We’re in the unused rear side of the building now, a dusty maze of abandoned offices and storage rooms, the air stale, the lights flickering. It’s a ghost town, all cracked plaster and cobwebs, but it’s our only shot…
“This way,” I say, trying my best to mentally picture where we are in the overall picture of the building.
We weave through the clutter—old desks, stacked boxes, forgotten file cabinets—our footsteps echoing on the concrete floor. I hear the cartel men behind us, their voices sharp, doors slamming as they search.
“Stairwell,” Travis hisses, pointing to a rusted exit sign ahead.
We reach it, my breath ragged, but when I peer down the stairwell, my stomach drops.
Another cartel man is at the bottom, his silhouette broad and menacing, a gun glinting in his hand as he scans upward. He hasn’t seen us yet, but there’s no way down…
“Up,” Travis says, his voice low, urgent, pulling me toward the stairs leading to the rooftop.
We climb, my legs burning, but my adrenalin carrying me onward.
The stairwell’s narrow, the walls scuffed, and every step feels like it’s counting down to a trap. We hit the rooftop door, and Travis slams it shut behind us, jamming a nearby pipe under the handle to buy us time.
The city sprawls below, a sea of lights under a darkening early evening sky, the wind sharp and cold up here.
The rooftop’s a mix of gravel and concrete, with storage units and a small bar area for corporate events, its canopy flapping in the breeze.
Travis turns to me, his eyes fierce but steady, his hand cupping my face.
“We’re getting out of this alive, my Little Lawyer,” Travis says, his voice low and full of intent. “I promise you that.”
I nod, my throat tight, tears pricking my eyes.
“Even if this is my last day on earth, Daddy, I’m so glad I met you,” I say, my voice breaking.
The words spill out, raw and true, carrying all the love I’ve been too scared to name. He’s my rock, my protector, the man who saw me—lawyer, Little, all of it—and never flinched.
Travis pulls me close, his lips crashing into mine, a passionate, desperate kiss that steals my breath. It’s brief, too brief, but it’s everything—his warmth, his strength, the unspoken vow that we’re in this together. My body hums, my heart singing despite the fear, and for a moment, it’s just us, the city fading away.
We break apart, gasping, and Travis’s eyes scan the rooftop.
“There,” he says, nodding to the bar area, its wooden counter and canvas canopy offering a sliver of cover.
We rush over and crouch behind it, the gravel biting into my knees.
The wind carries the sound of the cartel men banging on the door, their muffled shouts growing louder.
My stomach twists—they’ll find us soon, and then it’s game over.
The tracker in my waistband feels useless now, a faint hope that Cole and Max might track us, but they’re still minutes out, and minutes are a luxury we don’t have.
Travis’s hand finds mine, his grip firm, grounding.
“Stay low,” Travis whispers, his Glock ready, his eyes scanning the door. “Cole and Max are coming. We just need to hold out.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Travis says, a look of mischief in his eye. “Unless it’s your naked butt over my lap.”
I smile and hold back a giggle. Even in a crazy moment like this, Travis is able to find the funny side—surely he was the Joker that my first research into the Guard spoke of.
My heart is pounding, but the fear’s creeping in, cold and heavy.
We don’t have long before they’re through the door.
