15. Avery
AVERY
My fingertips dig into her skin from the force I hold her with. She has seen too much, heard too much, and I am clinging to my last strength, close to forgetting the promise I once made.
“Walk away,” I say threateningly while my hands clutch onto her as if she is the last hope of survival.
“I can’t,” she whispers. “I won’t.”
“You have to,” I whisper, darkly. “Because I won’t change for you, I won’t be more human because you need me to. I don’t change for anyone but me.”
My voice gets threateningly dark. “I can already see it in your eyes. The hope that there is some part of me you don’t hate. But you do hate me. You should hate me, because I am a selfish, arrogant, entitled, grandiose.”
Her eyes flicker at me.
And then she kisses me.
Her lips meet mine.
And for just one moment, there is nothing else.
Just her and me.
No FBI, no conwoman, no Hedda, no past.
Just us.
A soft moan overcomes her as our lips consume each other.
A moan that goes straight into my soul.
It touches me somewhere so deep—
It can’t be—
I stop the kiss.
“You don’t want me,” I say silently.
“But I do,” she says in a painful voice.
“No, you don’t,” I breathe out. “What you want is the idea of me, because I’m everything you are against. I am the impersonation of everything you don’t allow yourself to be.
The outlaw, the rulebreaker, the romanticized version of parts you deny.
Nothing else. So, walk away now,” I say, and let go of her like electrocuted, and push myself away.
Turning away from her. From the feeling she just gave me.
One I cannot feel.
One that cannot be.
One I promised never to have again.
Images flash through my mind.
It needs to be gone.
The walls are closing in on me.
She’s still standing where I left her.
Staring at me with a fierce gaze.
I can’t—
“Walk away!” I roar at her. “Get out of here!”
My temples hurt, and I grasp them.
I rub my hands along them as the stabbing pain shoots through my head.
My vision blurs.
She can’t see me fall apart like this.
She can’t—
I can’t—
I need to get away.
Run.
Far away.
My heart stumbles in my chest.
One last look.
And then, I run.
Grab the Porsche’s keys and run. I have no time for the elevator, so I climb up the stairs and open the roof hatch, climb through it, climb over the roof to the fire ladder, and jump down the stairs until I’m all the way down, hang, and drop the last six feet to the ground.
I feel caged. Tracked. Backed into a corner.
And I am not going to let that happen.
Never again.
I enter the garage from outside, run to the Porsche, and the moment I sit in my lioness, I breathe in properly.
I have my hands on the wheel as the V6 roars through the garage. I already know what I have to do.
I fumble the phone from my pocket.
“Rossi,” I say breathlessly. “It’s the day.”
“You sure?” he asks.
“Yes, Rossi, I am sure. Meet me there in ten. Leave Omar where he is; I don’t wanna see his face.”
“He could help,” Rossi says.
“Rossi, it will take you five seconds.”
“Okay, okay,” he says. “You owe me a wine after that.”
“I owe you a spanking of your face with a pan for your own stupidity,” I say.
“Someone ate lemons this morning,” he says.
“I’ll throw one in your face if you don’t get yourself in clothes and are there the minute I arrive. Ten minutes, starting now,” I say angrily and hang up.
Ten minutes later, I arrive at our planned spot, where either one of us needs a quick getaway at Tudor City Greens Park. Rossi is already there, standing as a police officer next to a driver and giving him a ticket. Not just any driver, but Omar.
Gods, Rossi, I hate you.
He pretends to stop me, and I halt in the last possible moment in front of him, just to scare him. Only he knows I’d never.
“Seriously,” I start angrily as I get out, but I am silenced.
“Everything you need is in the car,” he says. “Omar will take your lioness to Aunt Bertha; you can pick her up when she’s needed.”
“You told him about Bertha?!”
“He saved my ass, love. I love him.”
“You need therapy,” I tell him. “I’m not giving him my girl.”
“Babe, you will, because everything you need is in that stolen car right there, and it will get them off your tail. Now, get going; the forty-five seconds are almost up.”
I curse indistinguishably, walk up to Omar, and stare him straight in the eyes.
“If anything happens to her, I will—“
“She will be fine,” he says with a laugh. “Just like Rossi. Now, go.”
I go, because he smells like he sucked dick all day, and I just can’t.
When I’m in, I hold out my leg.
“Do it,” I say to Rossi, who stands at the open door.
“Are you sure sure?” he asks.
“I will cut your head off if you don’t do it now,” I say threateningly.
“Okay,” he says and takes the bolt cutter. “Good luck.”
The ankle monitor falls off my leg, its alarm blaring.
“I don’t need luck,” I say darkly. “I am too good for luck.”
With that, I drive off into the night.
I let down the car window.
Air streams into my lungs.
I can breathe again.
I am free.
Who cares if I always have to watch my back when I am free?
Being free is the only thing that matters.