Claire's POV

The car engine roared beneath my grip, the vibrations rattling up my arms. My breath was still a mess, uneven and sharp, and my heart hadn't slowed since I hit that horn. The streetlights streaked past in long, blurry lines as I took another sharp turn, gripping the wheel like it was the only thing keeping me tethered.

What the hell did I just do?

I saved Vera Castillo. That alone was enough to land me in someone's crosshairs. But it wasn't just about me anymore. Valeria. Emilia. If Leo's men saw me—if the sniper got a good look—then I didn't just throw myself into the fire. I dragged them with me.

My fingers clenched tighter. Did he see me?

He shot at me.

For a split second, I thought it was over, but no more shots followed. I kept driving, chest burning from holding my breath. My car swerved as I forced my lungs to work again. The sniper wasn't after me—he was after Vera. I was an afterthought.

But for how long?

I pushed the gas harder, weaving through the city, needing distance, needing space. But my mind wasn't cooperating. It kept going back—to her.

Vera.

The way she moved, fast and instinctive, like her body already knew how to cheat death. The way her eyes snapped to mine in that split second, recognition flashing beneath the streetlights. That look. Like she saw through me. Like she wasn't surprised I was there.

Why did that thought make my chest feel tight?

I didn't have an answer by the time I pulled into my driveway. My hands still trembled as I stepped out, the night air biting against my skin. I turned, staring at my car.

The bullet left a dent on the hood, the metal slightly warped under the streetlight's glow. That could've been me. The thought lodged itself somewhere deep, unwelcome.

I exhaled slowly, ran a hand through my hair, and shook it off. Not now. Think later. Right now, I needed sleep.

I stepped inside, locked the door, and made my way upstairs. The adrenaline still clung to me like a second skin, but exhaustion weighed heavier. I fell onto my bed without bothering to change, eyes locked on the ceiling.

Sleep didn't come easy.

---

The morning passed in a blur. A shower, clean clothes, coffee I barely tasted. My body moved through the motions, but my mind was elsewhere.

I was fine. I had to be.

I pulled into the studio lot, half-expecting normalcy to greet me. But the second I stepped out, that hope shattered.

Because Valeria was waiting. Arms crossed, back against her car, eyes locked on me like a sniper in her own right.

I swallowed. Shit.

"Morning, sunshine," I greeted, my voice a little too bright, a little too casual.

Her gaze didn't waver. "Are you hiding something?"

The words slid through the air, direct and sharp.

I scoffed, pulling out my best smirk. "Damn, Val, you asked me that yesterday, too. What's with the interrogation?"

Her eyes narrowed just a fraction. "Just a feeling."

My pulse kicked up, but I shrugged, walking past her. "Well, your feelings are way off. You should return them, get a refund."

I felt her still watching me as I moved toward the studio doors. I didn't look back. Not until I reached the entrance—

And saw her staring at my car. The bullet hole. My stomach dropped. I turned fast. But I wasn't fast enough. Confrontation in the Studio – Claire, Valeria, and Emilia

I barely made it three steps in before Valeria was behind me, voice cool and firm.

"Claire."

I winced. No escape.

Emilia glanced up from her camera, smiling—until she saw Valeria's expression. "What's going on?"

Valeria folded her arms. "Claire has something to share."

I held up my hands. "Nope. No sharing. I'm actually all out of words today. Super rare medical condition."

Valeria wasn't amused. "Your car has a bullet hole in it."

Emilia's expression flickered, her brows knitting together. "Wait—what?"

I waved a dismissive hand. "Pfft. That's— Look, okay, there was a robbery last night."

Silence.

Valeria's stare sharpened. "A robbery."

"Yeah," I nodded. "Like—gun, yelling, classic stuff. I was in a store when it happened. When I ran out, I guess a stray bullet—" I gestured vaguely at my car. "Boom. Exterior damage only. Lucky, right?"

Emilia took a step closer, concern tightening her features. "Claire, why didn't you tell us?"

I exhaled through my nose. "Because you two have enough to worry about. And I'm fine. See?" I held out my arms like that proved anything.

Valeria didn't move. She just stared. Then, her voice, razor-sharp: "That was a sniper bullet."

The words knocked the air from my lungs. I swallowed. "You say that like I'm supposed to know what kind of bullet it was."

