CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Tierney
I chugged two bottles of water as soon as I stumbled out of the motel, trying to push the nausea down my throat. I was numb head to toe, injured ankle included.
Achilles was getting married. It had never occurred to me that he would. Technically, there was no reason for him not to—he had a banging body, a fat bank account, and that dark, simmering energy that made women drop their panties. Why the hell not?
Well…because he was Achilles. My Achilles. The only woman to ever chart for him, for better or worse, was me.
I realized how shitty that sounded, even in my head, as I tramped my way to a car rental place where a vehicle was waiting for me.
Achilles made all the arrangements—maps, transportation, another fake passport, the routes I should take—to get me out of here and to safety.
I should definitely have been more grateful than I was, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him screwing the faceless Katya Rasputin.
Soon to be Katya Ferrante.
Igor’s daughter.
The one I’d never met, since she hadn’t been sent to the Siberian camp her brothers were subjected to.
A fresh bout of bile traveled up my throat, threatening to spill out.
I had zero recollection of walking to the rental place, so it was a good thing I didn’t have to fill out any paperwork.
Achilles said to just dump the vehicle across the border and pay for my next ride in cash.
Maybe I was growing into someone resembling my age, because for once, I decided to listen.
The car they gave me was a white Dacia Sandero.
One of the most popular cars in Europe, hence entirely unremarkable.
Muttering my thanks, I slid into the driver’s seat and took out the maps Achilles gave me from my backpack.
I was heading east, to Slovenia. I punched the address into the GPS device and started my journey.
My next stop after Slovenia was Austria—Vienna—before finally arriving in Prague.
It gave me some time to marinate in my own thoughts. Thoughts I’d managed to push to the periphery of my mind because I was too busy surviving.
An hour into my drive, I couldn’t take it anymore. Achilles said not to contact Tiernan for at least a year, but my emotions overrode my logic.
I took out my burner and called Tiernan. The damn phone didn’t have a speaker option, so I had to hold it to my ear. He answered on the first ring.
“Jesus fuck,” he spat out. “I’ve been worried sick. Where have you been?”
“Achilles found me.”
“I gathered.”
“And…” I sucked in a breath. “He let me go.”
He smacked his lips. “That’s the least the motherfucker could d—”
“You can’t tell anyone I gave you a sign of life,” I cut him off. “There’s a mole around you.”
“No one will know,” he conceded. But I knew it wasn’t true. He’d tell Lila. That was okay with me, though, because Lila was the last person who’d snitch.
“All I wanted was to let you know that I was okay and not to kill Achilles when he comes back and says he offed me.”
“Bleeding fucking Christ,” he muttered. “You should hang up. The longer we talk, the more likely—”
“Wait,” I blurted out.
“Yeah?”
“Katya Rasputin…” I trailed off.
“What about her?”
“What do you know about her?”
I’d die before admitting to him I was jealous. But I was. The thought of Achilles putting a baby in that woman, watching her give birth, pouring the tiny amount of love he had in his heart into that baby made me sick and feral with jealousy. It ripped at my skin. I couldn’t bear it.
“Not a ton.” Tiernan’s voice took on a bored lilt. “She’s nineteen, maybe twenty. Goes to college somewhere in New England. Keeps to herself.”
“Is she pretty?” My voice was unnaturally thick.
“The fuck should I know?”
“You’ve met her plenty.”
“I don’t look at women who aren’t my wife,” he scoffed.
Then, sensing my urgency, he blew out a breath.
“But I guess she’s not terrible looking.
Nothing to write home about but not appalling.
She isn’t Lila.” I rolled my eyes at the pathetic longing in his voice.
“And… She isn’t you, either, sis,” he finished.
“You would say that, wouldn’t you.” Tears filled my vision.
“I’m an honest cunt, for all intents and purposes.”
“That, you are.”
“We need to hang up befo—”
“Achilles is set to marry her.”
There was a pregnant pause. “So I heard.”
“Do you think she’ll make him happy?”
