Chapter 31

T he bedroom door flies open with a loud bang, causing one of the picture frames to crash onto the floor. Mom rushes inside and pulls a packed suitcase from underneath the bed. Her frantic eyes land on me where I sit on the rug in my pajamas, surrounded by my dolls, each with their own teapot. I should be asleep. Mom has already read me my bedtime story and kissed me goodnight, but she doesn’t seem too upset to find me awake or even frazzled by the mess on the floor.

“Come on,” she says, holding her hand out, the other clutching the suitcase’s handle. “Pick a doll. We need to leave.”

I scan my dolls, and they all look at me expectantly. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going on an adventure,” Mommy replies, then gestures for me to take her hand. “We need to leave now, sweetheart.”

Unsure, I look at each doll and reach for Molly. She’s my favorite because of how shiny her brown hair is. Though it’s dirty now because that annoying boy, my cousin Dalton, dropped her in a puddle last week when he visited with my uncle.

I don’t like his dad. He’s scary. And my daddy doesn’t like him either. After he left, Daddy called him a string of bad words. Mommy clamped her hands over my ears, but it was too late. Besides, I could still hear him say, “I don’t give a fuck about the Bishop’s contract. I tore it up in front of him.”

We exit the house in a hurry. Mom drags me along faster than I can walk, strapping me in the car before settling behind the steering wheel and turning the key in the ignition with trembling fingers.

“What’s wrong, Mommy?” I ask as we drive down the street.

She looks in the rearview mirror. “Nothing is wrong, sweetie.”

“Is Daddy not coming with us?”

Mommy suddenly looks sad. I don’t like it when she cries; it makes me upset, too.

“No, sweetie. Daddy won’t be coming with us this time.”

“Why?” I ask, patting my doll’s hair.

“Because,” Mommy says, staring at the dark road ahead, a lock of blonde hair framing her face, “Daddy went to see the angels in heaven.”

My iPhone lights up on the motel bed, vibrating on the burgundy comforter. Darian is phoning me. I should switch on the lights and unpack my suitcase, but something stops me. Call it instinct, a sixth sense, or maybe muscle memory from being on the run for years. It was almost too easy to escape Sinclair’s watchful eye. When I informed him I was heading home to shower and sleep, he didn’t even look up from his phone. He just said, “Sure. Don’t run away.”

So what did I do? I ran away after one of the Pawns took me back to Darian’s estate.

Ever since I was a little girl and Mom drove us off into the night, all I’ve known is how to run from danger. It’s what I’m good at. After Mom passed away in a car crash, I became an expert at staying under the radar until I was so tired of running that I decided to face the danger head-on. What was the worst that could happen? I wasn’t living.

I didn’t want to leave Darian. I’d never wanted anything more than to stay, but the longer I did, the more danger I was putting us both in.

If the Bishop hasn’t already figured out who I am, it’s only a matter of time. When he does, he’ll make an example of Darian, like he did to my dad. I can’t let that happen.

If I love Darian, I have to let him go, no matter how much it hurts. The Exodus runs in his blood. It’s his family.

I have to set him free.

Maybe we’ll meet on the battlefield one day on another Reckoning night.

Glancing from the phone to the window, I round the double bed and cross the floor. Heavy curtains block the view of the parking lot outside, the flowery fabric faded over time. As my fingers inch the worn material aside, a muted glow from a streetlamp fills the room. Nothing looks out of place. Three cars, surrounded by low-hanging mist, sit parked beside each other, facing the reception. They were here when I arrived: two sedans and a rusty Chevrolet.

Still, something isn’t right.

There! A curtain twitches in one of the windows across the parking lot. I know, I just fucking know, my husband and Sinclair’s men followed me here. I should have known it was too easy to escape. No Pawns were where they usually are as I left.

Sinclair and Darian know exactly where I am. When they’re ready, they’ll collect me like a cash prize.

“Not on my watch, you fuckers,” I say as the curtains fall shut.

I should have known Sinclair had me shadowed the moment my husband woke up. He knew my intent and believed that allowing me to think I was free was preferable to dragging me back. This way, he could keep an eye on me and report back to my husband without physically shackling me to my husband’s bedside.

I’m almost impressed, though I’m not surprised.

“I suppose I can’t bring you with me,” I say to my phone as I shove my wallet into my back pocket. My suitcase will have to stay behind too. I don’t trust Sinclair not to have ordered his men to put a tracker inside it. It’s also a nightmare to drag everywhere, especially now that I need to make a stealthy escape.

My eyes land on my iPhone again. I really shouldn’t do anything reckless, but dammit, I want to. He shouldn’t have underestimated me.

No, walk away, Cecilia, while you have a head start. Don’t blow your advantage. They think you’re in here, clueless.

Fuck it.

I pick up the phone and dial Elijah’s number since that will allow me a few extra minutes I won’t have if I phone his father.

He picks up on the second ring, breathing into the phone without saying a word, like a psychopath.

I look at the screen, confused for a second. Sure enough, the call is connected.