Valeria tilted her head slightly, but her gaze stayed locked. "A stray bullet doesn't come from a sniper."

My mouth opened. Closed.

Fuck.

Emilia's hand found my wrist, gentle but firm. "Claire... tell us the truth."

I forced a smile, but it felt tight. "I just did."

Valeria didn't blink. The weight of her stare felt heavier now. I could almost hear the gears turning in her head, feel the way she was fitting the pieces together.

I had to get out of here before she put it all together.

I pulled back, taking a step toward the door. "Look, I appreciate the concern, but I have work to do. Photos to hold. Lights to adjust. Chaos to cause. You know, my usual."

Valeria's voice cut through my rush. "If you're lying to me, Claire—"

I turned on my heel, walking backward with a grin that didn't reach my eyes. "I always lie to you, Val. It's tradition."

And then I was gone. Out of the room, out of their sight.

But Valeria wasn't done. I felt it in the weight of her stare as I left. I could lie to myself. I could lie to Emilia. But I'd never been able to lie to Valeria.

And I knew—this wasn't over.

Vera's POV

The morning air was thick with salt and diesel as I stood on the balcony of the hideout, a cigarette burning between my fingers. The city stretched before me, sprawling and restless, its pulse as sharp as the ache in my ribs. Gabriel stood at my side, silent, waiting. He knew better than to speak before I was ready.

I took a slow drag, letting the smoke curl past my lips before I flicked the cigarette over the railing. "Tell me," I said, my voice calm, measured.

Gabriel didn't hesitate. "We lost her."

The silence that followed was razor-thin. I turned to face him, tilting my head slightly. "Lost?"

"She was fast," he admitted, his jaw tight. "Slipped through before our guy could track her."

I exhaled slowly, resisting the urge to slam my fist against the rusted railing. I had given one simple order—bring her to me. And now she was gone, out there somewhere, with knowledge she shouldn't have.

"But," Gabriel continued, his voice careful, "one of our men is stationed near Emilia Hayes' house."

That pulled a smirk from me. Of course. Valeria's pet wouldn't stray too far from home. Sooner or later, she'd show up, and when she did, she was mine.

"Good," I murmured, rolling my shoulders back, easing the tension coiled inside me. "When she does, don't waste time. Bring her in."

Gabriel nodded. "Alive?"

I gave him a sharp look. "Alive."

For now.

Claire's POV

The morning was too bright, too normal. Sunlight spilled through the windows of Emilia's house, warm against the hardwood floors, the air rich with the scent of fresh coffee. Dani sat across from me at the kitchen table, aimlessly stirring her cereal, the spoon clinking lazily against the bowl.

"You look like hell," she muttered, barely glancing up.

I shot her a lazy grin. "That's just my natural glow."

Dani snorted. "Yeah, okay. What's your excuse this time? Late-night partying? Secret rendezvous? Got lost in the void of your own terrible decisions?"

I hummed, propping my chin on my palm. "You say that like my terrible decisions don't keep things interesting."

She rolled her eyes. "They keep me exhausted, that's what they do."

I smirked, but the amusement didn't reach my chest. It was too full of something else—something sharp and restless.

Vera.

The name curled through my thoughts, uninvited. I could still see her, the way she moved, the way she dropped the moment the horn blared, sharp instincts keeping her alive. The way she turned, eyes locking on mine, recognition sparking just before I fled.

I should have stayed. No—no, that was a terrible idea. Staying would have meant explaining, and explaining would have meant getting myself even deeper into something I had no business touching.

I shoved another spoonful of cereal into my mouth, crunching aggressively to drown out my thoughts.

"Okay, seriously," Dani sighed, setting her spoon down. "What's with you?"

"Nothing," I mumbled around my bite.

Her eyes narrowed. "Bullshit."

I swallowed and flashed her a lazy smile. "I just didn't sleep well."

Dani leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, her sharp gaze scanning me. "You're twitchy."

"And you're nosy," I shot back, standing before she could dig deeper. "I'm fine."

I wasn't fine.

My body was here, going through the motions—walking into Emilia's studio, adjusting the lighting, bantering with Dani—but my mind kept circling back. To Vera. To last night. To the sniper's bullet still lodged in the hood of my car.

