Neil.

Gunfire still pulsed in my veins as I sat stiff in the back seat, jaw clenched, one hand clenched into a fist on my thigh, hard enough to bruise. The leather creaked beneath me, and every breath burned like smoke in my chest.

Richard didn’t speak—smart man—but I caught him glancing at me through the rearview mirror more than once. He felt it too. The tension. The weight of what had just happened.

This wasn’t supposed to happen tonight.

Not at the gala. Not on my ...