No, our biggest problem would be the gun pressed against Chloe’s temple.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHLOE
NOW
Most people will never know what it feels like to be held at gunpoint, and fuck do I wish I was one of those lucky bastards.
Yet here I am with the barrel of a gun pressed to my temple for the…you know what, I’ve lost count.
But there’s one thing I can say for every single experience I’ve had like this one.
It’s always a fucking Lombardi.
Damon smirks down at me, his ice-blue eyes just as cruel as they were a decade ago.
I guess some things never change.
“Time to go, Duchess,” he says evenly.
“She’s not going anywhere with you,” Ryker snaps from beside me, but I can’t see how he’s going to stop this from happening.
This is why I needed to run.
This is why I couldn’t stay in New York, because they were always going to come for me, and now there’s nothing either of us can do to stop it.
Tears roll down my cheeks, my heart beating so hard in my chest it hurts.
I’m going to die.
It’s not the first time I’ve thought that, but this time I know with absolute certainty that my luck has run out, and all I can think about is all the years I wasted being too afraid to live.
For almost ten years I hid away in the De Marco estate, never making friends, never dating. I was just rotting away in a mansion so similar to the one I grew up in. I never chased my dreams, never found what makes my heart sing.
I just…survived.
“She either gets out of the car, or I’ll put a bullet in her brain.”
I swallow around the bile that climbs up the back of my throat, terror filling my veins.
It’s over.
Slowly, I reach for the handle, making sure Damon can see every move I make.
Part of me wonders if I would be better off letting him shoot me here. At least it would be quick and mostly painless.
Letting them take me back to Miami is a mistake. Every ounce of my soul knows that whatever awaits me within the walls of the Lombardi compound will be infinitely more painful than being shot on the side of some backroad in upstate New York.
If the torture doesn’t kill me, the memories will.
“Chloe,” Ryker warns, his voice desperate.
“It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” I don’t know if I’m trying to reassure him or myself, but I don’t do a very good job at either.
“You’re making the right choice, Duchess.”
I press my eyes closed, my body's reaction to that nickname is visceral. What started as a term of endearment became a jab, and now every time I hear the word on his lips, it cracks another piece of my soul.
