Chapter 11
Sean
We’re officially off-grid. Which is a polite way of saying: we’re fucked.
After leaving the church, I ditched the SUV, wiped it clean, and switched rides. Twice. I also got rid of our phones and picked up a burner. I’ve had this contingency plan in my back pocket for weeks. I just didn’t expect to use it so soon.
Now we’re parked in front of a motel that looks like it rents rooms by the hour. Paint’s peeling, and the neon “VACANCY” sign buzzes like it’s trying to electrocute my last nerve, but it’s two hours from Atlanta. Far enough to buy us some time.
Aro questioned me on this choice, but hopefully, it will take Marcus a while to realize what I’ve done. I sent him a text telling him I was taking her to a safe house, which I am. It’s just not his safe house.
Aro’s curled in the passenger seat, wearing my tuxedo jacket. Her bare legs are pulled up into the seat, and I can’t let myself think too long about what she has, or doesn’t have, on underneath.
“Got any cash on you?” I ask, flipping through my wallet like I don’t already know the answer.
She shoots me a look. “Oh, sure. Let me just pull it out of my ass cheeks.”
Bite me, I almost say. Instead, I just raise a brow.
She huffs. “No, Sean. No cash. My purse is in Marcus’s other SUV, and I didn’t exactly plan on fleeing a forced wedding in just lingerie.”
Right. That one’s on me. Sort of.
“I’ve got enough for a room,” I say. “It won’t be nice. Don’t touch the comforter.”
He nose scrunches up. “Is Marcus expecting us back tomorrow?”
I keep my expression neutral. “Maybe. Depends on how things go.”
She nods slowly, then looks away. I don’t like lying to her, but I like the idea of handing her back to Marcus even less.
Watching her almost get married to that piece of shit practically killed me.
We’re lucky we were interrupted, because I was seconds away from throwing out an objection.
Or a bullet. Who the fuck coerces a woman into something like that? Marcus, that’s who.
I head inside, pay with my cash using a fake name, and obtain a room key. The teenage girl behind the desk doesn’t ask questions, because she doesn’t care. That bodes well for us.
Back in the car, I toss Aro the silver key attached to a plastic green card that reads the number 13.
I pull around the building to get closer before hustling her into the room.
It’s on the first floor, thank God. She’s barefoot and barely dressed, and if any other motel guests had gotten an eyeful, I would’ve buried someone behind the dumpster.
The small room’s clean enough. The lighting is dim, and it practically screams ‘cheap,’ but the freedom is represents makes it feel like a palace.
While I check the locks and sweep for anything suspicious, Aro strips out of my jacket. I swear, this woman was made to test me. She’s constantly stripping and changing and even fucking in front of me. She pads over to the bathroom, slightly limping on one side.
“You hurt?” I ask, already scanning her, looking for the cause.
“Just scraped up. I’ll live,” she mutters, vanishing behind the door.
I hear the shower kick on, and for a minute, I allow myself to breathe.
Then, I go back to the office.
I need first aid supplies, and I need a minute to think. Marcus thinks I took her to his safe house. Aro thinks I’m bringing her back eventually. I have maybe 48 hours before one of them calls bullshit.
She doesn’t love him. I know that. Hell, she can barely look him in the eye. But she’s still stuck. Still tethered to something I don’t fully understand. Until I do, I can’t tell her the truth.
The girl at the front desk hands over a dusty old first aid kit that looks like it hasn’t been opened since Y2K, but it’ll do. I figure it has to, at the bare minimum, have a few bandages and hopefully some antibiotic ointment.
When I return, Aro’s lying on her stomach on the bed, hair damp, towel barely clinging to her hips.
She’s flipping channels like she didn’t just escape a gang shootout.
Her legs kick lazily in the air. Even from here I can see her feet are a mess.
They’re torn up from the woods, and she’s pretending it’s nothing.
“Come sit. Let me take a look,” I say.
“I’m fine.” She doesn’t move a muscle.
I count to three I my head. “Good thing I wasn’t asking. Sit.”
She narrows her eyes. “You’re so fucking bossy.”
“You have no idea,” I mumble, opening the kit.
With a sigh, she finally sits up and moves to the edge of the bed. I kneel in front of her, grab her ankle, and ease her foot into my lap. Carefully, I roll it to the side so I can see the damage. Her skin is hot, scraped, and starting to swell. Not good.
I gently clean the wounds, apply ointment, and start bandaging the worst of them. She hisses but doesn’t pull away.
“This is why I’m bossy. You don’t take care of yourself. You’d walk on this till it turned septic, then wonder why we’re amputating.”
