by Eden Summers
If they expect me to apologize they’ve got another thing coming. I don’t care if I stole a car.
I jerk my head toward the window, glaring, only to be met with shadowed eyes staring back at me from beneath a thick ski mask. The tap, tap, tap repeats, the noise coming from the barrel of a gun against the glass.
Oh, God.
All the air escapes my lungs on a heave.
Everything stops.
Time.
Movement.
My heart.
I plant my foot on the accelerator, the car roaring to life without movement.
Oh, shit.
I fight to put the gearstick in drive as a mighty boom thunders beside me. A circle of splintered glass appears on my window, the integrity still intact.
Holy fuck. He’s shooting at me. At bulletproof glass.
I shove the gearstick into place and slam my foot harder, my hands shaking as the wheels spin. I escape in what feels like slow motion, the tink, tink, tinks of sound against the car frame continuous until the back of the vehicle jostles, a tire seeming to take a bullet.
“Please, please, please let me get out of here.”
I keep my head low and speed through the night. I turn left. Turn right. Turn left. I become more lost in the labyrinth of streets until I finally reach a busy road and get stuck in traffic, heading God knows where, fleeing God knows who.
I wind down my window, unable to see through the bullet impacts, and hyperventilate.
I never should’ve left the house.
I never should’ve left Luca. Now all I can think about is returning to him, to his protection, but I don’t know how.
I have no phone. And the arduous jostle from the back of the vehicle is getting worse.
If I pull over the shooter could find me. If I don’t stop I have no clue what will happen to the car.
A siren squeals behind me. Blue and red illuminate the interior. The police.
For a second, there’s relief. Sweet, overwhelming relief.
Then reality hits like a nightmare.
I don’t have a license or identification. As far as the authorities are concerned, I’m dead. A ghost. And I want to stay that way.
“Oh, my goddamn shit, please help me get out of this.” My pulse pounds everywhere—throat, wrists, temples. I break out in a cold sweat, my fear of yet another imprisonment making it impossible to breathe.
I don’t want to go back to a cage. I can’t attempt a high-speed escape, either. Not on three functioning tires. I wouldn’t even know how with four solid treads and a record-breaking sports car.
I reluctantly pull over, the police car mimicking my movements, a male officer lazily climbing from his vehicle.
I can imagine what he’s seeing—the flat tire, the dents left from bullets.
“Evenin’, ma’am.” He stops next to my window, one hand calmly resting at his side, the other placed on his holster. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”
I squint against the brightness of his flashlight, unable to speak.
“Ma’am, did you hear me? I asked if you knew why I pulled you over.”
I swipe at my nose to dislodge the building tingle and shake my head. “No, sir.”
“Do you realize you only have three tires?” He leans forward to glance inside the car, his gaze trekking over the passenger seat to the floor.
“I-I-I—” I shake my head frantically and puff out an exhale. “I-I’m sorry. I knew I had a problem. I just thought I could make it to a gas station.”
“Driving on the rim is going to cause some pretty major damage. You know that, right?”
I keep shaking my head. “I’m not good with cars.”
“I gathered.” He raises his hand from the holstered gun, holding his palm out to me. “License and registration please.”
Bile creeps up my throat, the burning acid bringing tears to my eyes. “That’s a funny story.” I chuckle, the sound far from humorous. “I had an argument with the person I was staying with and took off without grabbing my purse. I-I don’t even have my cell.”
I try to think. To come up with a story capable of getting me out of this.
“Do you know Cole Torian?” I ask.
The question is risky. It announces a link to crime and gives this officer more ammunition to interrogate me. But Luther had all the Greek police in his pocket. If Cole works like his father, maybe this man can help me. Then I can finally get back to Luca.
“He’s, umm…” I swallow at his narrowing eyes. “A well-known businessman. I just thought if you knew him, you could call him for me.”
His hand falls back to his holstered gun. “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to climb out of the vehicle.”
“No, please, no.”
Think. Think. Think.
“Officer, I’m not safe here.” I scramble, mentally clawing at the walls of my mind for a way out, each ticking second making his fingers grip tighter on his weapon. “A man was shooting at me.” I lean toward my window and poke my head outside to find the fresh dents in the side of the car. “Can you see those marks? Those weren’t there fifteen minutes ago. They’re from bullets. The damaged tire is, too.”
He’s not convinced, his steps creeping farther and farther away. “You’re telling me this car is bulletproof?”
I don’t know. I don’t know. God, I don’t know.
“Please, listen to me.” I sink back into my seat and start raising my window.
“Stop,” he barks. “Get out of the vehicle.”
“Please, just look.” I nudge the window an inch higher, the circles of shattered glass now visible in the middle of the thick tint. “Those marks are from bullets.”
His brow furrows, the slightest sense of contemplation breaking across his face.
I need to come up with something to bring this home. Something convincing. Something he can’t ignore.
“Sir.” I lower the window again. “I’m in danger. I’ve been placed in witness protection. That’s why I don’t have any identification. But they found me.” The lies effortlessly slide from my lips, the instincts I’d honed in Greece finally awakening. “I need to speak to Anissa Fox of the FBI. Please. As you can see from the car, my life is at risk. They could come back any second.”
