I tell myself it’s just until I can get Damon off her tail, but even as the thought enters my mind, I know I’m lying to myself.
Because the truth is, even after all these years, I’d follow Chloe Weaver to the end of the earth and throw myself into the pits of hell if she asked.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHLOE
NOW
Forcing a calming breath into my lungs, I turn onto the highway and check my rearview mirror for what feels like the hundredth time since I left the estate.
Running is different this time. I’m not grieving everyone I love and the life that once grew inside me. Instead, I’m getting out before anyone can get hurt, and somehow that makes it harder.
Because the reality is, this time I have a choice.
I could stay. I could ask Camilla and her guys to protect me, and they would do it without hesitation.
But I don’t want to be anyone’s burden, and that’s why this is the right choice.
There are more cars than I expect for this time of the morning, but that should make it easier to blend in, right?
“I’m making the right choice,” I murmur to myself. “Everyone is safer this way.”
My own reassurance does little to ease the regret tugging at every breath.
I made sure to turn off my phone and remove the SIM before leaving the house, which means I’m depending on the car’s navigation to guide me toward my first stop.
A small town in Maine with a population of three thousand and a motel whose photos didn’t make my skin crawl.
If I can make it that far today, I’ll be able to cross the border tomorrow, and I’ll be able to breathe a little easier.
Flicking the radio on to ease my racing thoughts, I check the mirrors again and change lanes to settle between two similar cars to my own.
At some point I’ll have to change cars, but the ache that settles in my chest every time I think about it has me putting it off.
Keeping it for a couple of extra days shouldn’t make a difference as long as I keep moving, or at least that’s what I tell myself as I check my mirrors again.
This is going to be a long fucking drive.
The fuel light flashes again, making my stomach roll with another wave of anxiety.
I should have stopped in the last city where there were a lot of people around, where I could blend in. But instead I’ll have to pull into the next gas station in the middle of nowhere.
The cars have thinned the further we’ve gotten from New York, and after seven hours on the road I could really use a bathroom break and something to eat, even if the thought of food makes my stomach roll.
I could also use a gallon of caffeine in whatever way it comes because I’m exhausted.
Maybe that shouldn’t be a surprise. I haven’t slept in days. An hour or two here and there, but the stress of Camilla being missing stopped me from getting any kind of quality sleep.
So maybe an eight-hour drive while sleep-deprived wasn’t among my best ideas, but I couldn’t risk staying. I couldn’t risk anyone talking me out of this.
Because they would try.
Ryker already had, and every time I’ve thought about his amber eyes since I left the estate, a fresh wave of guilt has rolled over me.
The way he looked at me last night, the way he tracked my every move, my every reaction to the way he played my body—it’s like a movie I can’t look away from playing on replay every time I close my eyes.
So maybe sleep won’t come so easy when I finally make it to the motel.