Her mouth drops open. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” I agree, chuckling, finishing the wrap.
Reaching for her other foot, I repeat the process. We sit in comfortable silence, her just watching me work.
“Stay off your feet, at least for tonight. Pretty sure the adhesive on these bandages expired before you were born.”
Instead of releasing her, I keep my hand on her ankle, gently stroking it with my thumb. I see goosebumps rise on her long, tan legs, and my eyes follow them up to the hem of her towel. That fucking tiny towel.
“Ugh!” she snaps, yanking her leg back. “You’re so confusing!”
“How so?”
“Because you’re gay! But you look at me like... that.” She points an accusing finger.
I meet her eyes, calm and steady. I’m tired of lying. It’s time to fess up. “I’m not gay.”
“What? Yes you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“But you said… at your job interview…”
“I said what I had to, to get the job. From the moment I walked into that room and saw Marcus, I knew he was a possessive prick. Then, you had to start asking inappropriate questions, and the only way I could think to salvage things was if Marcus thought I wouldn’t be a threat.”
She blinks, processing that information, then her face pales.
“Oh my God! You let me prance around in my underwear.”
I shrug. “I highly enjoyed that. I’m not sorry.”
She groans into her hands, and I can’t help the grin that tugs at my mouth.
“Make no mistake, Aro,” I say, voice low. “I love women. I love feeling their soft bodies in my hands, tasting them… fucking them.” Her chest heaves with every declaration I make, and she bites down on her delicious bottom lip.
“You can’t talk to me like that,” she whispers. “I’m with Marcus.”
“You don’t have to be,” I say, stroking her knee with my thumb. “I can get you out. Keep you safe. All you have to do is say the word.”
She looks at me, and for a second, something cracks. Hope leaks in, but then she shuts down just as fast.
Her voice is flat. “I can’t leave. And I don’t want to.”
It’s a lie, but I let her have it.
I nod and stand. “Stay off your feet,” I say quietly, and walk into the bathroom.
I take a quick shower. Just long enough to rinse off the sweat clinging to my skin. When I get out, I dry off and change into just my boxer briefs. I know it’s not ideal, but I’m not sleeping in slacks like I’m still on duty. She’ll survive.
When I step back into the room, the lights are off, the TV is silent, and Aro is asleep. Or pretending to be. Hard to tell.
The bed’s not big, but it’s not small either. I slide in on my side, careful not to make the mattress dip too much. I tell myself it’s because I need rest. That I need to be sharp tomorrow. That sleeping in a chair would make me useless if things go south.
Truth is, I just want to be close to her.
“What are you doing?” she whispers from the dark.
“Going to bed. What does it look like?”
“You’re not sleeping in the chair?”
“Why would I do that? The bed’s plenty big enough for the both of us.”
She makes a skeptical noise. “Fine. But stay on your side. If Marcus hears about this, he’ll flip his shit.”
Like I haven’t thought about that. Like it’s not already weighing on me.
I stay silent, and eventually, her breathing starts to slow. The tension leaves her frame, inch by inch, like it’s being siphoned out by the dark.
When I’m sure she’s asleep, I roll over, careful and quiet. Her back is to me. Her dark curls are scattered across the pillow like ink in water. I reach out, unable to help myself, and gently twirl one between my fingers. It’s so soft. I force myself to let it go, even though I don’t want to.
Then, because I’m weak—or maybe because I’m human—I peek under the edge of the covers.
She’s back in the lingerie from earlier.
No towel. No defenses. I drag in a slow breath and turn back over, facing the wall.
Every cell in my body is screaming. I clench my fists beneath the pillow and lock everything down. .
Jesus, this woman is going to be the death of me.
Not Marcus.
Not whatever fallout’s coming tomorrow.
Her.
∞∞∞
I wake before she does.
Somehow, at some point during the night, she ended up tangled around me. Her head on my shoulder, arm draped across my chest, one leg hooked over mine. Practically wrapped in a bow.
And we’re on my side of the bed. That part shouldn’t matter, but it does.
She crossed the line. Not me. I didn't touch her first.
I let myself enjoy it for a second. Just a second.
Her face is soft in sleep. Somehow younger without all the armor.
She’s usually fire and sarcasm and perfectly arched brows.
But like this? She’s just... Aro. And Jesus, she’s beautiful.
Not just in the obvious ways, but in the ways that sneak up on you.
The clever comebacks. The way she reads people like a book.
The moments she pretends she’s unaffected, even though I know better.
