“They’re one of the mob families in New York. Your ‘Rowan’ killed one of their family members and then faked his own death. He’s been hiding like a fucking rat.”
He’s got it all wrong. He has no idea what he’s talking about. Someone lied to him, and now he’s going to ruin my life andRowan’s over that lie. Was it Brett? “Rowan will call the police. They’re going to find us, and you’re going to go to jail.”
He chuckles. “So naive. Your boyfriend’s got a record twice as long as mine. Before he disappeared, he worked for Rafaele Messero. Of course, you’ve got no idea who that is either. Messero’s the head of a very powerful mob family.”
My head swims.
“You really trusted him, didn’t you?” He leans forward and grabs me by the chin. “Well, then it won’t be so hard for you to trust me.”
Rowan, a gangster in hiding? The whole story is insane, but Uncle Lyle thinks he’s telling me the truth. Either someone’s managed to fool him or…
Or…
He drops his hand. “I’m going to leave you alone for a bit now. Got some calls to make. But don’t get any ideas. One of my guys will be just outside the door.”
He waits for me to acknowledge that I heard him with a nod, and then he walks out the door.
I slump against the wall, my heart racing. Then I remember Sam’s keys still lodged in my back pocket.
I fish them out and hold them in front of my face. Looking for… I don’t know what.
Then I see it.
An AirTag.
Relief expands inside my chest like a balloon. Rowan has a way to track me. Assuming he figures it out, but I have to believe that he will.
And then it hits me that Sam spent his last moments thinking of a way to save me. He knew they were going to kill him, and he still tried to protect me.
A tear slides down my cheek, but I wipe it away. I have to be strong. Strong like Sam. Losing my shit again isn’t going to help me, but staying aware of my surroundings and being ready for when Rowan comes will.
The motel room is small and bare-bones. It takes me only fifteen minutes to search every nook and cranny for something I can use as a weapon. But there’s nothing at all. Not even a phone to call reception. I do have Sam's keys…
I take the AirTag off the key ring, slip it into the tiny pocket nestled inside the bigger pocket of my jeans, and keep the keys clutched in my hand.
Soon enough, Uncle Lyle comes back. He comes in holding a greasy paper bag in one hand. “Got you some food.”
I get to my feet from where I’m sitting on the bed. “I’m not hungry.”
He closes the door and drops the bag on the small table by the window. “Suit yourself, but don’t complain when you’re hungry later. We’re not making any unplanned stops.”
My gaze tracks his movements. “Okay.”
He takes off his leathers and hangs them on the back of a chair. “You should get some sleep. We’ll be back on the road in three hours.”
Sleep? It would take an elephant tranquilizer to get my adrenaline levels anywhere low enough for me to sleep.
When I don’t say anything, his eyes skate down my body, lingering on the outline of my breasts. “If you don’t want to sleep, there’s something else we could do. Something I’ve been thinking about for a very long time.”
I take a step back.
He gives me a sickening grin and walks closer.
I start to move around the bed, trying to keep some distance between us, but then he leaps forward, and he’s right there, pushing me up against the wall.
I scream, and he puts his palm over my mouth.
“Quiet,” he hisses. “You don’t want to make me angry, Blake. If you behave, I can make this good for you.”
