45. Chapter 45
LONDYN
MY brEATHING IS A MESS—ragged gasps that catch on sobs. My body still trembles with the aftershocks of terror and the cold certainty of that man's voice. But beneath it, a different tremor runs, a relief so profound it leaves me weak.
Sean is alive. I'm alive. We're together.
He holds me tighter, his hand stroking my back in slow, calming circles. He doesn't speak, doesn't try to fix anything. He just holds me while the storm breaks, letting me shatter against him.
A fresh wave of nausea washes over me. I don't fully understand who that evil man was or how he knows me or why we're in this situation, except that The Director somehow got me into this. I know Sean will explain everything later, so for now I'm just stuck on Mike.
"Mike," I whisper against Sean's shirt. "He's… That man…"
Sean's arms tighten around me. "He's alive. That's what matters. We'll get him back."
The certainty in his voice is something to cling to, but I fear how Mike will be treated until Sean fulfills his bargain. And what if that evil man is lying and just kills Mike anyway?
"This is my fault," I choke out. "If I hadn't hired you, if I hadn't pulled you both into this…"
Sean moves back just enough to cup my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes—those deep, steady brown eyes, rimmed now with exhaustion but blazing with an intensity that soothes me to my core—hold no trace of blame. Only a fierce protectiveness.
"No. This is not your fault. None of it. Not Miller, not Victor, not Mike. Do you hear me?"
I don't fully understand who that evil man is or how he knows me or why we're in this situation, except that The Director somehow got me into this. I know Sean will explain everything later, so for now I'm just stuck on Mike.
Victor? Is that the evil man's name? I nod, though the guilt clings like a second skin.
"This is on them," he continues, thumb brushing away a tear. "This is because of the fucking men who choose to hurt and control. You didn't invite this. You didn't cause this. You survived. And you're going to keep surviving. And I'm going to be right here with you."
I nod again, trying to let his words take root, though they have a lot of hard clay to get through.
We stay huddled on the floor of my bedroom, just holding each other, for a long time.
Eventually, the adrenaline fades completely, leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion and a dull throb in my head. But there's no time to rest.
We help each other off the floor and cancel the tickets to Australia and sort through the chaos to prepare for a new destination.
In the silence between our breaths, I know this isn't over; it's merely an intermission before the next act of horror begins. Men like Victor don't make bargains they can't enforce.
***
I'M BACK IN A PLACE I never thought I'd see again: California.
The sweaty odor of the airplane clings to my skin as we finally exit into San Francisco International Airport. Sean's hand is wrapped so tight around mine that my fingers ache. I'm grateful, though; he's the only solid thing left in the world.
We navigate through the terminal and each step is heavy as if gravity works differently here.
Maybe it does. This state holds too many memories for me.
The flood of people moves around us and I tuck myself behind Sean, letting him guide me as I duck my head.
Despite my oversized glasses and loose hair, I can't shake the feeling that someone will recognize me, remembering Elle's tragic downfall.
My stomach gurgles, and my free hand presses into my belly button.
I've been feeling off since we boarded the plane in New York.
At first, I blamed it on anxiety, but this feels different.
My chest is tight, my throat burns with acid, and there's a persistent ache low in my stomach. I hope I didn't catch some bug.
Sean glances at me, noticing my sour expression.
The browns of his eyes are dull and the skin beneath them is purple.
He needs sleep. He's been running on pure adrenaline since that night in my apartment, since that moment, two days ago, when we stared death in his empty eyes and somehow walked away.
I try to give Sean a smile, but I'm sure it looks sad. His gaze leaves me and scans everything, everyone. He's always looking for anything suspicious, and I love that about him, but I also know his mind needs a break.
The pressure of why we're here has transformed him and it makes me want to cry.
The playful, sarcastic bodyguard who teased me about books and made love to me with a tenderness I've never known has been replaced by someone harder and distant.
I know he's still in there—my Sean—but he's buried beneath layers of hypervigilance and worry.
