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“When we get back I’m not letting you out of my sight. I told you last night, this changes everything.”

“But how? H-how does it change?” I ask.

“You’re mine, Rusty. Now put something on and keep that ass by my side until I say otherwise. Got it?”

The protective edge in his voice sends a strange warmth through my fear.

Because this time—Alessio Figueroa isn’t walking away.

He’s taking me with him.

“I got it,” I grin, and then I hustle.

Chapter 12

Less

For the first time in three years, I feel whole.

I didn't realize how broken I'd been until Amanda climbed back into my life.

Funny how that works.

You convince yourself you're doing fine.

That you're surviving.

That work and missions and keeping your head down are enough.

Then the woman you loved walks back into your life and suddenly you realize you've been existing.

Not living.

I glance over at her.

She's asleep in the leather seat beside me.

Curled up under the blanket the flight attendant brought her.

Her red hair spills over one shoulder.

Her makeup's gone.

She's barefoot.

And Christ, she's beautiful.

Always beautiful.

But this?

This is my favorite Amanda.

Not Broadway Amanda.

Not famous Amanda.

Not the polished star everybody pays thousands of dollars to see.