He snaps rigid, his attention stalking our surroundings. “What’s your name?”
“Penny.”
“Surname?”
“Please, officer, if you could just get in contact with Agent Fox she’ll know who I am.” She has to. She’s my only hope. “Please. I’m begging you. Just try and get in contact with her. She’ll know what to do.”
But what if she doesn’t?
The only connection I have with the Fed was a brief introduction in Greece. She was there when I was rescued. Yet, I never understood her involvement with Cole in the first place. They told me she was helping to take Luther down, only she hasn’t sought me out once since my return to the States. There was no investigation. No welfare check. I don’t even know if she lives in Portland.
“Stay in the vehicle.” The officer backtracks toward the patrol car. “Don’t move. I’ll return soon.”
I do as instructed, remaining still, barely even blinking as time passes and the contents of my stomach threaten to make an escape.
I sit there forever. The minutes accumulate into a mass of hysteria.
I never should’ve left the safety of the house and run off like a jealous teenager.
Under Luther’s rule, I’d been entirely stringent with my emotions. Now I’m reckless. A complete danger to myself. And others.
It isn’t until another car pulls in behind the cop that I pause my silent prayers for salvation.
The woman who opens the driver’s door isn’t entirely distinguishable through the glare of the patrol car’s headlights. She’s dressed in a pantsuit, sophisticated and empowered, but thankfully recognizable as the woman I briefly met in Greece.
She greets the officer at his car with a handshake.
They chat in lowered voices, glancing toward me every few seconds.
I itch to run to her. To plead my case before anyone else is dragged into this mess. But within moments, the officer is climbing back into his patrol car and the confident woman is striding my way.
“Penny?” Her brows are furrowed, her eyes full of concern as she spares me a glance, then takes in the damage to the car. “What happened?”
“Can you help me?” I ask in a rush. “I need to get out of here.”
“Are you hurt?” She leans closer.
“No. I’m fine. But whoever shot at me could be watching. They could be anywhere.”
“It’s okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.” She placates me with a raised hand. “Did you know who it was? Did you see them?”
“They were right next to my window. Closer than you are." A sleek black Porsche pulls in front of us as I speak. “But whoever it was wore a ski mask.”
My throat tightens at the unfamiliar vehicle. This could be the shooter. The only thing keeping me in place is the agent’s unflinching confidence. “Who’s that?”
She sighs, stepping closer as she watches the newest addition arrive to this mess. “Cole. The officer called him.”
The door to the shiny car opens. The formidable man climbs out and casually walks toward us. Dark suit, dark hair, dark eyes, and an even darker soul buried somewhere beneath. He fills me with dread, the resemblance to his father hitting me hard.
“Anissa.” He purrs the greeting, his mouth holding the faintest taunt of a grin. “Nice to see you.”
“Cut the crap, Cole. She’s scared. I need to take her in for questioning. It’s time this was handled by the book.”
His expression tightens. “No. You’re done here.” He jerks a hand at the patrol car, signaling for the officer to leave. “Pretend this never happened.”
She scoffs. “This isn’t Greece. I’m no longer your toy. And I sure as hell won’t go on my merry way when someone is shooting up Portland.”
Cole’s gaze snaps to mine. “You were shot at?” He doesn’t wait for my response as his attention skates over the car, then back to Anissa. “Get out of here,” he orders. “We can catch up to discuss this some other time. Preferably over dinner.”
“I’m not having dinner with you,” she growls. “And I’m not leaving until I’m assured she’s going to be safe.”
He smiles, the show of teeth more of a snarl. “Then I assure you she will be just fine. If she hadn’t stolen a hitman’s car none of this would’ve happened. You and I both know the target on Hunter’s back can sometimes outrank mine.”
A hitman’s car.
Oh, shit, a fucking hitman’s car.
I hang my head and close my eyes. Of all the things that could’ve slipped my attention, Hunter’s notorious criminal reputation shouldn’t have been one of them.
The pair continue to bark, one barb after another, the conversation brushing past my ears without sinking past my self-loathing.
I just want to go home.
Not to my parents or my brother, but to the only place I’ve felt safe in a long time.
I want to be with Luca, even though I’m forcing myself to hate him at the same time.
“Please, Agent Fox.” The plea is murmured from my parched mouth. “Just let me go.” I open my eyes to meet her gaze. “I can’t stay out here.”
She frowns at me with concern and confusion. “Are you sure?”
I nod. “Positive.”
She sucks in a deep breath and straightens her shoulders. “This can’t happen again, Cole. I swear to God I won’t keep covering for you.”
He chuckles. “Sure you will.”
“I’m fucking serious, you smug prick.” She reaches into her suit jacket, pulls out a business card and hands it to me. “Call me if you need me. Anytime. Day or night. I’ll be happy to help.”
I take the offering, brushing my finger over the embossed lettering before placing it in my pocket. “Thank you.”
“What about me?” Cole drawls. “Can I call you anytime, day or night?”
She rolls her eyes, not bothering to reply as she starts for her car.