She’s younger than me. Not by a mile, but enough. I’m thirty-four. I’ve got a past and baggage and more blood on my hands than I can ever wash off.
But I still want her.
I know what I have to do now. The plan clicked into place sometime after 3 a.m. Probably around the time she exhaled in her sleep and pressed even closer. I know what has to happen next. She’s not going to like it. In fact, she might fight me, but she’ll be safe, and that’s all that matters.
She starts to stir, and I feel the exact second she realizes where she is… where I am. She goes stiff, then tries to pull away like I’m made of fire. I tighten my arms around her, gentle, but firm.
“Dammit, Sean. Let me go.”
“No can do,” I murmur. “You wanted to cuddle, Baby. So now we’re cuddling.”
“Oh, fuck you. It was cold last night.”
“Mmhmm. Tell yourself whatever helps you sleep.”
She groans with pure frustration and smacks her face into my chest with a dramatic little shriek. But then... her hand moves. Lower. Trails across my stomach like it owns the place.
“Aro,” I warn, but it comes out rougher than I mean it to.
Then, her hand finds me, stiff with morning wood, and she gives me a little squeeze.
“Shit,” I gasp, breath catching hard.
I don’t mean to react that way, but I do. Full-body electric jolt.
And just like that, she’s up and out of the bed like I lit a match under her.
Smug doesn’t even begin to cover the look on her face.
“Men,” she says, flipping her hair like she’s on a runway. “You’re all so predictable.”
I prop myself on one elbow and grin at her. “I’ll be as predictable as you want. Especially if you keep touching me like that.” I waggle my brows at her.
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the hint of a smile before she turns away.
She stomps toward the bathroom, all righteous indignation and bare skin. But all I can focus on is how her round, perfect ass moves with every step.
The bathroom door slams, and she’s gone. I flop back onto the pillow and stare at the ceiling. It’s gonna be a long, fucking day.
By this afternoon, she might hate me, but, at least she’ll be free.
After throwing on my clothes, I step outside the room.
With my back to the door, I send a text with our ETA to the only number I saved in the burner phone.
The man I contacted only a few weeks ago is about to be our saving grace.
I’ve never been happier to have made a contingency plan, than I am right now.
Something in me just knew she was going to need it.
I knew Marcus was going off the rails. I just didn’t know how fast.
Now, every step we take away from him feels like a countdown. I’ve got a small window—maybe hours—to get Aro somewhere safe before all hell breaks loose, because make no mistake: once Marcus realizes I went rogue, he’s going to burn the state down looking for us.
I tuck the burner phone into my back pocket and scan the lot. Still quiet. There’re no signs we’ve been followed, but I can’t trust quiet anymore. Not in this world. Quiet just means the next hit hasn’t landed yet.
Back inside, the motel room smells like cheap wallpaper and frayed nerves. The sink’s running. A bottle hits the countertop, followed by a muffled curse. She’s probably out of hand soap. Or patience.
I run a hand down my face. I should be thinking about logistics.
About the drop point. The route. The contact waiting.
But all I can think about is the way she looked next to me in the bed.
Sleep-warm and vulnerable. The way she smiled when she thought I wasn’t looking.
The way her hand moved this morning, slow and bold and teasing like she didn’t know it was enough to ruin me.
She knows.
She knows exactly what she’s doing.
The bathroom door opens and she stomps out. Her eyes catch mine, and for a second, neither of us says anything.
“Breakfast?” I ask, tossing her a granola bar and a bottle of water. “We don’t stop once we hit the road.”
She catches both and tears the wrapper open with her teeth. “Is this some kind of field trip? Are we going to play ‘I Spy’ while you drive me across state lines?”
“This isn’t a field trip.”
She rolls her eyes.
I give her a minute. She swallows her bites of granola like it’s gravel, then nods once.
“Fine. I’m ready.”
We pack quickly. I check the room again, wipe surfaces, collect our trash. When I’m satisfied we’ve left nothing behind, we slip out the door into the morning haze.
I open the passenger door for her. She pauses, eyeing me.
“Where are we going?”
“To a safe house.”
She frowns. “Where?”
“You’ll see.”
She doesn’t press again. Just slides into the seat and buckles up.
I shut the door, circle to the driver’s side, and slide in. The key turns in the ignition, the engine hums, and just like that, we’re in motion. Out of the motel parking lot and out of Marcus’s reach, for now.
I glance over at her. She’s staring straight ahead, one hand fisted in the edge of the tux jacket like it’s the only thing tethering her to the world. I want to reach for her. Want to say something soft. But I don’t.
Instead, I adjust the rearview mirror, hit the gas, and drive.