CHAPTER TWENTY - TWO

MIRI

Ilet him go.

What else can I say to him? I'm just… "Arghh!"

I wheel around in the room, feeling trapped all over again.

I could take the money and run. Call Landon and see if he can help. He'd be able to tell me what to do. But then I'd lose my only chance to save Naja, and she took so many risks – all to keep me safe. I believe that, in my gut, despite all the other crap that's landed on top of that.

I get dressed and open the bag left on the floor by the bed. There are bundles of dollars shoved inside. Some neat and tidy, some scrappy and creased. I take a few bills and head for the door. There was a vending machine down the path to the manager's office, so I go to see what rubbish they have.

A couple of sandwiches that look decidedly suspect are the only options that count as real food, but I'm not that desperate yet. I choose the safer bag of crisps, a candy bar, a couple of bottles of water and a soda and head back to the room.

As I crunch my way through the bag, I think over every step that led me here, and no matter what or where I start on that story, it lands at Shaw's feet. He's the reason for this. And I feel so utterly broken inside for letting myself do what I did – fucking him. Where did that come from?

Thinking back over everything: the cage, the dark, Abel and the gunshot, it all piles on, and my body starts to quiver and shake. My vision goes spotty, and my hearing tunes out to nothing but my racing heart. Panic surges through me, and I can't pull myself out. The food falls from my hand, and tears race to fall from my cheeks as my breathing hitches through my sobs. Everything is too much. Too hard. Too big.

And my mind centres on Shaw – his behaviour and how he played me, how he brought me here, and how I couldn't do anything to protect myself. After everything I trained for and everything I fought against, it still wasn't enough, and I had to rely on the very man I was supposed to fight.

That adds to the enormity and just makes me spiral faster.

Can I really believe him? Believe that he knows what he's done is wrong, and that's why he's with me? He knows I'm right. He knows I'm right.

A sick feeling festers in my stomach, and it's not from the lack of proper food.

I curl in on myself, holding myself together as the shakes continue, and I fall deeper into panic, uncaring that I'm sitting in a room in a motel.

Shaw busts open the door, sending it flying on its hinges, and steps inside. The action, plus my own anxious state, sends me skittering to the corner of the room. He looks at me, confused, and the pressure to pull myself together grows in my chest, compressing my beating heart. I can't catch my breath, and the whooshing noise inside my head grows.

I crawl to the bed and pull myself up, trying to drag breaths into my lungs as I do.

"Miri?" Shaw asks as I look up toward him.

I shake my head, trying to push him out of my vision as I try to get my breathing under control. I start to stagger back and forth, and my breathing catches, refusing to cooperate. The tears start to rush, and I slump back down on the bed.

My body shifts as Shaw sits down next to me. I don't have the energy to fight him away. He pulls the bottle of booze from the bag and takes a swig. Then shoves the bag at me.

"Breath into this."

I take it from him and do as he says.

I focus on the rhythm, letting it bring me back from the edge. After a few deep breaths, it starts to work, a calmness spreading throughout me like the creep of morning mist. My eyes close with the feeling as I lie down on the bed and keep the brown paper over my mouth.

Slowly, the panic eases. It diffuses with each breath, and I feel pressure from Shaw's hand on my shoulder. It doesn't send me spiralling back into panic, so I don't shrug it off.

"Breathe, Miri," he says quietly.

We stay like that for minutes, maybe longer, and my mind seems to clear, and the fog of my attack lifts.

He doesn't seem drunk. I remember him wanting to get drunk. Although, it's not been very long for him to get drunk. I can hear him swigging the liquor from the bottle, though.

My hand scrunches the paper bag up, and I pull it away from my mouth. "I thought you wanted to get drunk." I check how stable my voice is, but it doesn't betray my frayed nerves.

He doesn't answer but does take another drink from the bottle as he removes his hand.

"Sleep," he says as he stands. "Mariana used to sleep after those kinds of attacks."

"Why did she-"

"Leave it. Don't wanna talk about that."

I pull myself up the bed, pushing my head into a pillow. "Okay. What's the plan?"

"Fuck knows. But I really want to stop talking about plans or actions for a while. I might lose it completely if you don't give me a break. Just, I don't know. Sleep."

He drops his head, and I watch his shoulders rise and fall with the heaviness of his breaths. Maybe he really means it, and this is it – he's got nowhere else to go.

I pull my knees up to my chest and hug them, trying to fend off the guilt that's sparked to life. There's no way I should be feeling guilty, but somewhere in amongst all of this, I've seen glimpses of what Shaw might be like without his family.

As I think about it, I realise that's why he opened the cage door for me, why he fought his brother. He wanted to help, like he just did; otherwise, I'd be dead already. He's admitted that. He knows it was the right thing, and that's why I'm here and not tied to some sick man's bed being forced to do God knows what.

"Maybe we're even now," I start, pushing the last thought from my mind before I descend into chaos again.

"There's no way we're even. My world is blown to pieces because of you. I've lost everything." He doesn't turn around; just keeps staring out the window.

"My world's in the same shape. I watched my sister, my only living family, drive off without me. She left me with a stranger because of your family." I wait to see if he responds or if he tries to argue or shout it all down. He doesn't. He stays vigilant, watching. "She left her family behind, knowing she may never see them again. Knowing it would be dangerous and she might have to run for the rest of her life. But something in her thought it was the right thing to do. So maybe it's not me that you're like, but my sister."

"Your sister was stupid. And maybe I am, too. Don't try making this something it's not."

We're silent for a while, and I can feel the creep of tiredness close in around me. My eyes drop for a second, but when they do, I'm right back in the dark, back in that cell, and the panic laps at the edge of my mind.

