Chapter 2
Raine
I should have never stopped running.
The thought burns in my mind as I walk through the rain-soaked alleyways, my pulse thrumming against my throat. It’s always the same—thinking I’m safe, thinking I’ve bought myself a little more time, only for Dante’s reach to find me again. There’s no escaping him. Not really.
I tell myself I don’t need help. That I don’t need some brooding stranger playing knight in shining armor. I’ve learned the hard way that no one helps for free, and the ones who do? They expect something in return.
Emmett was right, though. Those men were following me.
The rain hammers against the rusted metal roof, a relentless rhythm that drowns out the muffled voices from the adjacent rooms. The air in the dingy motel is thick with mildew and the stale scent of cigarette smoke.
The flickering neon light from the parking lot outside casts jagged shadows across the cracked walls, turning the cramped space into a distorted nightmare.
I press my back against the door, my pulse a frantic beat in my ears. My breath comes fast, shallow. The worn-out duffel bag sits open on the bed, the meager contents of my life spilling onto the stained sheets—fake IDs, burner phone, a wad of cash. Not enough. Never enough.
They found me.
I don’t know how, but they did.
The scrape of tires on wet pavement outside sends a chill down my spine.
I inch forward, peering through the grimy blinds.
A black sedan idles near the entrance, its headlights off.
The motel’s front desk clerk is nowhere in sight.
Probably paid off or too scared to intervene. Either way, I’m on my own.
I reach for the knife tucked inside my boot. Not much against the men Dante sends after me, but I’ve survived this long. I won’t go down without a fight.
A shadow moves across the lot. Then another. Three of them. Dressed in dark suits, their movements deliberate, lethal. The way they scan the surroundings, weapons concealed but ready—it’s them. Dante’s men.
My stomach knots. I count my breaths, forcing the panic down. I knew this wouldn’t last. Knew I couldn’t outrun him forever. But damn it, I hoped for more time. Just a little more time.
The door handle rattles.
I spin, pressing my back to the far wall, fingers tightening around the knife hilt. The lock holds, but it won’t for long. Another rattle. A quiet curse in Italian. Then—
Boom.
The door explodes inward, splinters flying as the force of the kick sends it crashing into the wall. A tall man steps inside first, gun raised. His eyes sweep the room, calculating, cold. Behind him, the other two file in, closing off any exit.
“Evening, bella.” The voice is smooth, too smooth, carrying a mockery that makes my skin crawl.
“Boss has been looking for you,” the second man says, taking a step closer. “You gave us quite the chase.”
“Maybe you’re just slow.”
The first man chuckles, dark amusement glinting in his gaze. “I’d be careful with that tongue of yours, bella. Won’t be much use if we have to cut it out.”
I smile, slow and sharp. “Then I guess I’ll just have to make sure you don’t get the chance.”
They lunge.
I move first.
The knife slashes through the air, slicing into the first man’s arm. He curses, staggering back. But the second one is faster—his hand catches my wrist, twisting hard. Pain sparks up my arm, but I don’t let go.
I don’t lose.
I slam my knee into his ribs, wrenching my arm free as he stumbles. But there’s no time to recover—the first man is already swinging. I barely dodge, the impact grazing my shoulder instead of my face.
Damn it. I need to get out of here.
Third man lunges.
I duck, the knife flashing in my grip as I slash upward. A curse. Blood. He stumbles back, clutching his forearm, his expression twisting with fury.
A blur of motion. His fist connects with my ribs, pain detonating through my side. I gasp, but there’s no time to recover. He grabs my wrist, twisting, forcing the knife from my grasp. It clatters to the floor.
I kick out, catching him in the knee. He grunts, but he doesn’t let go. The first man recovers, his good hand grabbing my shoulder and slamming me against the wall. Stars explode behind my eyes.
"Enough!" he barks. "Boss said alive, but he didn’t say undamaged."
I spit blood onto the floor. "Go to hell."
His fist cocks back—
A gunshot cracks through the night.
The man in front of me jerks, a red mist blooming from his chest before he crumples to the ground.
The second turns, reaching for his weapon—
Another shot. Clean. Precise.
The body drops.
Silence.
Then, a familiar voice, low and edged with something dangerous. “Told you this was a death trap.”
Emmett steps out of the shadows, gun still in his hand, his steel-gray eyes locked on me.
I should be angry. I should tell him I had it under control. But the truth is, my legs are shaking, my heart hammering against my ribs.
And I’m just grateful he didn’t listen when I told him to walk away.
Silence crashes into the room, broken only by the ringing in my ears. My vision blurs, breath heaving as I stare at the man in the doorway.
Tall. Broad. Eyes like steel.
"You’re late," I rasp.
Emmett lowers his gun, stepping over the bodies like they’re nothing more than obstacles. "You’re welcome."
Then his gaze sweeps over me, dark and unreadable. "Let’s go. Before more show up."
I should argue. Should tell him I don’t need saving. But my knees threaten to buckle, and the ghosts of the men he just killed linger too close.
So instead, I nod, gripping his offered hand.
We move quickly through the rain-soaked streets, my heart still hammering, my mind a chaotic mess of fear and suspicion. Every step away from that motel should feel like a victory. Instead, it feels like borrowed time.
Emmett keeps his pace even, scanning our surroundings with an ease that speaks of experience.
The kind of experience that means he’s done this before—probably too many times.
I should be asking myself why I’m trusting him.
Why I let him pull me out of that mess when I swore I wouldn’t rely on anyone again.
Because the last man who told me he would protect me turned into the monster I fear the most.
I swallow hard, trying to push Dante’s face from my thoughts. He was charming once, too. Steady hands, quiet words, a promise of safety. Until the cracks in his mask began to show, and I realized I was never anything more than a possession he refused to lose.
I glance at Emmett, watching the way his jaw tightens, the way he moves—like he’s waiting for something, ready to react in an instant. He’s dangerous. But I don’t think he’s dangerous to me.
And that, somehow, is even more terrifying.