I forced myself to focus, to ground myself in the present. Emilia was mid-shoot, her voice soft but authoritative as she directed the model, her hands moving with practiced ease as she adjusted the frame.

"You're late," she murmured when I stepped beside her, eyes still on the camera.

"You're early," I countered, earning a smirk from her.

"Do I need to remind you that you work for me?"

"Wouldn't dare forget," I said, feigning innocence.

She shook her head, but there was amusement in her gaze before she turned back to the lens.

I exhaled, trying to shake the lingering weight pressing against my ribs. Normal. Routine. Work. That's what I needed.

But my mind betrayed me.

Vera's voice, her smirk, the cold calculation in her eyes—they dug under my skin like an itch I couldn't reach. She didn't know it was me who warned her. Not yet. But if her men found me—if she found me—what then?

I was in deep. And sinking fast.

---

The sun was dipping low when I finally left Emilia's. The air had that late-evening chill, sharp against my skin as I stepped out. I stretched, rolling the tension from my shoulders, trying to shake the unease that had been clinging to me all day.

The drive home was quiet, but my mind wasn't. It churned, restless, replaying last night over and over—Vera, the sniper, the way my body had reacted before my brain had caught up. I shouldn't have been there. I shouldn't have interfered.

But I did.

I pulled up outside my apartment complex, my headlights flashing against the worn brick. My hands stayed on the wheel a second longer than necessary. Something felt... off.

I shook the thought away, chalking it up to paranoia. The night before had rattled me—that's all. I shut off the engine, grabbing my bag and stepping out.

The second my foot hit the pavement, a hand clamped over my mouth.

Panic lashed through me, sharp and electric. My body twisted instinctively, but a strong arm wrenched me back, locking me in place.

"Don't fight," a low voice warned against my ear.

Fuck that.

I stomped down hard, my boot connecting with a shin. My captor grunted, grip loosening just enough for me to whip my head back—skull meeting jaw with a satisfying crack.

The hand over my mouth vanished, and I sucked in a sharp breath, twisting to break free. But another set of hands grabbed me, shoving me forward.

I hit the side of my car with a dull thud, my cheek pressing against the cold metal.

"You just had to make this difficult," a voice muttered.

I struggled, but their grip was like iron. My pulse pounded, adrenaline surging. Two men. Bigger than me. Armed? I didn't know.

I swallowed hard. "Look, if you wanted my wallet, you could've just asked."

A sharp laugh. "Funny. But we're here for something else."

Before I could snap back, a cloth was yanked over my eyes, cutting off my vision.

Fuck. Fuck.

I thrashed harder, but they were already moving, dragging me toward a van. The doors slid open, and I was shoved inside, landing hard against the metal floor.

The van rumbled to life, the engine growling as we sped off into the night. My breath came fast, my hands curling into fists against the cold floor. This wasn't random. This wasn't some street mugging gone wrong. This was planned.

And I had a damn good guess who was behind it.

Vera's POV

The room was dim, lit only by the flickering glow of the overhead bulb, casting jagged shadows along the walls. The air smelled of gunmetal and whiskey, the scent of a long night stretching ahead. I leaned against the desk, lazily twirling my knife against the scarred wood, the rhythmic scrape filling the silence.

Gabriel stepped into the room, his expression unreadable, but the edge in his stance told me everything I needed to know.

"She's here."

I looked up, raising a slow brow. "Alive?"

He scoffed. "You told me to bring her in breathing. Though I had to remind the boys not to rough her up too much."

A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. "And?"

"She put up a fight." He rolled his shoulder, like he could still feel it. "Didn't go down easy."

That got my attention. I straightened, pushing off the desk, my interest piqued. "Good."

Gabriel tilted his head. "You sound impressed."

I grabbed my jacket, throwing it over my shoulders as I stepped past him. "If she was easy to break, she wouldn't be worth the trouble."

His smirk was sharp. "So what now?"

I turned back to him, my fingers lingering on the doorframe as I threw him a knowing glance. "Now we find out what she knows."

His eyes gleamed with amusement. "And by 'we,' you mean you?"

I let my smirk widen. "Oh, I'll ask the questions." I started walking, feeling Gabriel's presence at my back. "But you? Play nice."

Gabriel chuckled low, the sound dark and edged in something almost dangerous. "Vera, I'm always nice."

