The Triple Cross: Billionaire's Blood Debt

I leaned against the rusted frame of the garage door, my silhouette framed by the flickering orange glow of a nearby barrel fire. The air here was a thick, suffocating cocktail of gasoline, burnt rubber, and raw adrenaline. My heart wasn't just beating; it was a frantic drum against my ribs, each thrum heavy and jagged. I forced my posture to remain loose, a practiced mask of indifference, though every muscle was coiled tight enough to snap.

In the center of the chaos stood the fastest thing in this graveyard: a custom-built monster of chrome and obsidian. And over it was the man who made the very air feel electric.

Jaxson Vane.

He didn't look up. He wiped a grease-stained rag over a chrome exhaust pipe with a slow, predatory deliberation that made my throat go dry. Up close, he was less a man and more a tectonic event. The heat radiating off his massive frame, combined with the humid night air, turned the oxygen in the garage into something thick and liquid.

"How much for a ride?" I asked, my voice cutting through the roar of revving engines.

"You can't afford the seat, sweetheart," Jaxson said. His voice was a low, gravelly friction that seemed to vibrate in the very marrow of my bones. "And you're standing in my light."

"I have a feeling I can be very persuasive when I want something," I countered. I stepped forward, my heels clicking sharply against the oil-slicked concrete. Each step felt like walking a tightrope over a canyon. My palms were damp, a cold slickness I hid by tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

He finally looked up. His eyes weren't just dark; they were voids that threatened to swallow my resolve whole. A jagged scar ran through his left eyebrow-a silver line of history against his tanned, tattooed skin. The sight of him sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated fire through my system, making my fingertips tingle and my breath hitch.

"Persuasion is a dangerous game to play in the dirt," he said, straightening to his full, intimidating height. He was a head taller than me, a wall of leather and hard-won muscle. The scent of him hit me like a physical blow-expensive bourbon mixed with the metallic tang of speed. It was intoxicating, a scent that promised both ruin and ecstasy.

"I've never been afraid of getting a little dirty," I whispered. I reached out, my fingers trembling as I brushed them against the cold steel of his bike. The air between us was charged, thick with an invisible current that made the fine hairs on my arms stand up.

"Is that right?" Jaxson took a step into my personal space. The heat from his chest rolled over me in waves. I could see the pulse jumping in his neck, a steady, rhythmic throb that matched the frantic pounding in my own chest.

"I'm looking for something specific," I said, my voice dropping to a smoky velvet. "Something only the Phantom CEO can provide."

He stiffened. It was subtle-a hardening of his jaw, a narrowing of those obsidian eyes. "I don't know who you think I am, Little Thief."

The nickname sent a chill down my spine. I had to keep him distracted. I had to get into his orbit, or the mission-the reason I was even breathing this toxic air-would crumble into ash.

"I think you're exactly who I've been searching for," I said, closing the remaining distance. I placed my hand flat against his chest. The leather of his vest was rough, but beneath it, his heart was a powerful, steady engine. My own heart felt like a trapped bird, frantic and bruised, slamming against my ribcage.

Jaxson didn't pull away. Instead, his hand came up, his large, calloused fingers wrapping around my wrist. His grip wasn't painful, but it was absolute. The heat of his skin scorched me. A wave of dizziness washed over me, a cocktail of fear and a sudden, terrifying hunger.

"You're shaking," he noted, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin of my inner wrist.

"Anticipation," I lied, though my voice cracked. My throat felt tight and dry. I could feel the blood rushing to my face, a heat that felt like a fever.

"Or terror," he whispered, leaning down until his lips were inches from my ear. His breath was warm, smelling of peppermint and smoke. "I haven't decided which I like better yet."

"Why don't you find out?" I challenged. I tilted my head back, exposing the line of my throat. My skin felt overly sensitive, every movement of the air feeling like a caress. I was hyper-aware of everything: the distant scream of tires, the flickering fire, the way his eyes tracked the movement of my lips.

His gaze dropped to my mouth, and the air left my lungs. The world narrowed down to this square inch of space. The tension was a living thing, a cord stretched to the point of breaking. My stomach flipped, a hollow, aching sensation that made my knees feel weak.

"You have no idea what you're asking for," he growled.

"Then show me," I breathed.

