“It’s all there.” He nods behind me. “How is she?”
What the fuck do I say to that? It’s none of your business? She’d be alright if you actually watched her? She was scared of your knock because of how badly I fucked up?
“Fine,” I settle on.
“The rest of your cut is in there.”
We both stand in silence, then I ask, “Vargas?”
“I’ll deal with it,” he answers simply.
“How?”
He crosses his arms. “Word is they hijacked Alvarez’s shipment last week. Boss is waiting for proof before taking Vargas out.”
I raise a brow. They’ve been around, what? Three years, and they’re already going to be wiped off the map? What kind of idiot thinks he can steal from a cartel triple its size? Bella shouldn’t have been dragged into any of this shit.
“There’s a kid,” I start. “His name’s Jeremy. Lived with Bella.” I don’t need to explain any more than that. Even though it’s a closed adoption, Damien would be able to dig up information.
He nods. “He’s under our protection.” Damien gives me one last look. “Keep her safe,” he says before disappearing down the street.
I look inside the bag he handed me, ignoring the sour taste in my mouth. This is blood money. I’ve never had an issue with it before, but that was when the only blood on it was mine or another person willingly signing up for it. This has Bella’s blood on it now, too.
If we didn’t need the money and Bella didn’t go through hell just to get here, I would get rid of the cash without a second thought.
But this is us now, on the run from everyone and everything. As long as I have Bella, I don’t care where we go or what we do. She may not feel the same about that right now, but she will. She doesn’t have a choice.
When I’m back in the room, she goes back to doing everything possible to avoid looking at me. I want her to let all her frustrations and anger out on me. I want her to cry, scream, or sob—anything other than this grating silence.
Maybe we just need a change of scenery. Maybe getting some sleep and food will get her to actually look at me.
We pile everything and ourselves into the car without a word, and then get the fuck out of Chicago.
What a load of shit.
Maybe some sleep and some food will fix it? That’s the biggest bullshit I’ve ever told myself.
Bella has had plenty of sleep; I heard her little snores while her back was to me in the car. At this rate, I will know the back of her head better than I know my own hand.
I dragged her to the grocery store—yes, dragged. As I said, I’m not letting her out of my sight, which, in hindsight, was a terrible idea. She’s still all bruised up and didn’t wear any makeup to cover it, so the sight of me forcing her somewhere would be enough for someone to call the police.
I got her all her favorite snacks and takeout food—I even got her a teddy bear hugging a pillow that says, I love you.
Bella happily took what I had to offer her, then shoved it in my face. She accepted the teddy bear, but not without mutilating it first. She literally ripped out the cotton from inside with her bare hands and threw it in the back seat, then turned onto her side so her back was to me. Again.
And people call me a psychopath.
If I weren’t driving and we weren’t trying to get the hell out of dodge, I would’ve pulled off the road and put her over my knee for being such a little brat.
Yes, she’s traumatized over what happened, but keeping it bottled up won’t help any of us.
It’s been twenty-four hours, and she hasn’t said anything other than, “I need to go to the bathroom.” I saw it as an opportunity to blackmail her into speaking to me; talk, and I’ll pull over in exchange.
Did it work?
No. The stubborn princess held it in for almost a goddamn hour before I was the one who relented.
This girl really does have me by the balls.
I even tried saying things I knew would piss her off. Did she take the bait? Absolutely fucking not. Talk about giving a guy the cold shoulder.
Now we’re here, in a shitty motel. She’s still giving me her back—which is fine, because she’s trapped in my arms, and her hips are pressed against mine like the perfect little spoon. She still hasn’t said another word—not even when I stepped into the shower with her—but I’ve decided that she has another twelve hours before I go down the extreme route.
“Bella,” I say into her hair.
Silence.
Fucking hell.
“You better start talking real soon, or else you might regret it.”
Nothing.
“This is me giving you space. If you think I can’t get any worse, you have a whole other thing coming for you, baby girl.”
Zip.
Nada.
I sigh and pull her tighter to my chest. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Isabella.”
Soft light filters through the curtains, illuminating dust motes specked through the air. The stale air is aggravating my nostrils, but the faintest scent of something sweet is settling my nerves.
Jesus Christ, what time is it? I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. Based on how bright it is, it’s too early for me to be a functioning human. So, like, eight or nine o’clock in the morning, maybe.
I groan as I stretch my arms, reaching behind me to pull Bella into my chest. Instead of warm skin, my hands touch the flat cotton surface of the very empty bed.
My heart lodges into my throat as I snap upright. “Bella?”
I don’t wait for a response before throwing open the bathroom door.
Empty.
“Bella!” I yell, running to the front door and onto the walkway of the motel. The parking lot is empty; besides an old man, I can’t see anyone else.
Rushing back inside, I finally notice her shoes and coat are missing. So is Mr. Mouse. She’s on the run—she ran from me, just like I was scared of.
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I spot her phone on the bedside table and our IDs exactly where I left them last night. My wallet is open on top of my jacket, but it’s still brimming with cash like she opened it and changed her mind, or only took a few bucks so I wouldn’t notice.
Throwing on a random pair of pants and shoes, I shove all our shit into the car and fire up the engine. I barely look back as I reverse out of the park and head onto the main street. The frost covering the windows slowly melts away from the blaring heaters.
My heart hammers erratically against my ribs as I speed down different roads. It’s a small rural town with two motels and a single grocery store. I park and check each and every building she might be in; she couldn’t have gotten far.
Unless she left earlier this morning and caught a bus.
I press my foot on the gas and fiddle with my phone to locate the station—any fucking station, bus, train, radio—I don’t care, as long as I find her.