I didn't bother answering, just pushed open the door to the back room where she was waiting.

Time to see what Valeria's little stray had to say for herself.

The moment I stepped into the room, I caught the sharp crack of a slap cutting through the air. My eyes landed on Claire, her head snapping to the side from the hit, her lip splitting just enough for a drop of blood to stain the corner of her mouth.

She didn't flinch. Didn't cower. Instead, she exhaled slow, tilting her chin back with a grin that was all teeth.

"Sorry," she muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I only like getting slapped by my girlfriend."

Gabriel huffed a quiet laugh beside me, but the room went deadly still. The man who hit her—Hector—scowled, his fingers twitching like he was ready to hit her again.

I took a step forward.

Claire's POV

"Hector! Enough! Let her go."

The voice. Low. Cool. And laced with authority. I froze.

The hands on me loosened instantly, and I was spun around—

Vera.

God help me—she was devastating.

My heart slammed into my ribs, breath catching as she stepped forward. The space between us pulled taut, humming with something dangerous. She moved like she owned the ground beneath her, each step cutting through the moment with quiet, lethal grace.

The lights framed her in a molten halo, but her eyes—God, her eyes—were all ice.

She stopped at the hood of my car, gaze cutting through the windshield, through me, like she was peeling back every layer with nothing but a glance. No relief. No gratitude. Just calculation.

Her lips parted, shaping something sharp and unreadable. Then, smooth as a blade sliding from its sheath—

"What did I say about unnecessary damage?"Her voice was quiet, but the weight behind it made the room shrink.

The guy who'd hit me—Hector—choked on his next breath, still trying to recover from her presence alone.

"She—" He stammered.

Vera's gun was under his jaw before he finished the sentence.

"I don't give a fuck what she did," she said, slow and deliberate. "She's mine to deal with."

Mine.

I grinned, my lip still stinging, my pulse a wild, reckless beat.

"Yours, huh?" I drawled, tasting the fire between us. "Music to my ears, ma'am."

Vera turned to me then, her expression unreadable, but her presence a pressure against my skin.

"You must really enjoy being in trouble."

I rolled my shoulders, still smirking through the ache. "What can I say? I am a masochist and I have a talent for pissing off the wrong people. Is this where you punish me?" I grinned.

Silence stretched between us, thick and tense.

She stepped closer. I felt it—her, the weight of her, the heat, the way her presence crawled under my skin and settled there.

"And here I thought Valeria kept her pets on a shorter leash."

My smirk flickered—just barely—but I forced it back into place.

"Val doesn't keep me on a leash. But if you are interested— I don't mind being on four for you. "

Her jaw tightened, her eyes quickly flickered to the men surrounding her. She was not happy that I wasn't scared of her. She tilted her head, watching me like I was a puzzle missing a piece. "Then why were you at the docks last night, playing hero?"

"Well," I said, leaning into the grin, masking the hurricane inside me with sarcasm, "I was going for coffee, but I must've taken a wrong turn into your little action movie."

Something in her twitched—just a flicker, a brief pull at the corner of her lips.

Then she let out a low, humorless chuckle. "Wrong answer."

The guy beside her—Gabriel, I realized—leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching with a kind of mild amusement.

"You want me to start getting the answers the hard way?" he asked.

I shot him a look. "Oh, what, are you the bad cop? You should've led with that. I would've been way more into this whole situation."

Gabriel smirked, shaking his head. "She's got a mouth on her."

I pressed on, reckless and rattling. "Hell of a night, huh? I flash my lights, save your life—and this is the thanks I get?"

Vera's eyes narrowed, reading me. "I don't remember asking for your help."

My pulse stuttered—but my grin stayed sharp. "Yeah, well. You looked like you were about to lose your head. Thought I'd be neighborly."

Her head tilted slightly, expression unreadable. "You've got a sharp tongue for someone outnumbered."

Her voice dipped lower—silk over steel.

"Now... last chance. Did Valeria send you?"

The words cut clean through my breath, direct and razor-sharp.

A coil of heat curled in my stomach—equal parts confusion and something far more reckless.

I held her gaze, steady despite the thunder in my chest.

"No," I said, the truth slipping free, raw and unguarded. "I was just—" my voice caught, just for a second, "—trying to keep you alive."

Something flickered in her eyes—quick, sharp, unreadable.