He didn't hesitate. His mouth crashed against mine with a violence that took my breath away. It wasn't a kiss; it was a claim. It tasted of salt and fire. My head spun, the garage tilting on its axis. I clung to his shoulders, my nails digging into the leather, seeking an anchor in the storm. Every nerve ending in my body was screaming. The sensation was overwhelming-the scratch of his stubble, the pressure of his body pinning me against the bike, the taste of him filling my senses. It was a sensory overload that made my brain go quiet, leaving only the raw, visceral reality of him.

He pulled back just an inch, his eyes wild. "Last chance to run, Elena."

My name on his tongue felt like a brand. I didn't ask how he knew it. I didn't care. The mission, the hard drive, the corporate secrets-they all felt miles away, blurred by the heat of his skin.

"Don't make me wait," I said, my voice a ragged edge.

He grabbed my waist and hoisted me onto the seat of the motorcycle. The cold leather against my thighs was a sharp contrast to the heat of his hands. He swung a leg over, the engine roaring to life beneath us with a vibration that traveled through my entire body, settling deep in my pelvis.

We tore out of the garage, the night air whipping my hair into a frenzy. I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my face into the center of his back. The world was a blur of neon lights and dark shadows. My heart was no longer mine; it belonged to the speed, to the danger, to the man I was supposed to be robbing.

By the time we reached his loft-a sprawling, industrial space overlooking the river-the tension had reached a fever pitch. He didn't even wait to turn on the lights. He pushed me against the door the moment it swung shut, his hands mapping the curves of my body with an urgency that bordered on desperation.

"The drive," a small, dying voice in the back of my mind whispered. "Find the drive."

But his hands were on my skin, and the world was falling away. He stripped me with a ruthless efficiency, his eyes never leaving mine. I felt exposed, as if he were peeling back the layers of my identity. My skin burned everywhere he touched. We fell onto the bed, a tangled mess of limbs and gasping breaths. It was a war of touch. Every time he moved, I felt a new wave of sensation-the weight of him, the friction, the sharp intake of air. I was drowning in him, and I didn't want to be saved.

The passion was explosive, a release of all the hidden tensions of the night. It was desperate and dark, a collision of two people who lived in the shadows. I felt a strange, terrifying connection to him-a sense that he saw the darkness in me, and I saw the hollow ache in him.

As the dawn began to gray the edges of the heavy curtains, I lay there, my body feeling heavy and used. My skin was sensitive, humming with the afterglow of his touch. I waited until his breathing became deep and rhythmic, the sound of a man who feared nothing.

Slowly, agonizingly, I slipped out from under his arm. My muscles ached, a dull throb in my thighs and back. I moved through the shadows of the loft like a ghost. My eyes scanned the room, landing on his jacket thrown over a chair. My fingers were steady now, the professional spy overriding the trembling woman. I reached into the inner pocket. My heart leaped. The hard drive. A small, silver rectangle that held enough secrets to bring down empires. I tucked it into the hidden compartment of my discarded bag.

I dressed in silence, my movements fluid and practiced. I didn't look back at the bed. I couldn't. If I looked at him, I might stay, and staying was a death sentence.

I reached for the door, my hand hovering over the cold metal. A wave of nausea hit me-a sudden, sharp cramp in my stomach that made me double over. I chalked it up to the adrenaline crash. I stepped out and didn't stop until I reached the safety of a crowded subway station blocks away. Only then did I allow myself to breathe. I reached into my bag to check the drive one last time.

My hand brushed against a piece of paper that hadn't been there before.

My blood turned to ice. My lungs seized. I pulled out a small, white plastic stick and a folded note. I stared at the two blue lines on the stick. They were mocking me, vivid and undeniable. My vision blurred, the sounds of the station receding into a dull roar.

I unfolded the note. The handwriting was bold, sharp, and arrogant.

"Nice try, Little Thief. You forgot something."

I shoved my hand deeper into the bag, reaching for the hard drive. My fingers met empty space. The drive was gone. In its place was nothing but the heavy, crushing realization of what I had truly lost. He had known.

"Ten million dollars is a lot of money for a ghost, Mr. Thorne."

I kept my voice steady, though my stomach was a knotted mess of nerves. I sat on the edge of the mismatched sofa in my cramped apartment, my palms pressing into the threadbare fabric until the rough fibers bit into my skin. The air in the room was stagnant, smelling of old rain and the cheap detergent I used to scrub the grease from my uniforms.

