CHLOE
CHAPTER TEN
NOW
Time does nothing to calm my racing thoughts.
The drive, albeit quiet, allows my mind to move through every single decision I’ve made to this point. All the times I stayed home because I was afraid someone would recognize me.
The dates I declined knowing Ronan would kill anyone that touched me, immediately before ending me for some perceived betrayal his father believes my family to be guilty of.
I remember begging Salvatore to tell me what they’d done so vividly.
The blood. The sound of bones cracking. The light fading from my father’s eyes.
I’ll never forget a second of the time I spent tied to that chair, never fully heal from the trauma those days left behind.
If there’s anything years of therapy have taught me, it’s that scars are forever. The wounds may close and the appearance may improve, but the reminders will still be there on the day you take your final breath.
Mentally I try to recall how much cash I have stashed around my bedroom. There’s a few thousand in a pair of boots I haven’t worn the past few winters, and maybe a bit more stuffed in a pair of socks in my underwear drawer.
The De Marcos have always paid me well, and I’ve never had much opportunity to spend it. Between living on property and being too afraid to leave the safety of the estate, I have plenty in my bank account, but I won’t be able to access it if I’m on the run.
The account may have been opened under Chloe Wilkes, the fake name given to me when I started my new life, but it won’t take them long to connect the name to me now that they know who I work for.
I glance out the window, taking stock of where we are. Maybe I could ask Ryker to stop at the bank so I can withdraw whatever they’ll allow me without any notice.
But then I realize we’re almost home.
Or what used to be my home.
The thought hits me hard, a sharp pain radiating through my chest.
For the second time, I have to flee from the place I consider my home. I have to leave everything behind and start a new life, in a new place, with new people.
Ryker’s hands clench the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are white, but that’s the only sign of his own discomfort. His shoulders are relaxed, his jaw lax, and although his eyes dart between the road and rearview mirror, his expression is calm.
So basically the exact opposite to the war raging inside me.
He must feel my eyes on him because he looks over and gives me a slight smile. “We’ll be home in a minute.”
I nod, but don’t bother responding. I doubt he knows much about my situation with the Lombardis considering Camilla knows next to nothing and her father and I never discussed it.
He got everything he needed to know before I ever stepped foot on his property, and apart from telling me on the day I started that I could always come to him if I felt unsafe or thought they may have found me, we never spoke about it.
In fact, the only person I’ve spoken to in detail about what I ran from since I came to New York is my therapist.
Maybe I should have made a more concerted effort to make friends when I came here, but on the flip side, if I’d done that, I would have people to leave behind.
It’s already going to break my heart to leave Camilla. In so many ways we raised each other, and the idea of losing her hurts so badly I can barely breathe through it.
I have every faith in the world her men will bring her and Crew home, and that they’ll take care of her the way she deserves, but not being here to see her move into new chapters of her life brings a fresh wave of grief to my poor battered heart.
So maybe it’s not such a bad thing that I’ve kept to myself all these years.
The car barely slows as we approach the gates I arrived at ten years ago, a broken eighteen-year-old suffering the loss of everything she’d ever known.
Ryker pulls the car into my spot in the garage, but neither of us moves to climb out.
The duality between complete numbness and agony wars inside me, tearing apart my carefully constructed walls. The structures I built to protect my heart from the pain of the past.
The urge to run tugs at the edge of my mind. I need to get out of here before they come for me, but I can’t leave until I know Camilla is going to be okay, until I know she’s safe with her men.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t prepare now.
Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll pack up my stuff and get it ready so I can leave as soon as I’ve seen with my own eyes that she’s safe.
I reach for the handle, intent on heading upstairs and hiding away until I get word from the guys, but a warm hand settles on my thigh, pulling my attention to amber eyes.
“I won’t let them hurt you.” His words are soft and even, his presence steady in the eye of the storm raging inside me.
“You don’t understand,” I whisper. “They won’t give up until they get revenge.”
Even after all these years, I don’t know what my parents did to deserve the end they met. The days of torture, of starvation, and of sleep deprivation.
There were no signs before it happened, no indication that Salvatore suspected his right-hand man of betraying him.
It was only months after I arrived here, after numerous therapy sessions, that I remembered Dad checking I knew the number by heart. It was so casual, just in passing. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, and I forgot about the interaction almost immediately.
If only I’d asked. If only I had pulled my head out of the perfect life I thought I was living. I had my whole life ahead of me and was too caught up in starting college and my future with the boy I loved.
I had my head in the clouds, and it could have cost me my life.
A warm palm presses to my cheek, gently guiding my face until I’m looking into his worried eyes. “There are a million things you don’t know about me and my past, but I assure you that I can protect you from two assholes with a grudge. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
His confidence should settle some of my anxiety, but if anything, it sends fresh waves rioting through my chest.
It should bring me peace to know he can take care of me, but my experience with dangerous men has always blown up in my face, and knowing Ryker hasn’t been forthcoming with his past only makes my need to flee stronger.
It’s not fair of me to expect him to have told me about the thirty-odd years that preceded our meeting, and yet that doesn’t seem to make a difference in my mind.
“Let’s get you inside, and I’ll lock down the house until we hear from the guys. Does that sound okay?”
I find myself nodding without conscious thought.
This is what I need.
I need to let someone else make the decisions for a little while. I need to allow my mind to rest so I can get a plan together. And then once I’m calmer, once I’ve had time to think through my next steps, I’ll be able to leave knowing I’ve made the right choice.
But even as I think that I know it’s a pipe dream.
I’ll spend the rest of my life questioning every decision I make, because at some point it’ll be the one that gets me killed.