Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
I retrieved them from the floor and held them awkwardly for a moment before I slipped them on. It was still strange—maybe it always would be—but I felt the compulsion to drop to my knees more than usual as if I had to atone for covering myself up.
That was ridiculous, of course. Derek was the one who wanted me to put the clothes on, needed me to, in fact, so we could get the hell out of here.
I stood there waiting while he did a quick sweep of the room. Satisfied we were leaving no traces of our stay behind, he took my hand in his and led me out the door and into the car he’d pulled up to the curb of the motel room’s front walk. He was tense. Even if I hadn’t been able to see the way he was scanning our surroundings, I’d know it by the way it radiated from his body.
I didn’t want to know what threats were still out there, but maybe it was time to stop being such a coward and find out. If I knew what—or who—he was looking for, maybe I could even help. Something to focus on other than the batshit craziness that swirled around in my head constantly—oh, what sweet relief.
He slipped into the driver’s seat and pulled out of the parking lot. I took a deep breath and tried to steel myself against the desire to scrunch down in the seat and pretend nothing was out there. Nothing was hunting us. Nothing was waiting around the corner to take me away from him, or to take him away from me. It was foolish to think we were safe. Just days ago, he’d killed a man—for me. A man who was obviously very powerful. How many loyal followers did Marcos have who would seek to avenge his death?
“Derek…” I flinched at using his name. Would he be angry? Pleased? Oh hell, the craziness was tiring! Time to pull it together and keep talking. “Who’s following us?”
“Hopefully no one,” he said as he reached for my hand without taking his eyes off the road.
“But if we weren’t being so hopeful…Who?”
He heaved a heavy sigh but didn’t respond. He was silent for so long I figured he wasn’t going to, but then he did.
“A lot of people worked for Marcos, some of them very devoted. It’s unlikely they’d connect his death with me, but it will be suspicious that I’ve disappeared. And the transaction…he’d already finished negotiating the agreement. The buyer was…quite eager.”
“…to buy me,” I finished the thought he’d likely had no intention of finishing.
It was true though. There was a man out there somewhere who’d seen pictures of me—or videos, or however it worked—and purchased me like a piece of furniture. I might still have been angry at Derek, but I was also well aware that he could have just as easily let it happen. He could have let that man come and take me away. Hell, he could have gift wrapped me with a giant fucking bow on my head. If he had, he wouldn’t have to be on the run now, keeping watch for men who might very well be hunting him down to kill him.
Should I demand he takes me back? Demand he tells Marcos’ loyal followers that he caught me trying to escape after killing the man? It was possible that might eliminate the threat to his life, but it wasn’t possible I could make him do it. I knew he wouldn’t. Whatever it was that had changed him, there was no going back.
How long would we be on the run though? Once we reached a certain distance, would we be safe then? Or would they stop looking for us after so much time had passed? The dark scowl on Derek’s face made me think I didn’t want to pry for more answers right now. We were together. That’s all that mattered.
I turned to stare out the window, watching the landscape on the side of the highway zip by in a blur. Just a few, short days ago, I’d thought I might never see outside again. Now, I’d be quite content to find a tiny place somewhere that would swallow us up and keep us hidden from any threat out there.
I started to watch every car behind us in the side mirror, looking for telltale signs that we were being followed, but I had no idea what I was looking for. Black cars?—the bad guy always drove sleek, black cars in the movies, didn’t they? Or what about cars that stayed too close, tailing us? Was that a sign of imminent danger? Because I counted three black cars at various distances behind us, and the old lady in the car behind us seemed dangerously close to riding on our bumper. Somehow I couldn’t envision her as one of Marcos’ loyal disciples, but could she be?