"You aren't a ghost to him, Elena," the man across from me said. He looked entirely out of place in my world of peeling wallpaper and flickering fluorescent lights. His suit cost more than I had earned in the last five years combined. He watched me with eyes that were as cold and calculating as a spreadsheet.

"I'm a mistake he forgot before the sun came up," I countered. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, uneven rhythm. I could feel a bead of sweat tracing a slow, agonizing path down the dip of my spine. I shifted, trying to hide the way my hands were trembling.

"Men like Jaxson Vane don't forget women like you," Thorne said, leaning forward. The scent of his expensive cologne was sharp, clashing with the metallic tang of the city outside. "Especially not after what you took from him."

"I took nothing," I snapped. The lie tasted like copper in my mouth. My throat burned, a sharp, dry heat that made it hard to swallow. I forced myself to look him in the eye, even as my vision blurred at the edges from the sheer weight of the pressure.

"You took his pride," Thorne replied smoothly. "And now, I want you to take his empire."

"By walking back into his life? He'll have me thrown out by his security before I can say hello."

"Not if you bring the boy."

The air left my lungs in a sudden, violent rush. My fingers curled into fists, my nails drawing blood from my palms. The pain was a sharp anchor, keeping me from screaming. I could hear the soft, rhythmic breathing of my son, Leo, sleeping in the next room-a sound that usually brought me peace, but now felt like a ticking clock.

"Leave my son out of this," I whispered, the words coming out as a jagged threat.

"He is the perfect weapon, Elena. Look at him. He's a carbon copy of the man who rules this city. Vane won't be able to look away. He is a man who values legacy above all else. When he sees those eyes-his eyes-on a child he never knew existed, he will be undone."

"I am not a spy anymore," I said, my voice trembling.

"You're a mother who can't pay her rent," Thorne sneered, his gaze sweeping over my meager belongings. "You're a woman who buys milk with loose change found in the cushions of this very couch. Don't play the saint with me. You are drowning, Elena. I am the only one offering you a way to the surface."

The truth hit me like a physical blow to the solar plexus. I felt a wave of nausea, my stomach churning with a mix of shame and desperation. He was right. The refrigerator was an empty cavern. Leo needed new shoes for school. I was drowning, and this shark was offering me a golden life jacket.

"Why do you hate him so much?" I asked, my voice barely audible over the hum of the old refrigerator.

"That's none of your concern. Your concern is the ten million. Five now. Five when he's ruined."

"Ruined? What exactly do you want me to do?"

"Infiltrate. Remind him of that night. Make him fall. Make him vulnerable. And when he's at his weakest, give me the access I need to his private servers. He has built a fortress of digital secrets, and you are the only one with the key to his emotional gate."

My skin crawled. The memory of Jaxson's hands on me, the heat of his skin, and the roar of his bike flashed through my mind like a fever dream. The sensation was so vivid I could almost smell the bourbon and burnt rubber. A shiver raced through my limbs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

"He'll kill me if he finds out," I said.

"He'll love you until he loses everything. That's the Vane way."

Thorne stood up, pulling a thick envelope from his breast pocket. He tossed it onto the coffee table. It landed with a heavy thud-the sound of my soul being sold.

"Think about it, Elena. You have twenty-four hours." He walked to the door, his polished shoes clicking against the linoleum. He paused with his hand on the knob. "One more thing. Jaxson is throwing a gala tomorrow night at the Vane Plaza. If you aren't there, the offer expires. And I suspect your landlord's patience will expire shortly after."

The door clicked shut, leaving me in a silence so heavy it felt like it was crushing my lungs. I stared at the envelope. My heart was thudding so loudly in my ears I could barely hear myself think.

"Mama?"

The small voice from the doorway made me jump. I whipped my head around, my pulse racing. Leo stood there, rubbing his eyes with his small, chubby fists. He was wearing his favorite dinosaur pajamas, the ones that were two sizes too small. He looked so much like him. The same dark, unruly hair. The same set of his jaw. Even at five years old, he had that same piercing, obsidian gaze that had haunted my dreams for half a decade.

"Go back to sleep, baby," I said, my voice thick with unshed tears.

"Who was that man?" Leo asked, walking over to me. He climbed onto the sofa and tucked himself under my arm. His warmth was a stinging reminder of everything I had to protect.

"Just someone from work, Leo. Everything is fine."

"You're shaking," he whispered, his small hand patting my arm.