Maybe this is how I looked to him when we first met. Maybe this is what trauma does: turns us inside out until our worst fears become our skin.
Will we get through this? A month from now, could we miraculously be in Australia, with The Director and Victor a thing of the past?
Mike will be back with his family and everything will be okay.
Please let that be the future.
"Almost there," Sean says as we approach the baggage carousel.
As we wait for our luggage, I glance at him again and the hollow beneath his cheekbones where exhaustion has carved out a home. His blue hair is loose and faded and he now has dark roots that remind me of how much time has passed since he first walked into my life.
Two months, but it feels like an eternity.
I'm still in awe of how he saved us from getting executed in my bedroom. He looked at that evil man and didn't even blink.
I guess I'm also in awe of myself.
In that bathroom, with death breathing down our necks, I chose to stand beside the man I love. No running. No hiding. No cowering in corners. I faced the end with my chin up and my heart open.
It was the strongest I've ever felt.
And I realized: The Director didn't break me. He wounded me, scarred me, changed me, but he didn't break me.
In that moment of thinking I was really, truly about to die, I discovered that the strength I thought I'd lost had been there all along, just waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.
Sean reaches past me to grab our bags as they rumble onto the carousel. Even this simple motion is filled with a wary tension, his eyes never stopping their constant scan of our surroundings.
I try to take my luggage but he shakes his head. "I've got it," he says, lifting both suitcases with ease despite the fatigue I know is dragging on him.
I don't argue; I don't want to put any more stress on him.
We move through the terminal toward the car rental counters, and I can't stop looking at him, this man who carries so much weight on his shoulders. He's about to walk into the devil's den to fulfill a bargain with a demon, all for me.
I really don't want him to go alone, though. We got into a mild argument about that yesterday. I said I should go with him because we should be together like we were in that bathroom, facing the darkness side by side.
"I'm not putting you anywhere near him again," he'd said. "Not after what he did."
Sean doesn't see that he's already saved me a dozen times and that his love has healed parts of me I thought would be broken forever.
But he's stubborn, so I'll try again later to convince him.
We go through the motions of getting a rental.
About twenty minutes later, we're standing in front of a sleek black sedan with tinted windows.
Sean checks every inch of it before letting me inside, his hands running along the undercarriage, the wheel wells, the door handles.
Then he pops the passenger-side door for me.
Before he climbs in himself, he pulls his gun from his checked luggage and makes sure it's secured in his holster.
As we pull away from the airport, his hand finds mine again across the center console. The silence between us isn't strained or awkward. It's a living thing we've created, this wordless understanding that we're in this until the end.
The sun is getting ready to set as we drive south along the San Francisco Bay toward Atherton.
I note how spacious it feels here compared to the endless skyscrapers of Manhattan.
I glimpse the water in the distance between gaps in buildings and structures, and suddenly, I'm longing for the beach and sand between my toes.
If only this were a vacation.
We're headed to Declan and Sienna's house. Sean trusts them to keep me safe while he completes his mission. Another thing I tried to argue against.
"I don't want to burden your friends," I'd said. "They don't even know me."
"They're good people," he had replied. "And they understand what we're up against."
Another argument I lost.
The burning in my chest intensifies as we pass San Mateo. I take a sip from my water bottle, but it doesn't help. My stomach clenches, and I make an involuntary whimper.
"You okay?" Sean asks, the first words he's spoken since we got in the car.
"Not really. I think I need to stop somewhere. Maybe get some medicine."
His hand tightens around mine and he glances over with worry twisting his features even more. "What's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing. Just feeling off. Could be stress, could be the long flight." I exhale and try to relax into my seat. "Maybe some antacids and electrolyte water would help."
"I'll find a place to stop."
As Sean pulls off the freeway, searching for a gas station, I wonder if there will ever be a time when we're just… us. When we're not running or hiding or fighting.
I lean over and press my lips to his shoulder. He glances at me, and I see everything there, all the words we haven't said. Along with the fear that we'll never get our chance together.
"There's a station up ahead," he says, slowing the car. "Let's get you what you need."