I wanted him to be happy, but I didn’t want him to be happy with another woman. It made me feel like my stomach was ripped apart by hungry wolves.
“I don’t think Achilles can be happy with anyone who isn’t you.”
Whether he said it out of loyalty to me or because he meant it was irrelevant. It was exactly what I needed to hear in that moment.
Pressing my lips together, I plastered on a smile so he could hear it. “I love you, Tiernan.”
“Take care.” It was an order, not a wish. “And if you need anything, call.”
He hung up.
It took me four hours to drive to Ljubljana. It was a straight shot, no bathroom breaks. I drove with the same urgency Tiernan and I had when we escaped the work camp at fourteen. Like my ass was on fire.
Once in Ljubljana, I finally did something that wasn’t obsessing over Achilles’s upcoming nuptials—and that was to pee my own weight.
As soon as I stopped at a gas station, I ripped out of the driver’s seat and ran to the restroom and peed my life away.
When I stared down at my panties, bunched around my thighs, I noticed white dots of Achilles’s cum staining the fabric.
That, along with the dull, stretchy pain between my thighs reminded me that we’d screwed each other’s brains out not even six hours ago.
While he knew he was betrothed. He could’ve said something before I jumped into bed with him.
Would that have changed things?
Honestly? No.
It wasn’t a real marriage and they weren’t a real couple. And maybe this obsession went both ways, because something told me I would always jump Achilles’s bones given the chance, no matter the circumstances.
It made me understand other women. The side pieces who preferred to take something over nothing, even if it broke their hearts and abolished their honor.
Oh my God, what was wrong with me? He was right. The first thing I was going to do after renting an apartment and buying a car was getting a therapist. Maybe two. Maybe six.
Exiting the restroom, I stocked up on water, energy bars, and gum at the convenience store.
I walked out, leaving the car behind, knowing full well no one could track me down at this station, seeing as I was hidden under a ball cap and in a huge black hoodie I’d stolen from Achilles.
It still smelled like him, and I was mad at myself for wasting his scent when I should’ve rationed it.
Kept it in my backpack for the next time I needed a hit.
I made my way to the nearest main street, hopped on a bus, and didn’t get off until I spotted a busy flea market along the river. There, I approached an elderly man with a casket hat and suspenders. He sat at an empty booth, trying to sell ancient-looking books and records without any success.
“What kind of car do you have?” I asked in English.
He didn’t look up from his books, rearranging them on the small table. “Why you want to know?”
“I’ll buy it from you for double its price.”
That grabbed his attention. His gaze shot up to meet mine. “Renault Clio.”
“How old?”
“Five years.”
I nodded. “What’s that, like, sixteen thousand Euros?” I took a wild guess, but I wasn’t too worried about paying triple the market price. Money wasn’t an issue. Between Achilles and Tiernan, I’d have plenty of it.
“Something like that.” His eyes swept over me curiously.
“I’ll buy it off you for thirty-two thousand. Cash.” I stuck out my hand.
He looked around us, probably wondering if this was a prank. “I can’t leave my things here. I… The paperwork…”
“Don’t need it.” I shook my head. “Take the money, give me the car, and don’t ask any questions.”
He stared at me in disbelief before nodding. “Yes. I agree to this deal of yours, strange girl.”
An hour later, I was driving in a stranger’s car toward Austria.
The drive to Vienna took four and a half more hours, and by the time I arrived, I was way too exhausted to keep on going.
I wanted to eat, drink, use the bathroom, take a shower, and get a good night’s sleep.
Now that I knew Achilles wasn’t after me—that he was actively throwing people off my scent to help me hide—I could do all that. In theory.
In practice, as I checked into a hotel in Hietzing—a far cry from the seedy motel in Venice—all I could do was go through the motions.
Bathroom. Shower. Room service. I chewed my food robotically without even realizing what I was eating until the plate was half-empty and my stomach gave out.
Then I curled into a ball on the bed, weeping quietly, rocked by the realization that the love of my life was about to marry someone else.