"I'm just cold," I lied. The cold was inside me. It was a frost that had settled in my marrow the moment I saw those two blue lines five years ago. I pulled him closer, breathing in the scent of baby shampoo and sleep.

"Are we going somewhere?" he asked, looking at the envelope.

"Maybe. Would you like to see a big party? With lots of lights?"

"Will there be cake?"

"Yes," I choked out. "There will be cake."

I waited until he fell back asleep in my arms before I reached for the envelope. My fingers felt numb as I tore it open. Inside were stacks of hundred-dollar bills, more money than I had ever held at once. And beneath the cash, there was a single photograph. It was a shot of Jaxson Vane leaving his office. He looked older, harder. The silver scar on his eyebrow was more prominent. He looked like a king who had forgotten how to smile.

The sight of him sent a jolt of electricity through my nervous system. It was a terrifying mix of attraction and pure, unadulterated dread. My skin felt tight, a prickling sensation spreading across my chest. I spent the rest of the night staring at that photo. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the phantom weight of his body against mine. I remembered the way he had called me "Little Thief."

I wasn't a thief anymore. I was a ghost coming back to haunt him.

The next evening, the transformation was complete. Thorne had sent a stylist, a dress, and a car. I looked in the mirror and didn't recognize the woman staring back. The silk of the emerald-green gown felt like cool water against my skin, but beneath it, I was burning. My heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of my throat. I checked my reflection one last time, smoothing the fabric over my hips. I looked expensive. I looked dangerous. I looked like the kind of woman a man would destroy himself for.

"Ready, Leo?" I asked.

He was dressed in a tiny tuxedo, looking every bit the prince. He beamed at me, his eyes wide with wonder. "You look like a queen, Mama."

"And you look like a hero," I said, though my voice wavered.

The drive to Vane Plaza was a blur of neon and anxiety. Every time the car stopped at a light, I felt like jumping out and running until my lungs gave out. My palms were so slick I had to wipe them on a silk handkerchief. The plaza was a monolith of glass and steel, glowing like a beacon in the center of the city. As we stepped out of the car, the flashes of paparazzi cameras blinded me. I felt the familiar rush of adrenaline-the spy's high-but it was tempered by the crushing weight of the secret I carried.

"Stay close to me," I whispered to Leo.

We entered the ballroom, a cavern of gold leaf and crystal chandeliers. The air was thick with the scent of lilies and expensive perfume. I scanned the room, my eyes searching for the one person I both longed for and feared.

And then I saw him.

He was standing on the far side of the room, surrounded by a circle of men in dark suits. He was holding a glass of bourbon, the amber liquid catching the light. He looked exactly the same, yet entirely different. The power radiating off him was palpable, a physical force that made the air around him seem to vibrate. My breath hitched. My heart stopped, then restarted with a violent, jarring thud. I felt a wave of heat wash over me, followed by a bone-deep chill.

He looked up. His eyes swept across the room with a bored indifference until they landed on me.

I watched the moment the recognition hit him. It was like watching a dam break. His body went rigid. The glass in his hand tilted precariously. The obsidian voids of his eyes narrowed, zeroing in on me with a predatory intensity that made my knees buckle. He didn't move. He just stared, his chest rising and falling in heavy, rhythmic heaves. The silence between us stretched, a taut wire humming with five years of unspoken questions and raw, bleeding wounds.

I felt Leo tug on my hand. "Mama, why is that man looking at us like that?"

Jaxson's gaze dropped. He saw the boy.

I watched the color drain from his face, leaving him a ghastly shade of pale. The bourbon glass slipped from his fingers, shattering on the marble floor with a sound like a gunshot. The amber liquid splashed over his expensive shoes, but he didn't blink. He started toward us, his stride long and purposeful. People parted like the Red Sea before him. Each of his footsteps echoed in my skull, a countdown to a confrontation I wasn't sure I could survive.

"Elena," he said. His voice was deeper than I remembered, a low, guttural growl that sent a tremor through my entire body. I felt the electricity of his presence, a charge that made the fine hairs on my neck stand up.

"Jaxson," I replied, my voice surprisingly steady. "It's been a long time."

He stopped a few feet away, his eyes darting between me and the boy. He looked like he had been struck by lightning. His hands were clenched at his sides, the knuckles white.

"Who is he?" Jaxson demanded, his voice a harsh whisper that cut through the music of the string quartet.

