22. Nora
Nora
Room 507
I t’s dark by the time we pull into the parking lot of the quaint guesthouse. Mossville is a small coastal town with a population of two thousand. Something I learned on the drive over here.
August has never been, neither have I.
He chose it because it’s exactly halfway to the safe house.
No, he doesn’t care what the sights are and no; he doesn’t think we’ll have time to swim in the warm azure waters of the bay.
He seems to understand that my need to provoke him with annoying questions for the three-hour drive is rooted in a deeper need for distraction. Because if I’m not reading up about Mossville and asking August irritating questions, I’ll crumble, shattering under the weight of my grief.
As soon as he turns off the ignition, he’s out of the car. The trunk flies open before he removes the magazine from his gun, no doubt double checking that it’s loaded. A shudder races through me. I wouldn’t put it past Ricky to order one of his guys to kill me. He has no reason to. Not yet. St ill, August being armed unnerves me. I might have let it get to me if I didn’t have a pistol of my own sandwiched between a shoebox of cash and a fake passport in my oversized handbag.
“Move your ass, Nora. We have ten minutes until check-in closes.” He bangs the trunk shut and starts walking toward the entrance of the guesthouse.
Cursing myself as my feet race to catch up with him. I should lag behind, should force him to wait on me. But we’re alone, and August’s confidence in my willingness to obey him is a key part of my escape plan.
“Say nothing,” he warns, looking down at me for a second before he pushes the glass front door open.
A young woman scrolls through her phone at the desk in front of us. August clears his throat as he steps forward. I smile as her eyes devour him. Take it all in, honey.
“Hi, I made a reservation a few hours ago. August Lomax?” Lomax?
“Oh yeah, sure. It’s for a twin, but we don’t have any of those vacant. Is a suite okay?” She bats her lashes at him.
“No, it’s not,” I say, elbowing my way past August. “We’ll just take two rooms.” If he’s in a different room, it’ll be easier to get away.
“A suite is perfect, thanks…” He winks at the receptionist as he flicks his gaze to her nametag. “Kaylee.” He smiles at her; she blushes before turning to get the key from the back office. His arm drifts around my waist as he drags me against his body. “If you think I’m letting you out of my fucking sight, think again.” He whispers the words against the top of my head as the urge to scream shreds my insides.
“H ere ya go.” The bubbly clerk practically bounces out of the back office and hands the keys to August. “Enjoy.” She beams at him.
The warm press of his palm lands somewhere near the base of my spine, cringing away from his touch, does nothing to deter him. He applies the slightest pressure, urging me forward, to walk with him toward our room.
We stop in front of an ornate, white wooden door.
Room 507.
He slides the plastic key card into the lock. The soft pop of the door unlocking makes me jump.
Stepping forward, I push past him. It smells amazing in here . Like lavender and something else. Sucking in a deep breath, letting the soothing smell rush through my sinuses. August locks the door and follows me into the small living area. A three-seater sofa sits in the middle of the space. There’s a coffee table and a TV in front of it. Behind the sofa is a wide archway that leads to the only bedroom. The lush king-sized bed mocks me from over here. God, it looks heavenly.
Facing August, I say, “I’m not sharing a bed with you.”
“Suit yourself. But if you’re waiting for some grand chivalrous gesture, you’re about to be disappointed.” He stalks into the bedroom, kicks his shoes off, strips off his t-shirt and then pants. My throat dries at the sight of his thighs, his bare, tattooed back, his ass. God, in that moment, I’m no better than a man. “I’m sleeping in the bed. If you prefer it, you can take the couch. Looks comfortable enough,” he says as I flip him off.
I practically squeal, mortified, as his boxers follow the rest of his clothing into a pile on the floor.
“Jesus, August.” But he’s already marched, butt ass fucking naked, into the adjoining bathroom. A second later, the sound of the shower fills the room.
Deep calming breaths fill me as my eyes quickly scan the space. There’s no door connecting our room to another. The only way in or out is through the door we just used. Striding over to my bag, I pull a fresh pair of sweats out. It’s too hot to sleep in this, but I won’t get another chance to run. It has to be tonight. So, I dress for my escape. After pulling the sweats on, I fix my hair into a tight bun and drag my suitcase back to the short hallway that leads to the door.
The sound of the shower switching off reaches me. Scrambling back to the sofa, I move to quickly tuck my handbag under the coffee table. Dropping onto the soft cushions, pulling myself into a ball, my eyes land on the clock above the T’V., it’s ten PM already. August has to be as exhausted as me. I’m hedging all my bets on him falling into a deep sleep quickly, praying for the strength to hold my own tiredness at bay for long enough to get away from here. Anxiety pulses beneath my skin as he moves around the room. Forcing my breathing to steady, to slip into a serene state, one that lets him believe I’m truly asleep, is harder than expected. His footsteps move closer and a part of me wonders what he’ll see when he gets here—a scared, broken woman whose trauma has leached all the energy from her body? That’s what I’m aiming for, at least.