Pressing the screen to my ear, I say, “Listen here, you little psycho, tell your daddy and my husband that if they want to trick me, they’ll have to do a lot better.” I hang up and toss the phone on the bed before bolting for the windows on the other side.

After sliding up the frame, I climb out and run like a bat out of hell with its ass on fire. But I’m not stupid. They’ll think I’m running toward the woods behind the property. That’s where they’ll go.

Instead, I sprint toward their room and crouch outside the window. This is the last place they’ll think to check, because why would anyone in their right mind hide in the enemy’s lair?

I would. I’m not of a sound mind right now. I’m pissed off, exhilarated, and running on enough adrenaline to power a city.

The scent of dew drifts from the wet grass as a late evening breeze cools my damp neck. I peek through the window. The room is empty.

Elijah didn’t wait around to set the alarm.

A chorus of masculine voices echoes across the parking lot, a swath of men in black swearing up a storm. I almost snicker as I push open the window and climb inside. Did they think I was that na?ve? That I wouldn’t know they had me followed?

I crash to the floor with a hard thud, groaning as I roll onto my back on the threadbare carpet. I’ll be safe here tonight. They won’t return now that I’m officially on the run from their bosses.

I’ll catch a few hours of sleep and reevaluate in the morning. There’s a chance they’ll keep an eye on this place tomorrow in case I’m still hiding somewhere, so I’ll need to be careful when I sneak out.

I stand up and cross the room, observing Sinclair’s men through the window as they converse in terse tones before loading up their guns and proceeding to kick open each door, much to the horror of startled motel guests. One man is thrown out buck naked with a terrified woman in tow while they search the room.

As I knew they would, they bypass this one and go straight for the one next in line before giving it the all-clear. Their voices soon fade away, and the men searching the nearby forested area return.

“Someone is getting fired in the morning.” I snicker.

Three black Range Rovers with blacked-out windows pull into the parking lot to collect the men. Two men stay behind, as I suspected they would, and I watch as they turn and make their way back.

To this room.

“Fuck,” I whisper, frantically glancing around for somewhere to hide.

My eyes land on the double bed.

It’ll have to do.

I throw myself down and roll underneath, disturbing dust bunnies large enough to frighten long-legged spiders. The door opens, and gruff voices fill the room. “I don’t understand why we have to stay. She’ll be far gone by now. This is ridiculous.”

“It’s the boss’s orders,” one of the men says, the taller of the two.

His black cargo pants rustle as his large combat boots sink into the thin carpet. He walks over to the window and moves the flowery curtain aside with his gun. “I’ll keep an eye out of this window. You do that one.”

The other guy huffs and puffs as he crosses the small room. “She won’t come running back.” Instead of taking his position at the window, he sits on the springy mattress, his mud-caked boots too close for comfort. “If she does, it won’t be for a while.” His deep voice drips with enough innuendo to make my eyes widen.

No fucking way.

“I don’t know,” the man by the window says as he abandons his post. “We’ll get in trouble with the boss.”

“The boss isn’t here.” The mattress squeaks as the guy on the bed crawls across it. “No one will find out.”

This isn’t happening.

“Want me to suck that big cock of yours?”

I roll my eyes as the other guy crawls onto the bed. The sound of a zipper being lowered fills the silence, and then it’s heavy breaths, gagging, and slurping noises.

Just when I think they’re done, the springy mattress begins to squeak rhythmically, almost bumping my nose with every violent thrust, while the bedframe bangs against the wall. I have to turn my head to the side to stop from getting squashed.

This is how I die, crushed to death by two fucking men. Their wild, rough tryst dislocates enough dust from the mattress to make me waft the air, and my nose soon tingles as I fight the urge to sneeze.

I squeeze it hard as every muscle in my body stiffens. Luckily, my quiet sneeze is drowned out by the ruckus above—the carnal sounds of slapping skin, a banging headboard, and groaning.

It goes on forever.

Their boss will definitely be pissed. Very fucking pissed.

Have I ever seen Sinclair pissed? I’m sure it involves guns and torture weapons. If they’re lucky, it’s my husband they have to deal with. He’s efficient and quick, but where I’m concerned, I’m sure he’ll make them eat their own organs.

My back cramps. I think I fell asleep at some point.

Silence finally falls, and they return to their posts, thankfully fully dressed, though the peace doesn’t last. Hours later, I’m startled awake by shouting, panicked voices. The door flies open, and gunshots ring out.

POP. POP. POP.

Sinclair’s men collapse to the floor on each side of the bed, their dead eyes staring at nothing as dark red blood soaks through their T-shirts.

I cover my mouth with my clammy hand to muffle my surprised yelp, but it’s too late. A pair of shiny, expensive leather shoes stops in front of the bed.

The newcomer’s black trench coat creases on the floor as he crouches down and rests his leather-gloved hands on his knees.

“Hello, Cecilia,” he says, peeking beneath the bed with a curved, dark smile. “It’s been a while since we last met. Well, formally met. Let’s ignore the fact that you were at the latest fundraiser. I didn’t know your real identity back then. Darian was tight-lipped on the details.” My stomach sinks as his eyes take me in. “Look at you, cousin. You’re all grown up.”