My father disappears into the house, silent as ever, but the weight of legacy trails behind him like a shadow. I left this life for a reason, and now, that reason is dragging me, unwilling, right back.
But for her? I’ll take the punishment. I’ll bleed proudly.
Chapter 11
Sean
We’re officially off-grid. Which is a polite way of saying: we’re fucked.
After leaving the church, I ditched the SUV, wiped it clean, and switched rides. Twice. I also got rid of our phones and picked up a burner. I’ve had this contingency plan in my back pocket for weeks. I just didn’t expect to use it so soon.
Now we’re parked in front of a motel that looks like it rents rooms by the hour. Paint’s peeling, and the neon “VACANCY” sign buzzes like it’s trying to electrocute my last nerve, but it’s two hours from Atlanta. Far enough to buy us some time.
Aro questioned me on this choice, but hopefully, it will take Marcus a while to realize what I’ve done. I sent him a text telling him I was taking her to a safe house, which I am. It’s just nothissafe house.
Aro’s curled in the passenger seat, wearing my tuxedo jacket. Her bare legs are pulled up into the seat, and I can’t let myself think too long about what she has, or doesn’t have, on underneath.
“Got any cash on you?” I ask, flipping through my wallet like I don’t already know the answer.
She shoots me a look. “Oh, sure. Let me just pull it out of my ass cheeks.”
Bite me, I almost say. Instead, I just raise a brow.
She huffs. “No, Sean. No cash. My purse is in Marcus’sother SUV, and I didn’t exactly plan on fleeing a forced wedding in just lingerie.”
Right. That one’s on me. Sort of.
“I’ve got enough for a room,” I say. “It won’t be nice. Don’t touch the comforter.”
He nose scrunches up. “Is Marcus expecting us back tomorrow?”
I keep my expression neutral. “Maybe. Depends on how things go.”
She nods slowly, then looks away. I don’t like lying to her, but I like the idea of handing her back to Marcus even less. Watching her almost get married to that piece of shit practically killed me. We’re lucky we were interrupted, because I was seconds away from throwing out an objection. Or a bullet. Who the fuck coerces a woman into something like that? Marcus, that’s who.
I head inside, pay with my cash using a fake name, and obtain a room key. The teenage girl behind the desk doesn’t ask questions, because she doesn’t care. That bodes well for us.
Back in the car, I toss Aro the silver key attached to a plastic green card that reads the number13. I pull around the building to get closer before hustling her into the room. It’s on the first floor, thank God. She’s barefoot and barely dressed, and if any other motel guests had gotten an eyeful, I would’ve buried someone behind the dumpster.
The small room’s clean enough. The lighting is dim, and it practically screams ‘cheap,’ but the freedom is represents makes it feel like a palace.
While I check the locks and sweep for anything suspicious, Aro strips out of my jacket. I swear, this woman was made to test me. She’s constantly stripping and changing and even fucking in front of me. She pads over to the bathroom, slightly limping on one side.
“You hurt?” I ask, already scanning her, looking for the cause.
“Just scraped up. I’ll live,” she mutters, vanishing behind the door.
I hear the shower kick on, and for a minute, I allow myself to breathe.
Then, I go back to the office.
I need first aid supplies, and I need a minute to think. Marcus thinks I took her to his safe house. Aro thinks I’m bringing her back eventually. I have maybe 48 hours before one of them calls bullshit.
She doesn’t love him. I know that. Hell, she can barely look him in the eye. But she’s still stuck. Still tethered to something I don’t fully understand. Until I do, I can’t tell her the truth.
The girl at the front desk hands over a dusty old first aid kit that looks like it hasn’t been opened since Y2K, but it’ll do. I figure it has to, at the bare minimum, have a few bandages and hopefully some antibiotic ointment.
When I return, Aro’s lying on her stomach on the bed, hair damp, towel barely clinging to her hips. She’s flipping channels like she didn’t just escape a gang shootout. Her legs kick lazily in the air. Even from here I can see her feet are a mess. They’re torn up from the woods, and she’s pretending it’s nothing.
