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Inside, the smell hits me first: stale beer, cigarette smoke, leather, and old piss. The same jukebox is playing some old country song in the corner. A handful of Razor's men look up from their drinks, and some eyes light up with recognition. Louie doesn't stop. He drags me through the bar and into the back room, the one I remember all too well. Theoffice. A dingy space with a desk, a ratty couch, and chains bolted to the wall for when they needed to make a point.

Razor is slouched on a couch, a girl, probably no more than fifteen, kneels in front of him, about to suck his cock.

"What the hell?" Razor pushes the girl to the side, zipping his pants and lunging up in one move. His eyes land on me.

"Well, well, well," he drawls. "If it isn't my favorite little runaway."

Louie shoves me forward. "El Recaudador is collecting a debt. Make contact with Gabriel D'Amato. Make it clear: she dies, or he does. He has one hour to make up his mind."

Razor's eyes rake over me, slow and leering, taking in the clinging, sweat-soaked shirt, the fresh marks on my neck from Gabe's mouth. "You gave me quite the chase back then, Audra. Too bad I don't like older broads." He stands and circles me like a shark, while the girl rises from the floor, glaring at me, reminding me too much of myself. "Still got that fire in your eyes, though. Always did like that about you."

Before I can react, his hand cracks across my face, hard enough to snap my head sideways. The sting blooms instantly. He hits me again, backhand this time, splitting my lip.

"That's for running away from me, bitch."

I taste blood. My cheek throbs. But I lift my chin anyway, refusing to cower.

Razor laughs low. "I'll have my men fuck you raw while I sit back and enjoy the show. Been a long time since I had something pretty to break in."

"She stays alive," Louie cuts in flatly. "That's El Recaudador's terms."

"Fuck the Collector," Razor snarls, but he takes the phone Louie hands him anyway.

"Tell D'Amato he's got one hour," Louie advises.

They tie me to the chair, zip ties around my wrists and ankles, and another across my chest, tight enough that breathing is difficult.

Razor dials and puts the phone on speaker, holding it up so the camera can see me clearly. It only rings once before Gabe's voice comes through, sharp, already on edge.

"Who the fuck is this?"

Razor grins. "You don't know me, but I have someone who I've been told means something to you."

He turns the phone so Gabe can see me. I scream the second I know he's watching.

"Gabe—no! No, don't come! They'll kill you—please, don't do this!"

Louie's hand cracks across my face again, harder this time. Pain explodes through my cheekbone. I taste fresh blood.

Gabe's roar comes through the speaker like thunder, raw, furious, broken. "AUDRA! Touch her again, and I'll skin you alive, you piece of shit! Let her go right fucking now!"

I thrash against the ties like a banshee, screaming until my throat burns. "Gabe, please—don't! I can't watch you die! Not like Pete—not like him! Don't come here! They'll kill you!"

Tears are streaming down my face now, mixing with blood from my split lip. I'm yanking so hard against the zip ties that the plastic cuts into my wrists, but I don't stop. I can't. This isn't going to end well. I have no idea who El Recaudador is, butRazor doesn't seem impressed by the name. He's too arrogant, too sure of himself. He's always been that way.

I can't lose Gabe the same way I lost Pete. I won't survive it. The realization hits me like a load of bricks. If Pete's death devastated me, Gabriel's will destroy me. I know it.

Razor just laughs, low and ugly, watching me fight like it's entertainment. "One hour, D'Amato. Come alone, or she dies screaming. Your choice."

Flea walks in, doing a small double-take when he sees me, and for a split second, worry crosses his features. Then he walls himself off and turns his attention back to Razor, who ends the call before turning to me. "Now, how about you and I get reacquainted?"

"You can't touch her until D'Amato gets here and is dead," Louie warns.

"I don't know who the fuck you are, but your screeching is beginning to irritate me." Razor nods at Flea. Without flinching, Flea pulls out a gun and shoots Louie, who, even in death, looks stunned.

"Who was that anyway?" Flea asks.

Razor shrugs. "How the fuck would I know? Some errand boy for El Recaudador."