“Come on, Nis. Where’s the love?”
“Fuck you, Cole,” she yells in the distance.
He laughs, creeping closer to Hunter’s car, his attention on her for long seconds until his arm comes to rest on the window ledge.
When his eyes turn to mine the humor is no longer there. No smile. No friendly familiarity. “It’s good to see you again, Penny. Although, it would’ve been appreciated if this were under better circumstances.” There’s a lingering threat in his tone. An ice-cold sterility that leaves me chilled. “Did you see who shot at you?”
I shake my head and stare out the windshield, no longer able to meet his gaze. This is why I didn’t want to leave the house. Because of people like him and feelings like this.
“Maybe next time you’ll make a smarter choice about which car you steal.”
“There won’t be a next time,” I whisper.
“Good. Now tell me where were you running to?” His attention raises the hair on my neck, my skin breaking out in goose bumps.
“Anywhere. I just needed to get away.”
“From Luca?”
The question stings. The answer punishes me even more. Both leave me speechless.
“I heard he went out tonight,” he continues. “Were Hunter and Sarah’s arrival the issue or Luca’s departure?”
“It doesn’t matter.” I turn to him, scowling, letting him know this is the end of the discussion. “Can we leave now?”
“Whatever you say.” He opens the door and holds out an open palm. “Give me the keys.”
I hand them over. “Will the car be okay?”
“Hunter can take care of it.” He yanks the door wider. “Let’s go.”
He leads the way to the Porsche, sliding into the low seat while I hustle fast to get into the safety of the new vehicle.
He pulls from the curb in silence, the murmur of his radio too low to stifle my apprehension as he drives. I know I can handle any punishment he might dish out. Luther was a far more menacing man. But I no longer have the determination I did when I was a slave. The will to fight doesn’t embolden me.
“In between now and Luca’s house, you need to explain.” He shoots me a glance. “I suggest you start soon.”
“There’s nothing to say. I felt like taking a drive, so I did.”
“I don’t appreciate secrets.” His threatening tone grates on my nerves, annoying the hell out of me as the adrenaline flushes from my system to leave me drained.
“Me either. And I guess Luca feels the same.” I give him a faux smile. “That’s why he told me you already brought Tobias to Portland and how you plan to keep him from me.”
He doesn’t react, not physically. There’s not even a twinge of guilt in his features. He doesn’t care that he’s hiding that little boy. “Yes, he returned to live with my sister.”
I despise the ease with which he torments me, the same way his father always did. “How is he?”
“Good. Resilient. You’ll be able to see him once I know you’re stable.”
I huff out a laugh and turn my attention to the bright Portland skyline. “Stable? What does that even mean?”
“It means when you’re functioning like a normal person and not running away for no reason.”
“I had reasons.”
“Then tell them to me. I didn’t get you out of Greece for the hell of it. I want you to live a good life, Penny.”
Lies. All lies.
I don’t know the real reason he arranged my rescue, but it certainly wasn’t out of kindness.
“This will be the last time I ask,” he snarls. “Why did I get a call from Hunter telling me you’d run away?”
I press my lips tight, keeping the truth from him just like he’s keeping Tobias from me. But my frustration builds, demanding to be heard. “Because Luca left me to hav
e sex with a stranger.”
The awkward silence returns. The seconds tick by in agonizing lethargy. I don’t know if he thinks I’m naive or childish. I’m not even sure if he’s annoyed I caused this mess over something so trivial. All he does is continue to drive, the side of his mouth curving upward in a condescending smirk.
“Do you enjoy my suffering?” I whisper. “If so, it only confirms you’re exactly like your father.”
His fingers squeak against the leather as they tighten on the wheel, his knuckles turning white. “I’m nothing like my father. And it’s not your suffering I enjoy. It’s the karma.”
“Whose karma?”
“Your brother’s.” He glances at me. “For a long while, the thought of Decker with my sister was a very sore spot for me. It still is most days.”
“I don’t understand.”
He huffs out a laugh and returns his attention to the road. “All the resentment I harbored toward my sister’s feelings for your brother, all that rage and animosity, is now something he will have to deal with between you and Luca.”
“It’s not like that. Luca doesn’t have feelings for me.”
That huff of laughter returns, intensified. “I assure you he has enough to get himself in trouble.”
“I disagree. And I think I’d know better, seeing as though I’ve lived with him for weeks.”
But I hadn’t known. It was Sarah who’d pointed out Luca’s desperation to get away from me.
He shrugs. “Maybe you’re right.”
He doesn’t say another word. There are no placations for my dying heart or offers of support.
I turn away, staring out the window as we pass things I recognize from my escape—the corner store, the house with the red mailbox, then finally, the pretty pink roses from the garden beside Luca’s.
My stomach falls as Cole pulls into the drive behind another bulky SUV, our headlights swinging past a grimacing woman and three men standing on the front lawn, none of them happy to see us.
Sarah and Sebastian are the only ones whose expressions hold the slightest tinge of relief.
Hunter is plain mad.
And when my gaze reaches Luca I have to raise my chin and suck in a breath to steal myself against the fury bearing back at me.