I pull my head back up. "Look, you need to rest. If you're worried, I can keep watch." I stand up; otherwise, I will be the one asleep, and I'm not sure I want that.

"No," he snaps. "It's my family that will come. Mine. At least, they were mine until I betrayed them. And now look. The one time," he spins towards me and grabs my shoulders, "the one time, I do the right thing, it goes to shit." He shoves me away, and I can feel the anger building inside him, spilling out into the room. So many mixed emotions tangle between us, like we're caught in a web of hate and attraction. That's where this started, isn't it? That's where it all went wrong.

I liked him.

I liked him and dropped my guard, and all hell broke loose.

"If I'd done what my family wanted, if I'd just lived up to their stupid expectations and what came with being a Cortez, this shit wouldn't be here now. Mariana fought for her place. Mine was handed to me. But I just shoved it away, and now I'll never get it back." He grits the last words through his teeth.

"Who's Mariana?" I sit on the edge of the bed.

"Doesn't matter."

"Is she the woman who trained us? The woman in London?"

"No. Carmen isn't one of us. Likes to think she is, though. She's good at her job. Keeps you in check."

"Fuck you. She wouldn't be so keen if she knew what it was like." He starts to laugh. It sounds crazy to start with, completely out of character. "What's so funny?"

He stops laughing. "Carmen was one of you. A long time ago. Shares the same mark, too."

The realisation chills me. How could she? But then, haven't I learned that the world isn't what I thought it was?

I lie down again, with my back towards Shaw and feel the drag of sleep begin to take me.

If he's going to be stubborn and hostile, then fine.

We can figure things out in the morning.

~

My mouth feels dry and sticky. My eyes are still closed, but I'm thirsty as I come to. There's light, and I'm in a room. Not the cold and dingy place – not locked away.

The memories rush back to mind as if waking up turned on the tap. Running, fighting, Shaw.

I roll onto my back and practically land on top of him.

Panic rushes through me, and I throw the covers back and jump out of bed.

"Don't worry," he mutters. "You were out of it. Didn't even stir when I turned you on your side."

He's still watching the window despite being next to me.

I have no idea how he stayed awake all night, but now it's a new day, and we have to make a plan.

"I'm going to freshen up."

I edge around the bed and lock myself in the bathroom.

Naja. I have to keep thinking of her and getting her out of wherever she may be. And then home, or back to London at least. Will it still be home if there's no reason to run anymore? Could Naja and I go back home, really go back home? My mind starts to run away, twenty steps in front of the minefield already laid before me. But maybe a little hope is good for me.

I use the facilities and splash water over my face. The toothbrush is at least in a sealed packet, so I know it's safe to use. When I'm done, I crack the door open, wanting to see what Shaw is doing.

He's asleep, sprawled out on the bed as if he was just waiting for some space in order to fall asleep. His tall frame makes it look so small; he must have been holding himself together while I slept.

I don't want to wake him, not yet at least.

I sneak out of the room and go back to the vending machine. A proper cup of coffee. Or a real meal. I think back to how Landon had to do things so properly. He disapproved of microwave meals. I'm sure he'd be disgusted at the thought of this vending machine cuisine.

I grab a bottle of water and a couple of snack bars that could pass as vaguely good for me and go back to the room. The door gently cushions closed with my hands, trying not to wake him, but it fails. The click of the door has him bolting upright, looking around the room with crazy eyes, the gun in his hand from somewhere.

"Relax. It's just me."

He slouches and shoves the gun away.

I take up my seat next to the small table and throw him the breakfast.

"What the fuck is this?"

"Food. Breakfast. We've hardly eaten."

"Screw that. I need some proper food." He stands, heads into the bathroom, and within minutes, is back out and grabbing the duffel of money. "Coming?"

I stand and follow him out of the room. We don't have anything to pack up, so we jump straight into the car.

Shaw drives, even though he must be dead on his feet. Luckily, it doesn't take long to reach a small roadside diner. We go in and slide into one of the empty booths.

"Be right with you both," one of the waitresses calls as she juggles a pot of coffee and a plate of stacked pancakes.

Shaw just stares out the window again, like he's surveying the terrain or looking for something. The scowl on his face is now carved so deep, I wonder if he'll ever be rid of it.

"Okay, you two. What can I getcha?"

"Coffee. Black." Shaw doesn't even look at the waitress. I smile up at her as she glances at me.

"I'll take a coffee too, please. And a stack of those pancakes. A side of fruit if you have it."

"Sure thing."

I fiddle with the napkin dispenser and watch Shaw. I need him to see things my way and help me; otherwise, I might as well ask for a phone and call for help. But I can't do that until I know for sure he won't help.

"I thought you wanted food?" I start, but that doesn't make a difference. "Do you have a plan?"

"Yes." He's solemn as he confirms, but I feel that little light of hope flicker in my chest.

The waitress brings the coffee over and comes right back with my pancakes.

"On second thought, I'll have pancakes too, darlin'. With extra bacon." Shaw turns to the waitress and gives her his charming side. Despite his scowl, and his crumpled clothes, the woman giggles.

"Right, you are."

I ignore the food and roll my eyes, more interested in the plan than her or his ability to get every woman he meets into trouble. "Well? You can't just say you have a plan and then shut up. What is it?"

"Don't fucking push it, Miri." His raised voice brings some attentive eyes towards us, but I stare, refusing to be intimidated by him. He settles back down as I pick up my fork and spear a berry from the bowl. "It's simple. I'm going to put this right. Get your sister. Get you both gone. That's it."

I stop chewing. He said he'll get Naja.

"Really? Easy as that?" I test him, but inside I'm screaming.

"Yeah."

"How?"

"I know where she is."