She stepped even closer, the space between us vanishing, my breath tangling with hers—warm, electric, far too close.

"You've been watching me," she murmured, soft, accusing.

A thread of something else laced beneath her words.

I swallowed, my pulse hammering. "Maybe."

Her lips curled—dangerous, amused. "And what? You thought playing hero would get you a thank-you?"

The heat in my chest coiled tighter—fear, adrenaline, something else entirely. My mouth felt dry, but my smirk found its way there anyway.

"Didn't exactly plan that far ahead."

Her eyes—God, her eyes—burned into me, dissecting, deciding.

The tension was thick, sharp, alive—on the edge of something dangerous. Something that could snap. Or ignite.

"And now," she murmured, voice brushing against my skin, "you're in my hands."

The air was charged, my body rigid, my nerves on fire.

I should have felt fear—

But all I felt was her.

So close. So dangerous. So alive.

My smirk tugged wider, my voice rough from the adrenaline still roaring through me.

"Well," I rasped, "and here I thought this night couldn't get any more exciting."

Vera's POV

The little brunette hurricane with a sharp mouth and zero survival instincts. I hadn't forgotten her—how could I? The last time we crossed paths, she had the audacity to flirt with me. Bold. Annoying.

And now, reckless. And still flirting. I knew what she was doing, she thought she could take my control away. She can't physically beat me so she was trying to embarrass me infront of my own crew.

A metallic click—the distinct sound of a safety flipping off.

I turned, already knowing what I'd see.

Gabriel, gun drawn, his expression taut and unreadable. The barrel leveled at her temple.

The amusement I'd felt a second ago died instantly. My muscles coiled tight with something sharp—annoyance, maybe. Or something darker.

"Gabriel," I said, my voice cutting through the tension like a blade, "are you out of your fucking mind?"

He didn't flinch. "She was creeping around," he said, his tone flat. "Could've been waiting to finish the job."

I let out a slow, measured breath. "Her?" I gestured lazily toward Claire, my fingers flicking in dismissal. "You really think she was sent to kill me?" My lips curled, disbelief dripping from every word. "Miss high heels and massive attitude?"

Claire, with a gun to her head, grinned.

"Look," she drawled, voice oozing with bravado, "I know the heels are intimidating, but I promise, the only thing deadly about me is my body."

I felt my lip twitch. There it was again. That same infuriating, unshakable confidence. Her pulse was probably hammering, but her mouth didn't waver.

Gabriel, unimpressed, cocked the hammer back slightly.

I sighed, dragging a hand down my face. "Gabriel," I said, slow, exasperated, "I just got this shirt cleaned. And now you want to redecorate it with brain matter?" I dropped my hand and shot him a look. "That would be the real crime here."

His grip on the gun faltered slightly. "But—"

"Put it down." I didn't raise my voice, but the command was weighted—unshakable.

A beat. Then another.

The barrel lowered.

Claire let out a tight breath, rolling her shoulders as if she hadn't just had a gun in her face. She rubbed her temple dramatically. "Gee, thanks. Real five-star service you've got here. I'll be sure to leave a scathing Yelp review."

Gabriel let out a reluctant grunt, but I wasn't looking at him anymore.

Claire was watching me, that same infuriating smirk pulling at her lips.

"Charming crew you've got," she said. "Really embodying that customer first energy."

I gave her a cold smile. "We've got more important things to deal with. Like finding the real asshole who tried to kill me."

Silence.

Then—

"I know who did it."

The air shifted.

My eyes sharpened, every inch of me stilling.

No smirk now. Her chest rose and fell fast, something raw and reckless burning behind her gaze.

"Oh?" My voice dipped lower, dangerous and slow. "Do you?"

Her jaw clenched, her fists tight at her sides.

Gabriel shifted beside me, sensing the shift in the air. "You want me to—"

I flicked my hand up, cutting him off before he could finish. My gaze never left her.

"No," I murmured. "I'm curious."

I stepped forward, closing the distance, tension thick enough to taste.

"So," I continued, voice smooth, edged with cold amusement. "If you know so much..."

I studied her—fast, searching. Her heaving chest. The tremor in her hands. The way her lip twitched—not in fear, but in restraint.

I lowered my voice to something quieter, something sharper.

"...start talking."