The bedroom door flies open with a loud bang, causing one of the picture frames to crash onto the floor. Mom rushes inside and pulls a packed suitcase from underneath the bed. Her frantic eyes land on me where I sit on the rug in my pajamas, surrounded by my dolls, each with their own teapot. I should be asleep. Mom has already read me my bedtime story and kissed me goodnight, but she doesn’t seem too upset to find me awake or even frazzled by the mess on the floor.
“Come on,” she says, holding her hand out, the other clutching the suitcase’s handle. “Pick a doll. We need to leave.”
I scan my dolls, and they all look at me expectantly. “Where are we going?”
“We’re going on an adventure,” Mommy replies, then gestures for me to take her hand. “We need to leave now, sweetheart.”
Unsure, I look at each doll and reach for Molly. She’s my favorite because of how shiny her brown hair is. Though it’s dirty now because that annoying boy, my cousin Dalton,dropped her in a puddle last week when he visited with my uncle.
I don’t like his dad. He’s scary. And my daddy doesn’t like him either. After he left, Daddy called him a string of bad words. Mommy clamped her hands over my ears, but it was too late. Besides, I could still hear him say, “I don’t give a fuck about the Bishop’s contract. I tore it up in front of him.”
We exit the house in a hurry. Mom drags me along faster than I can walk, strapping me in the car before settling behind the steering wheel and turning the key in the ignition with trembling fingers.
“What’s wrong, Mommy?” I ask as we drive down the street.
She looks in the rearview mirror. “Nothing is wrong, sweetie.”
“Is Daddy not coming with us?”
Mommy suddenly looks sad. I don’t like it when she cries; it makes me upset, too.
“No, sweetie. Daddy won’t be coming with us this time.”
“Why?” I ask, patting my doll’s hair.
“Because,” Mommy says, staring at the dark road ahead, a lock of blonde hair framing her face, “Daddy went to see the angels in heaven.”
My iPhone lights up on the motel bed, vibrating on the burgundy comforter. Darian is phoning me. I should switch on the lights and unpack my suitcase, but something stops me. Call it instinct, a sixth sense, or maybe muscle memory from being on the run for years. It was almost too easy to escape Sinclair’s watchful eye. When I informed him I was heading home to shower and sleep, he didn’t even look up from his phone. He just said, “Sure. Don’t run away.”
So what did I do? I ran away after one of the Pawns took me back to Darian’s estate.
Ever since I was a little girl and Mom drove us off into the night, all I’ve known is how to run from danger. It’s what I’m good at. After Mom passed away in a car crash, I became an expert at staying under the radar until I was so tired of running that I decided to face the danger head-on. What was the worst that could happen? I wasn’t living.
I didn’t want to leave Darian. I’d never wanted anything more than to stay, but the longer I did, the more danger I was putting us both in.
If the Bishop hasn’t already figured out who I am, it’s only a matter of time. When he does, he’ll make an example of Darian, like he did to my dad. I can’t let that happen.
If I love Darian, I have to let him go, no matter how much it hurts. The Exodus runs in his blood. It’s his family.
I have to set him free.
Maybe we’ll meet on the battlefield one day on another Reckoning night.
Glancing from the phone to the window, I round the double bed and cross the floor. Heavy curtains block the view of the parking lot outside, the flowery fabric faded over time. As my fingers inch the worn material aside, a muted glow from a streetlamp fills the room. Nothing looks out of place. Three cars, surrounded by low-hanging mist, sit parked beside each other, facing the reception. They were here when I arrived: two sedans and a rusty Chevrolet.
Still, something isn’t right.
There! A curtain twitches in one of the windows across the parking lot. I know, I just fucking know, my husband and Sinclair’s men followed me here. I should have known it was too easy to escape. No Pawns were where they usually are as I left.
Sinclair and Darian know exactly where I am. When they’re ready, they’ll collect me like a cash prize.
“Not on my watch, you fuckers,” I say as the curtains fall shut.
I should have known Sinclair had me shadowed the moment my husband woke up. He knew my intent and believed that allowing me to think I was free was preferable to dragging me back. This way, he could keep an eye on me and report back to my husband without physically shackling me to my husband’s bedside.
I’m almost impressed, though I’m not surprised.
“I suppose I can’t bring you with me,” I say to my phone as I shove my wallet into my back pocket. My suitcase will have to stay behind too. I don’t trust Sinclair not to have ordered his men to put a tracker inside it. It’s also a nightmare to drag everywhere, especially now that I need to make a stealthy escape.