I looked him dead in the eye, feeling a sudden, sharp surge of defiance. The underdog was finally standing her ground. "His name is Leo," I said, my voice ringing out clearly. "And he's the reason I'm going to take everything you have left."

The shock on his face was the most satisfying thing I had ever seen. For the first time in his life, the Great Jaxson Vane looked small.

But then, a shadow fell over us. I turned to see Thorne standing behind me, a thin, triumphant smile on his lips. He leaned in close, his voice a cold venom in my ear.

"Well done, Elena. Now, tell him the rest. Tell him that if he doesn't sign over the merger by midnight, he'll never see his son again-because I've already called the authorities to report an international kidnapping."

My heart plummeted into my stomach. I looked at Thorne, then back at Jaxson, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. I wasn't here to win. I was the bait in a trap that was about to snap shut on both of us.

"You used me," I whispered, the words tasting like ash.

"I hired you," Thorne corrected. "Now finish the job, or the boy goes to a cage you'll never find."

I looked at Jaxson, and for the first time, I saw not the enemy, but the only person who could help me save our son. "Jaxson," I breathed, reaching out to touch his arm. "Run."

But before he could react, the heavy oak doors of the ballroom burst open, and a swarm of armed men in tactical gear flooded the room. The transition from luxury to war was instantaneous. Jaxson didn't hesitate. He grabbed my waist and pulled me behind him, his body a shield of muscle and fury.

"Nobody touches them," Jaxson roared, his voice shaking the chandeliers.

"If you don't stop kicking the seat, Leo, we're going to end up in the ditch before the engine even dies."

I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned a ghostly white. My palms were slick, sliding against the worn plastic as the old sedan chugged and wheezed like a dying animal. The heat in the cabin was stifling-a thick, humid weight that made my skin feel too tight for my bones.

"But I'm hungry, Mama," Leo whined from the back.

I glanced at him through the rearview mirror, and my heart did that familiar, painful somersault. He had the same stubborn set to his jaw that I saw in my most beautiful nightmares. Every time he pouted, I saw a ghost. My chest felt hollow, a cavernous ache that five years of hiding had never truly filled.

"I know, baby. Just a few more miles," I lied.

The engine gave a final, rhythmic metallic clank-a death rattle that vibrated through the floorboards and up into my teeth. White smoke began to billow from the edges of the hood, obscuring the winding mountain road. I steered the dying beast onto the narrow shoulder, the gravel crunching like breaking glass beneath the tires.

I stepped out into the mountain air. It was sharp, smelling of pine and damp earth. My pulse was a frantic hammer in my throat, rhythmic and suffocating. I popped the hood, and a cloud of bitter, oily steam engulfed me. I coughed, my lungs burning, until a sound in the distance stopped the breath in my throat.

It started as a low, tectonic hum. It wasn't the wind. It was the roar of a predator.

"Mama? What's that noise?"

I couldn't answer. The vibration grew, shaking the very ground beneath my boots. It was a rhythmic thunder, the sound of a dozen high-displacement engines screaming in unison.

The Vane Reapers.

Rounding the bend was a black tide of chrome and leather. At the head of the pack was a bike forged in the depths of a furnace. The rider was a shadow against the setting sun, but I would know that silhouette anywhere. Even in the dark. Even in another life.

Jaxson Vane.

The pack slowed, the roar transitioning into a predatory growl as they circled my broken car. The heat from their exhausts joined the rising fever in my blood. My stomach twisted into a hard, agonizing knot. Jaxson killed his engine, and the silence that followed was louder than the roar had been. He kicked the stand down with a deliberate, heavy thud and sat there, a dark god on a throne of steel, watching me through a tinted visor.

"You're a long way from the city, Elena."

His voice bypassed the air and vibrated directly into my marrow. It was rougher than it had been, a jagged edge that tore through my fragile composure.

"The car died," I said, trying to sound defiant. My voice was a flickering candle in a gale.

"Cars don't die on this road by accident," he said.

He pulled off the helmet. My breath caught-a sharp, physical pain. He looked older. There were fine lines around his eyes, and his jaw seemed carved from granite. The silver scar on his eyebrow stood out starkly against his tanned skin. He swung his leg over the bike and walked toward me. The scent of him-leather, cold mountain air, and that intoxicating bourbon spice-hit me like a physical wave. I felt dizzy, my vision swimming with the sheer power of his presence.

"What do you want, Jaxson?" I asked, backing up until my spine hit the hot metal of the car.

