a smooth stop, parking less than thirty feet away from where Jaison stood.