6. Chloe
CHAPTER SIX
CHLOE
NOW
It’s been a long time since the urge to run has felt so strong.
Every nerve ending screams at me to flee, to get as far away from the men that plague my nightmares as I can get, and yet I’m too scared to do anything other than hide in this room.
Kovu watches the door intently, as if he’s ready to get between me and whatever comes through it, and I can’t help but feel grateful Camilla got herself involved with a bunch of ruthless psychopaths.
I creep closer to the door, my feet dragging me forward as the voices become louder. I’m pretty sure both brothers are on the other side, as well as Ryker, but I can’t explain why he’s here or how he even knew the address because I didn’t give it to him before I left.
Regardless of how he got here, some of my terror relinquishes at the knowledge that my not-bodyguard can get me home safely.
What I’m going to do after that, I’m not so sure.
Trembling hand hovering over the handle, I pull in a deep breath before opening it just a crack.
I can’t stay in here forever, and knowing how pigheaded the Lombardi men can be, they’re much more likely to wait me out than I am them.
Deep amber eyes meet mine, relief moving through the normally calm depths. Ryker has both hands shoved into his pockets, his body relaxed despite the obviously tense moment he’s walked into.
“Chloe.” The single word coming from the lips of the first boy I ever kissed, hell, the boy that has all of my firsts, almost brings me to my knees.
Like a moth to a flame, my eyes connect with Ronan’s, and all the air around me disappears. Gone is the lanky teenager I once knew with an air of innocence that had no place in a family as ruthless as his.
The hurt and anger swirling around the deep green makes my chest ache for him, but I force myself to look away, to break the connection before it can destroy me.
I don’t realize I’ve started crying until a tear touches my lips, but it makes sense. Coming face to face with your first love and heartbreak after ten years of running is enough to make anyone cry.
Damon’s face is a picture of fury. Once upon a time he looked at me like I was his everything, but now it’s like I’m nothing. Like the gum on the bottom of his shoe. Trash.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop a sob from escaping. I can fall apart once I’m safe, once I’m home in my own bed, where I can decide what to do next.
“You ready to go, Siren?” Ryker’s words are calm and even, but the nickname he’s never used before has confusion mixing with the war of other emotions rioting inside me.
He’s probably just establishing that I’ll be leaving with him and no one else, so I just give him a short nod as I settle my gaze on the worn carpet beneath their feet.
Bishop turns, his body blocking me from the rest of the men, and I don’t hesitate to look up at him. “Are you okay to go with Ryker?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Let him drive your car, and we’ll deal with the De Marco vehicle later.”
“Okay.”
“Chloe.” Damon barks my name, and I can’t help the whimper that slips from my throat.
“That’s enough,” Bishop snaps, turning his attention on the brothers.
“My woman and father are missing, and I will not be entertaining any of your bullshit, Damon. Chloe is family, which means anyone that wishes her harm will answer to the Syndicate. Do I make myself clear?” Every word out of his mouth is its own threat, and I stare at his back with parted lips.
He sounds threatening as fuck. I had no idea the most reserved of the four could sound so terrifying.
“She owes us an explanation,” Damon forces through gritted teeth, and I peek out from behind Bishop to meet Ryker’s eyes again.
I swallow around the bile climbing my throat and meet the ice-blue eyes that were once familiar. Now he’s nothing but a stranger. “I owe you nothing.” My voice comes out even despite how hard my heart beats inside my chest, the organ trying to escape from the confines of my ribcage.
Before either of them can argue, I slip under Bishop’s arm and straight into Ryker’s.
He turns quickly, blocking me from the brothers, and quickly ushers me forward.
His lips press to the shell of my ear. “Go. I’m right behind you.”
I don’t hesitate.
Leaving Ryker feels wrong, but he can take care of himself. Camilla never would have hired him as my bodyguard if he weren't capable, and I remind myself of that as I breeze past the room of mafia leaders, pretending not to notice the fleeing woman with tears rolling down her cheeks.
The door swings open just as I’m approaching, and I half expect someone else from my past to step through, because honestly, that would just be the cherry on the fucking sundae.
But someone I don’t recognize steps into the room, and I slip past them, not pausing for a second longer than I need to. I don’t make it halfway down the hallway before I break into a sprint, bypassing the elevator in favor of the stairs.
I’m not a runner, and despite keeping in shape all these years for moments just like this one, I’m still panting by the time I make it to my car, but I don’t stop until I’m behind the wheel with the doors locked.
I grasp the wheel, dragging in gasping breaths that do nothing to settle the pure terror in my chest.
I need to leave.
I’m not sure where I’m going to go, but I can’t stay in New York.
Not now they know this is where I’ve been hiding out for the last decade.
The breathing exercises I’ve spent years relying on aren’t doing a goddamn thing to settle my anxiety, and the black spots edging into my vision tell me I’m seconds away from a panic attack. It’s been a while since I’ve had one, but the feeling of walls closing in around me is all too familiar.
Dropping my forehead to the steering wheel, I close my eyes and force a deep breath into my aching lungs.
I survived before under much worse circumstances. With a shattered heart and trauma up to my eyeballs, I found a way to live. I can do it again if I have to.
The fear of having to start over is one of the many reasons I never branched out when I moved to New York.
I took online classes, but that was more to give myself something to do than to provide me with future job prospects.
I didn’t make friends or date. Never so much as went out for dinner unless it was for one of Camilla’s milestones.
Ten years ago, I moved into the De Marco estate with the intention of staying for a few months, maybe a year, while I got back on my feet and allowed my body to heal.
But it became home. The house. The people. Camilla.
And as much as I hate the idea of going back on the run, it’s the only choice I have if I want to keep breathing.