Chapter 328

She walked past Eliza, head down, and climbed into the back of the second SUV. She didn’t hug Eliza. She didn’t even look at her.

Eliza felt a cold pit open in her stomach. He threatened her, she realized. He silenced her.

“You’re hurting her,” Eliza said to Dallas. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m saving her,” Dallas said. “From your influence. You make us soft, Eliza. You make us hesitate.”

He wheeled a foot closer. The smell of blood and burnt ozone coming off him was overpowering.

“I almost died today,” Dallas said. “And in that moment, when the missile hit — I didn’t think of you. I thought of survival. I realized I can’t afford a liability.”

“A liability?” Eliza’s voice shook. “I am your wife.”

“You are a civilian,” Dallas corrected. “Yvonne understands the cost. She’s a soldier. We fit.”

“You’re lying,” Eliza said, grabbing the handle of his wheelchair. “I saw the directive. I read the letter. You said you loved me!”

Dallas yanked the chair back, breaking her grip. “A dying man’s sentimentality. I survived. Priorities change.”

He turned the chair toward the car. Yvonne opened the door and helped him transfer from the wheelchair to the seat with practiced ease.

“Anson,” Dallas called out without looking back.

Anson, who had been watching the scene with a mixture of shock and barely concealed delight, stepped forward.

“Take her,” Dallas said. “She’s your problem now.”

The car door slammed shut. The blackened windows rolled up.

Eliza stood frozen as the convoy of SUVs peeled away, tires screeching on the asphalt.

Inside the lead car, the moment the privacy partition went up, Dallas collapsed.

He fell forward, his head hitting the back of the driver’s seat. A violent cough tore through his body and he retched, spitting blood into a biohazard bag Yvonne held open for him.

“Easy, Ghost,” Yvonne said, her voice losing its sultry edge and turning professional. She wiped his mouth with a wet cloth. “You tore your stitches.”

“Did she buy it?” Dallas wheezed, clutching his side. His face was gray, sweat beading on his forehead.

“She looked like you shot her,” Yvonne said. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

“I know,” Dallas closed his eyes. “Is the perimeter secure?”

“Estevan’s hit squad is in the city,” Yvonne said, checking her tablet. “They think you’re dead. But if they see you with her — she’s a target.”

“That’s why she has to hate me,” Dallas whispered. “Hate keeps her away. Hate keeps her safe.”

Back at the airport, Eliza stood alone in the middle of the runway. The jet fumes stung her eyes.

Anson limped over. He took off his cashmere coat and draped it over her shoulders. It was warm and heavy, smelling of expensive cologne — a stark contrast to the blood and gunpowder that had clung to Dallas.

“I told you,” Anson said softly. “He’s broken. He uses people and throws them away.”

Eliza didn’t push him away. She felt hollowed out, the adrenaline having crashed and left nothing behind but numbness.

“He called me a liability,” she whispered.