Chapter 23
Ayla
I wasn’t exactly expecting a five-star luxury hotel, but the outside entry motel whose sign only works three out of every ten seconds is much worse than I let myself consider.
There’s no level of safety, no sense of security at the idea of going inside one of those rooms. My skin crawls with just the thought of it, which also makes me feel like a jerk.
Angel hasn’t once pretended to like me. The man can’t stand the sight of me, and I have no doubt, given the chance, he’d put that bullet in my head that he’d planned on the first time we met.
Not that I would, but I don’t think explaining to him why I did what I did would help.
I stared at the scarred flesh on the back of his neck.
The man was just as much a victim of Raul Cortez as Nash and I are.
It makes me wonder why he’s so hell-bent on hating me.
He has to know what it was like, what power they wield over their captives.
His hatred is misplaced, although I get a very strong feeling he hates Cortez just as much. He seems to have it in reserves.
As I watch a man leave his room, having to pause just outside the door to hack and cough until he spits something on the concrete, I want to argue that taking our chances with the patrols happening at the border would be the better choice.
Any one of these men has the ability to hurt me, and that includes Nash and Angel.
Trusting anyone ever again will never happen.
After what I’ve been through, I can’t even imagine it.
Angel didn’t say a word when he climbed out of the truck five minutes ago. He’s not going to assuage my fears or tell me everything will be okay. If anything, I bet, he gets a certain kind of thrill, knowing I’m afraid.
My hands start to tremble when he leaves the front office, wondering if he’s going to insist we all share a room.
The man doesn’t owe me a damn thing, but I hope he dislikes me enough to at least grab two rooms. As tired as I am, I’d never be capable of sleep if he were in the room with me.
Deep down, I think the man is waiting to follow through what Cerberus stopped him from doing two days ago.
I press myself even closer to the door, the plastic molding of the thing digging into my back when Angel pulls open the back driver’s side door.
His meaty fist clasps the strap of an overnight bag, his eyes darting up to mine.
He seems pleased to know that he terrifies me, but at least the man doesn’t goad me for it.
“Nash, you’re with me,” he says, his own irritation abundantly clear in his growly tone. “You got the other room.”
The key he tosses my way hits my chest before falling to the seat at my hip.
“We’ve got 207 and you’re in 205,” he says before slamming the door back and walking toward the stairs to the second floor of the shitty motel.
“Come on,” Nash urges as he opens his door. “I bet you’d like a shower and a good night’s sleep.”
I climb out of the back of the truck wordlessly. I can’t argue with him. I’m in no position to ask for favors, and my head is racing at what Angel will expect for paying for this room.
“The key,” I say before he can close the door after I climb out.
I swipe it from the seat quickly, well aware of my vulnerable state when I bend into the massive truck.
My feet are tired from walking so much today, but it’s trepidation that makes me catch the toe of my shoe on the cracked asphalt.
Nash slows but doesn’t reach out to me, something I’m grateful for.
We walk past Angel when he stops at the iron cage protecting the vending machine from thieves.
“Do you want something?” Nash asks as he hitches his thumb over his shoulder.
“No thank you,” I manage, my eyes zeroing in on the stairs that lead up to the second floor.
I’m not exactly thrilled about this motel, but despite not being completely safe, I know it’s safer out of sight in one of the rooms.
Angel has managed to catch up with us by the time I’m standing outside of room 205. My hand trembles, the key in my grip already slippery from my sweating hand. I feel like crying, the threat of tears burning the backs of my eyes as I try to insert the metal into the lock.
“Are you going to be okay?” Nash asks, his voice low and concerned.
I clench my jaw, knowing that more of my weakness is showing. I don’t answer him as the key finds purchase, and the lock gives way. I step inside, unconcerned about the mildewy smell that greets me. Without a response, I close the door, flipping the lock once I’m able.
I swallow against the threat of vomit, at the way the fabric of the armchair on the other side of the room is somehow both damp to the touch but also dried out and crunchy.
I drag the piece of furniture to the door, pressing it under the door handle as if the giant window to the left of the door isn’t there.
I know it’s a false sense of security. I know that if there were anyone that wanted to get into this room, they could do so easily without breaking a sweat.
The growl of male voices doesn’t help calm me any as I press my ear to the door.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Did you see the way her fucking hands were trembling?” Nash asks. “She could barely unlock the fucking door.”
“So you’re just going to fucking sit out here all night?”
There’s no answer, and I don’t have the ability to see what’s going on without moving the curtain, something I know won’t go unnoticed by the two men outside. The lack of a peephole makes being in here that much more dangerous.
I jerk back at the vibration of a thumb against the door. My hands trembling more than they did when I tried to gain access to the room.
“Fucking ridiculous,” Angel growls. “Might as well knock on the fucking door and see if she’ll let you sleep in the extra bed.”
I’m stone, frozen in place with the man’s suggestion.
“Why don’t you just go to the room and fuck off?” Nash snaps.
“I don’t know which fucking Nash is worse, the one that smiled and thought life was a fucking joke or this asshole.”
“Get used to this one,” Nash grunts. “The other guy died in Monterrey.”
I feel his words deep in my own soul, knowing full well there’s no way to recover a hundred percent from what we’ve both been through. It’s not only the physical scars left behind but the mental shit that will haunt us forever.
I’ll never get into a car at night without my heart racing, warning me that I’m in danger. I’ll never go another day without looking over my shoulder. I’ll never be capable of being intimate with a man without thinking of all the horrible things I’ve done.
I may be out from under Cortez’s control, but I’ll never be free of him. I know even if I were able to stand over his body and watch the life drain from his eyes, that I’ll never feel safe, not the way I thought I was before I was taken.