"I want to know why a ghost is standing on my mountain," he growled. He stopped inches away. The heat radiating from his body was immense. I could see the pulse jumping in his neck, a frantic, rhythmic throb that betrayed the calm of his obsidian eyes.

"I'm just passing through," I whispered.

"Liar," he breathed. He reached out, his hand hovering near my face. I flinched, my heart leaping. His fingers didn't touch me, but the heat from them scorched my skin.

"Mama? Who is the man?"

The back door of the car creaked open. Leo stepped out, squinting against the sun.

Jaxson froze.

The world seemed to stop spinning. I watched the blood drain from Jaxson's features. He looked at Leo. Then he looked at me. Then back at Leo. The boy walked closer, his small hand grabbing the hem of my shirt. He stared up at Jaxson with wide, curious eyes-eyes that were a perfect, haunting mirror of the man standing before him.

"He has a big bike," Leo noted.

Jaxson didn't speak. He couldn't. His Adam's apple bobbed in a hard swallow. I saw his hands tremble-the Great Jaxson Vane, shaking. It was a sight that should have made me feel powerful, but it only made my heart bleed.

"Jaxson," I started, my voice cracking.

"Don't," he hissed.

He stepped toward Leo, kneeling on the gravel. He was at eye level with the boy now. "What's your name, kid?" Jaxson asked, his voice raw and stripped of authority.

"Leo," my son replied. "My mama says I'm a brave lion."

Jaxson's eyes shut tight for a second, a flicker of pure agony crossing his face. When he opened them, they were swimming with a dark, turbulent emotion-a mix of worship and a desire to burn the world down. He reached out, his large, calloused hand trembling as he brushed a stray lock of dark hair from Leo's forehead. The touch was so tender it made my throat tighten until I could barely breathe.

"You look just like someone I used to know," Jaxson whispered.

"I look like me," Leo said.

Jaxson let out a short, choked laugh that sounded like a sob. He stood up slowly, and the tenderness evaporated. The air turned freezing as he turned his gaze to me.

"You kept him from me," he said. It wasn't a question. It was a death sentence.

"I had to," I snapped, my own anger flaring up. "You weren't a father, Jaxson. You were a man who lived in the shadows and broke things for fun."

"He's a Vane," Jaxson growled, stepping into my space until his shadow swallowed me. "He belongs in a palace, not a rusted-out piece of junk on a highway."

"He belongs with me!"

"He belongs where he's safe," Jaxson countered, his voice dropping to a dangerous frequency. "And he's safer with me than he is with a woman who lies for a living."

I didn't think. I reacted. I pulled my hand back and slapped him-a sharp, stinging crack that echoed through the pass. His head snapped to the side. Behind him, the Reapers shifted, hands moving toward their waistbands. Jaxson slowly turned his head back. A red mark was blooming on his cheek.

"Do it again," he whispered. "Give me a reason to take him right now."

I felt the blood drain from my face. My hand burned. I looked at Leo, who was watching us with wide, terrified eyes.

"I'm not afraid of you," I said, though my heart was a trapped bird.

"You should be." He turned his back on me and spoke to one of his men. "The car is scrap. The boy is hungry. And we have a lot to talk about."

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

Jaxson stopped. He looked at me with a mask of cold, unyielding power. "Thorne sent me the GPS coordinates an hour ago. He told me exactly where you'd be. He sold you out, Elena. Just like you sold me out five years ago. The only difference is, I'm the one holding the leash now."

My world shattered. Thorne. My client. The ten-million-dollar man. It was a setup.

"Leo!" I moved toward my son as he was led toward a black SUV, but Jaxson's hand shot out, grabbing my wrist in a grip of iron.

"He's safe. For now," Jaxson growled. He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear. His breath was cold, smelling of winter. "I want the truth. And then, I'm going to make you wish you had died in that garage five years ago."

He shoved me toward the SUV. As the lock clicked-a heavy, final sound-I looked at my son, my heart breaking into a thousand jagged pieces. I wasn't the hunter. I was the prey.

"Mama?" Leo whispered, clutching my hand. "Are we going to the party now?"

"Yes, Leo," I whispered. "We're going to the party."

I looked out the window as the mountains swallowed us. My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: Check the boy's pocket.

I reached into Leo's tiny jacket. My fingers curled around a small, cold object. A hard drive. The very one I had stolen five years ago. My heart stopped. If I had the drive... then what did Jaxson have?