AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Moving to the bed, I sink onto the mattress, careful of my injured wrist. It's so thin that the springs dig painfully into my ribs. Still, the simple act of lying down is heavenly. My muscles relax as silence wraps around me. It's a blessed reprieve after recent events. No drone of tires on asphalt as they eat up the miles. No checking my mirrors to see if I'm being followed.
I slide my right leg up so my foot rests on the mattress, easing some of the tension in my back, and groan in relief. I should shower. I'm exhausted, hungry, and anxious as hell about being found, but a shower sounds heavenly.
Sitting up, I spy a few brochures on the side table and see one for a pizza place. I left my phone back in Chicago, so I use the landline in the room to call in an order.
Once that's done, I grab my toiletry bag and head to the bathroom. Luckily, it has a bathtub with an overhead shower fixture, so I run myself a bath. I add a few drops of shower lotion to the water from the travel-sized bottle I brought with me, watching as it bubbles and releases the fragrance of roses I love so much–a small luxury, a self-indulgence that soothes my weary soul.
While I wait for the tub to fill, I remove my arm from the sling and use the spare plastic bag next to the waste bin to wrap my bandaged arm as best I can. I step carefully into the tub, bracing my injured arm on the side. The hot water and steam are heavenly, releasing the stress and kinks from muscles forced into one position for too long.
I allow myself to soak for a good twenty minutes before washing my hair, which proves tricky with one hand, but I manage. Once I'm done, I towel myself dry and pull on a gray, ribbed fleece pajamas from my bag. My hair is still wrapped in a towel when a knock sounds at the door. My heart pounds in my throat, even though I'm sure it must be the pizza delivery guy.
But what if it isn't? What if it's one of my father’s men here to drag me back to a wedding I want no part of? My father has always been ruthless, cold, and angry, but this situation takes the cake. He's lost his mind if he thinks I'll marry a man old enough to be my grandfather.
I grab a twenty-dollar bill from my stash of cash and check the peephole. A teenager stands there, looking professionally bored, holding a pizza delivery box.
Don’t open this door for anyone but me.
Lucas’s words echo in my head, but hunger wins out.
“You order a meat lover's special?” the blond kid asks as he holds the pizza box out.
“Yes, thanks. Here you go. Keep the change.” The pizza is only ten bucks, so the tip is good enough that the kid's glazed, bored look disappears.
“You sure?” he asks.
"Yep, thanks." I nod before closing and locking the door.
I set the box on the table and wait to ensure the kid is gone before stepping outside to the drink machine. I grab a couple of cans of soda and a cup of ice from the machine next to it before heading quickly back to my room.
On my way back, I spot a police cruiser driving slowly past the motel. I can just about make out Lucas's strong features as the headlights of an oncoming car hit the driver's side. I wave at him tentatively. Why is he here? Is he checking up on me, ensuring I don’t break my promise not to leave? The car passes, plunging the cruiser's interior into darkness again, so I can't see if he responds. Shaking my head, I close the door to my room and get down to the business of eating.
Curious, I click the TV remote to see what's available. I didn't bring any of my electronic devices, afraid they could be tracked, so I can't watch Netflix. I flip through the channels until I find a news station.
A shiver of fear runs down my spine, and I check the door for the third time to ensure it's locked. It is, but the door isn't exactly sturdy, so I wedge a chair under the door handle. I'm unsure if that works in real life, but it reassures me nonetheless. There's only one bed in the room, and not much else I can put in front of the door.
I settle onto the bed, unable to shake off the nagging feeling of unease. The events of the past few days have left me on edge, constantly looking over my shoulder and questioning every noise. I hoped that escaping would bring me peace, but my fear won’t let me rest.
Attempting to quiet my anxious mind, I open the pizza box and grab a slice. The savory aroma and warm, gooey cheese captivate my senses as I take a bite. Though the pizza pales compared to the authentic Chicago-style pies I’m accustomed to, my growling stomach is content with this offering. Yet despite the temporary comfort of indulging in carbs, my sense of unease lingers, refusing to be subdued.
Why did I think running away would be a solution? My father is a powerful man with connections, and it seems unlikely I can stay hidden for long. With me gone, he’s missing his precious bargaining chip, and with it, whatever deal he’s secured with the man he wants to pawn me off on. More money. More power. More, more, more. It’s never enough for him.
The weight of uncertainty presses heavily on my shoulders. There's nothing more I can do right now.
As I contemplate my next move, a muffled sound catches my attention. I freeze mid-bite, straining my ears to listen. It's the sound of a car engine coming to a halt outside. My heart pounds in my chest. My mind races with worst-case scenarios. Is it my father’s men? Have they tracked me down already? I hold my breath.
Seconds turn into minutes as I wait in fearful anticipation. I’ve convinced myself it's only my imagination when I hear footsteps approaching my door. Panic consumes me as I realize it can't be a coincidence. Someone is here.
My legs are weak as I move away from the door, desperately searching for an escape route. The thin walls of the motel room offer no protection, and I know I have to think fast. With trembling hands, I grab the pepper spray from my pile of belongings on the floor. If someone breaks in, maybe it will distract them long enough for me to run.
A tap at the door has my heart hammering even harder. My father’s men wouldn’t knock, they’d break the damn door down. Stepping closer, I look through the peephole.
My breath rushes out in relief when I see Lucas. Why is he back? Has he looked me up and discovered I'm on the run from my father and a wedding I don't want? I bite my bottom lip, uncertain what to do.
“Amalie? Just checking on you,” Lucas says.
“Oh, um, hold on a second,” I reply, moving the chair aside and unlocking the door. “Thanks for coming by. I’m fine. I had a bath and ordered pizza."
His deep brown eyes make my heart thump as I look up at him. He's so handsome. From the faint lines around his eyes, he looks to be in his early thirties—maybe ten or twelve years older than me—but the maturity in his face and demeanor only makes him more appealing. Guys my age have always seemed immature—not that I've had much exposure to the opposite sex. My father made sure of that.
