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Knowing my father, he wouldn’t let us escape that easily, and if Sergio really did pay for me, our escape is part of a bigger plan. One we don’t know just yet. And I’m afraid when we do find out what it is, both Lance and I will not survive it.
The dark sky hangs above us, and I can’t help shake. I’m barefoot, and even though Lance is practically carrying me, I know his leg is in pain. I want to tell him to let me walk, to leave me here and find help, but the thought of him leaving me in the middle of nowhere makes me nervous.
We’ve been walking for what feels like hours. But when I glance up, I notice lights in the distance. The drive into the center of town is about twenty minutes, so that means we’ve been walking for about an hour, maybe a little longer.
“The hotel I’m staying in should give me a spare key. I need to get my phone charged so I can call Seth and get him to drive out here. And I’m not going near New Orleans,” he advises me in the darkness, and I read into the threat that hangs in his tone. He doesn’t want Arthur, my father, to find us. I don’t blame him.
“I know, Lance. I know,” I murmur as we near the bright lights and the main strip. People mill around, and thankfully, none of them take notice of me all dressed up with no shoes. But it’s Lance’s bloodied leg that concerns me most.
When we finally make it into the hotel lobby, a few guests glance at us as if we’ve lost our minds. But when we reach the reception desk, the man who looks up at Lance seems to recognize him.
“Good evening, Mr. Knight.” He smiles in greeting. “Can I help you?”
“I need a second key for my room. We were in a bit of an accident, and I need to get up there.” Lance’s voice is low. There’s an insistent urgency to his words, and the man on the opposite end of the desk flounders as he finds another card, offering it up to Lance.
“Of course, sir. Would you like an ambulance? Perhaps a doct—”
“We’ll be fine,” Lance grits out through clenched teeth, tugging me behind him toward the elevators. When we step into the car, he finally voices the words that have been weighing on me for hours. “That was too easy.”
“I know.”
“Your father will be here soon.” He doesn’t look at me, but I can feel his frustration simmering through every part of him. Lance has always been someone who couldn’t hide emotion, and this time it’s no different.
When we reach the floor to his room, Lance pulls me along behind him, and I’m stumbling into his solid frame. My hands fall on his shoulders, feeling the tension tight in his muscles.
Once inside the bedroom, he shoves the door closed and me up against the wall. He attacks me with a brutal kiss that has my toes curling into the thick, plush carpet. Our bodies mold to each other. There’s nothing more I want than for him to finally take what’s his.
“Did you fuck him?” he grits out. “Tell me, baby girl.”
“No, Lance.”
My answer is all he needs to lift me against his body. “Good,” he murmurs, peppering kisses over my chin, neck, and on my collarbone. His mouth feels red hot, burning my skin with every bit of contact, and my fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more of him.
He pushes me against the cool surface, his erection against my core, causing me to whimper with need. “Lance,” I whisper, my fingers tugging at his hair. “I’m . . . I haven’t . . .” I don’t know how to tell him. All these years, I’ve waited for him. But I can’t find the words to confess my innocence.
“What is it?” he questions, his voice taking on a dark yet seductive tone, which makes my thighs tremble. He reaches between us, his fingers finding my core through the material of my panties.
My dress has hiked itself up around my hips, and I’m open to his ministrations. My body is trembling, just the way it always did when he touched me.
“This is mine,” he growls as his fingers taunt my clit. He rubs circles on my body, teasing the pleasure from the very soul of me, and I’m arching my back before I have time to fathom what’s happening.
“Lance.”
“Tell me, baby girl. Tell me who you belong to?” he bites out salaciously. Snapping my gaze to his, I find his hooded eyes burning into mine. “Tell me.”
“I’m yours, Lance. I’ve always been yours.”
His gaze burns me for a moment as if he’s trying to figure out if I’m telling the truth or not, but then he nods. “Good girl. We need to get changed and get out of here before they find us.” His voice is urgent as he releases me. Making his way into the bedroom, he pulls a large black rucksack from under the bed and unzips it.
Inside the black bag are guns, sheathed knives, and all his clothes underneath. Everything packed perfectly. He hands me a small towel. He limps his way toward me, pressing another kiss to my lips, and I know he’s trying to keep me calm. But that won’t work until we’re out of San Antonio.
“Freshen up in the bathroom,” he says, glancing at his watch. “We probably have about ten minutes to get out of here.”
I move quickly, my fingers trembling as I open the ornate taps. I can’t believe Lance has the money to stay here. However, I know my father does pay all the men generously. I rinse my face, taking in the bird’s nest of hair on my head and the damn makeup that’s run down my cheeks from crying. No wonder the man at reception thought we needed a doctor.
Back in the bedroom, I settle on the bed and watch as Lance gets dressed in fresh clothes. He glances over at me, offering me a T-shirt which is far too big for me, and a pair of his running shorts.
“We need a new hideout, and then I need to go find Sergio,” he remarks. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he sets it on to charge, then rummages in his bag to find an iPad. He taps the screen, and fear slowly trickles through me as I watch him scrunch his face in concentration.
