Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
T he piercing scream cut through the silence like a bullet, yanking Thorn out of the deepest sleep she’d had in days. Adrenaline flooded her system, pushing away the fog of exhaustion. Damian had made her reach heights she’d never dreamed of, never even knew were possible, but now that was the furthest thing from her mind.
She reached instinctively for the Glock under her pillow, the cold metal familiar and comforting in her grip. Her mind snapped into focus, heart pounding in her chest as she scanned the room, senses on high alert.
Damian lay naked beside her, his chest rising and falling steadily. He hadn’t stirred, hadn’t heard the scream, and was blissfully unaware of the danger that might be closing in on them.
Had she imagined it?
Had it been another nightmare, another ghost from her past?
But the hair on the back of her neck prickled, an old instinct warning her that something was off. Years of training told her to trust that feeling.
She peeled back the comforter and slid silently out of bed. The room was dim, the only light coming from the sliver of moonlight slipping through the partially open blinds. Thorn pressed her ear to the door, holding her breath as she listened.
The low murmur of a man’s voice drifted up the stairs, deep and menacing. It was followed by the shaky, high-pitched response of a woman. Thorn’s jaw clenched. Fear was thick in the woman’s voice—Isabella.
Definitely trouble.
Moving quickly, Thorn pulled on her leggings and T-shirt with the efficiency of someone who had done this too many times to count. She unlocked the door and edged her way to the top of the stairs, her body pressed close to the wall, out of sight. The voices became clearer as she crept forward.
"?Has visto a este hombre?"
She knew enough Spanish to understand: Have you seen this man?
"No, no lo he visto." Isabella’s voice trembled, but she lied with conviction.
Damn it.
This was bad—worse than she’d anticipated.
Who the hell had tracked them down?
Alek Markov?
Her mind raced through the possibilities as she leaned over the railing to get a better look. In the dim light of the foyer, she spotted them. Two men—big, dangerous, and armed.
The first one had a knife to Isabella’s throat, his grip on the blade confident and too smooth. His build was massive, over six feet tall and pushing three hundred pounds, with the kind of bulk that suggested military training—maybe a mercenary. The way he moved told her he was experienced, deadly.
The second man, shorter but still built like a tank, was holding up a photo—likely of Damian.
Threat level: lethal.
They were professionals, hired muscle with no qualms about getting their hands dirty. Thorn’s pulse quickened as she assessed the situation. One shot in the chamber. Even with her skill, it wasn’t enough to take them both out before one of them hurt Isabella. She needed another plan.
She backed away from the railing and returned to the bedroom, her mind already calculating their next move. She locked the door behind her and shook Damian awake, her voice low but urgent. “Damian, get up. We’ve got to move.”
“What?” he mumbled, groggy and disoriented. “Why?”
“They’re here. They found us.” Her tone left no room for argument.
Damian bolted upright, the gravity of the situation sinking in as his eyes snapped open. “Shit. How?”
“No time for questions. Get dressed and make it fast.” Thorn was already stripping the bed, shoving the sheets into the closet to make it look like they hadn’t slept there. The less evidence, the better. Isabella was risking her life to protect them, and Thorn wasn’t about to let that be in vain.
Damian scrambled to pull on his clothes, his hands a little unsteady as he grabbed his wallet from the bedside table. Thorn didn’t stop moving, her mind going through the escape plan in her head. She strapped her knife to her ankle and retrieved a short piece of electrical wire from her backpack, stuffing it down her leggings along with the map.
Damian raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask, sensing the urgency in her movements. Now was not the time for explanations.
She tossed her pack into the closet, grabbed the burner phone, then yanked on her running shoes. She couldn’t run with a heavy pack, not where they were going. It would slow them down.
Damian, still adjusting to the shock, reached for his backpack, instinctively gathering up items to stash inside it.
Thorn caught his arm. “Leave it. We’re out of time.”
His eyes widened, but he nodded, hurling the pack in beside hers, then closing the closet door.
Thorn pushed open the window, assessing the drop. It wasn’t ideal, but it was doable. “You first.”
To his credit, Damian didn’t argue. He hurried back to the window, swinging his leg over the balcony railing with more agility than she expected, and dropped softly to the ground.
Thorn followed, pausing only to make sure the window was shut behind them. The shutters were a problem—left open, they might raise suspicion, but there was no time to fix that now. Hopefully, the thugs wouldn’t notice.