A few moments later, the ravening energy that usually surrounds him hovers over me. It’s comforting, which should disturb me, but when he drops a fleece blanket over me, my lips tug subtly. August is the walking definition of comforting violence. Seconds after the lights go out. And then my wait begins.
For almost three hours, I wait. Counting each second, as his breathi ng changes from wide awake to drifting, and then, when the deep rhythmic breathing of sleep settles over him, I move.
Sitting up slowly, I chance a peek over the back of the couch. He’s out. Well, it sounds like he is. But I need to be sure. Standing with deliberately cautious movements, moving as quietly as possible, I tiptoe to the bedroom. If he wakes up, I’ll say I need to use the bathroom. Stopping next to the bed, my eyes track the steady movement of his chest as it rises and falls in a steady rhythm. Carefully lowering my hand in front of his face, I wait for any reaction. When nothing happens, the smallest kernel of hope flickers to life inside my heart. I allow myself to believe, for the first time, that this might be possible. Holding my breath as my fingers reach for the car keys on the nightstand, gently lifting them before slowly slipping them into my pocket. Staring at him for one more second, a whisper of an apology weighs my heart down before I turn slowly, creeping back to the sofa.
After tugging my sneakers on, I grab my handbag before inching toward the door. The clicking sound of the lock could very well wake him, but there’s no way around it.
At the door, I pick up my overnight bag and say a silent prayer to the universe. Please. Just this once, please.
The door clicks open. I wait. Wasting a few precious seconds for any sign that he’s heard. Again, nothing happens. Pulling the door open, my feet move, stepping into the well-lit hallway, my breath catching in my throat as the door closes softly. Again, I wait. When nothing happens, I run.
Rushing as fast as I can, I make my way out of the slumbering guesthouse. The reception area is wrapped in darkness, but thank God the door’s unlocked. Quickly pushing it open, I race forward.
Sprinting forward, my hand digs into my pocket, pulling the car keys free. August parked a bit a way from the main entrance, and as I rush across the tarmac, I curse him a little for it.
The keys are sweaty in my palm; my hinger pushes the unlock button. The pop of the locks boom across the parking lot, the sound making me cringe. It’s not loud, but when there’s no other sound around, it’s as deafening as thunder. Hurrying to the back of the car, opening the trunk as silently as I can manage, I shove my overnight bag inside. Then, reaching into my purse, my fingers search for the pistol, before pulling it out. I want it on the seat next to me. My fingers, still slippery and nervous with sweat, wrap around the grip of the gun, and I take one more deep breath before pulling the trunk closed.
“Nora, stop.” August’s gravelly voice pierces the silence of the parking lot.
My head shoots up, my pulse thundering in my ears. He’s at the door to the guesthouse. Close. But not close enough. With the gun clasped in my hand, and my money and passport tucked into the handbag slung around my chest, my panic rises inside me for a moment as my eyes follow the single step he takes toward me.
I have less than a second to decide.
Stay or go.
Trust my gut or trust him.
Less than a second to decide the fate of my entire life.
“Fuck it,” I whisper as I turn away from him.
Spinning on my heel, I flee the parking lot, barely hearing his muffled ‘ shit ’ a moment before the heavy slap of his footfalls echo behind me as he gives chase.
The guesthouse is in the middle of the small town. Dark stores of the sleeping town race past me as I sprint away from August. My feet, devouring the concrete paving of the sidewalk with ravenous determination, dash past re staurant after restaurant, gift stores, a pharmacy, more restaurants, and a clothing store. All of them blur in my peripheral vision as I take off, darting toward my freedom.
I have to find somewhere to hide. Flying past the business district of the town, fear prickles along my spine; I’m at the end of the road. August’s behind me. I can hear him. I can hear how close he is. Rounding a corner, I push myself to keep going.
To run.
To fly.
To race across the fucking town.
But I need to find somewhere to hide. Fuck .
Turning abruptly at an intersection, the sound of the ocean is suddenly louder. No, shit. I can’t end up on the beach. He’ll catch me for sure.
“Nora!” he bellows behind me.
Oh God.
Oh God.
Oh God.
Shooting forward, my lungs burn with the effort it takes to stay just a breath away from him. I can’t stop moving. I can’t. Taking another corner, my legs feel gelatinous with exhaustion as my body practically flies into a dark alley between two restaurants. A second later, I’m slammed into a wall.
My back is an inferno of pain. My shoulder too. The force of his body crashing into mine, the force of mine crashing into the immovable wall… Christ, it’s like being hit with an anvil from both sides. His breath saws in and out of his lungs, and the air shift around us as my heart races wildly.
He presses his body against mine. Every hard angle, each stoney muscle, pushes against me. An d then, in one quick move, he rips the gun out of my hand, shifting his weight, forcing my chest against his.
The freezing cold barrel of my gun slides under my chin. He pushes at it slightly until I’m looking up at him. Rage simmering in his eyes meets the fear burning deep in my own.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I beg quietly.
“You know I can’t promise that, Nora.”