The drop was significant, but Thorn landed with practiced ease. She crouched as she hit the ground, absorbing the impact and quickly scanning the area. The plaza was empty—no lookout posted. A rookie mistake, but one she’d take full advantage of.
“Follow me,” she whispered, moving swiftly across the square toward the dark alleyway, Damian right behind her.
“Where are we going?” he whispered, his voice tight.
Thorn didn’t answer immediately, her mind focused on their escape. The night clung to them like a shroud as they darted through the narrow, labyrinthine alleyways. The air was warm and dry, mingled with the faint stench of decay from overflowing dumpsters. Every step they took echoed eerily in the silence, the only sound in a town that was fast asleep.
“Out of town,” she finally muttered, her voice low and resolute.
Damian kept pace beside her, his breathing steady, his footsteps heavier but as sure as hers. Not surprising given his athleticism. It would come in handy now.
They rounded a corner, and Thorn led Damian down a dusty lane lined with scraggly trees. The high wall of a housing complex loomed on their right, its bricks weathered and worn, with a dry, worn-out creeper clinging desperately to the cracks.
She kept her eyes peeled for any sign of movement. The quiet was unnerving, but it also reassured her that they were the only people around.
“This way.” She gestured to a narrower path ahead, barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side. The walls on either side seemed to close in on them, the space shrinking as they pressed forward. Thorn could hear Damian behind her. He was keeping up, quick and silent, not asking unnecessary questions.
The path opened up into a small square, the kind that once might have been charming but now lay in neglect. An ancient oak tree stood in the center, its gnarled branches casting twisted shadows on the ground. The wind rustled through the leaves, making the tree groan as if protesting their intrusion.
Thorn’s gaze swept across the surrounding buildings, derelict and crumbling, their windows dark and lifeless. She was searching for something. Something she’d seen earlier. An escape.
She spotted it then, a small porch partially hidden by overgrown bushes. Her heartbeat quickened as a plan formed. She peered over a low fence that separated the porch from the square. A motorcycle, barely visible in the gloom, sat in the shadow of the building.
Yes. That would do.
She opened the gate with a low squeak, and they paused, waiting for a light to come on, or a face to appear at the window, but neither happened, so they ventured in, leaving the gate open.
“The motorcycle?” Damian whispered, following her thoughts.
“Yeah. What do you think? Is it usable?” She remembered he had a Harley-Davidson in his garage, so he probably knew a thing or two about motorcycles.
He inspected it, bending down to take a close look. “I think so. It’s old, but still in use. I’d say someone rides this regularly. No key, though.”
“If we can hotwire it, we can use it.” Thorn reached into the waistband of her leggings and pulled out the thin wire.
Damian stared at her. “You know how to do this?”
She bit back a grin. “It’s not my first rodeo.” Using her knife, she cut a small section of the wire. Damian’s eyes widened as he watched her, a mixture of surprise and admiration on his face, as she worked her magic on the ignition connector. There was a brief click, and then the engine hummed to life, the sound barely louder than a whisper.
“Nice,” Damian muttered, impressed. He gave the bike a hesitant push, guiding it through the gate to a safe distance, before fully engaging the engine. The low rumble vibrated through the square. A light went on in the house.
Thorn had expected as much. “Let’s go,” she hissed, urgently.
Damian swung his leg over the seat and grasped the handlebars. Adjusting the controls, he whispered, “Hop on.”
“I take it you’re driving?” She couldn’t resist the jab. He hadn’t even given her the option. She might be his bodyguard, but Damian was definitely an alpha male, and he liked to fulfill that role.
“Hell, yeah.”
A face appeared at the window, silhouetted against the light. They heard frantic knocking, and a muffled shout echoed into the night.
“Time to go,” Thorn murmured, jumping on behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. The warmth of his body was reassuring, and she pushed the intruding memories of their lovemaking firmly from her mind.
Damian revved the engine. “Yes, ma’am.”
With a somewhat shaky kick, the bike lurched forward and sped across the square, just as the door opened and a woman came out yelling something indeterminate.
She tightened her grip on Damian, eyes fixed on the road ahead. He maneuvered along the tree-lined streets to the road that led out of town, where they picked up speed.
Thorn didn’t relax until the twisted maze of a village was behind them, fading into the distance.