AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter Sixteen
It's pitch black.Dark clouds cover the night sky. It's as if the impending storm is a reflection of the havoc my life has become.
Through sheer luck, Lancaster was passed out—asleep, not literally—in his car. George was prepared to distract him somehow, but for once, something worked in our favor.
I stumbled twice due to my trembling legs as I crept along the fence to meet George two properties down the road. The second time, I remained on my hands and knees for several minutes, trying to get my breathing under control. I didn't bother wiping the tears away anymore. The moment I stepped out the back door, I let them fall freely.
We've been driving for forty-five minutes, and neither of us has said a word. Even when I opened the passenger door and climbed into the Navigator—which I finally identified today—George just gave me a solemn look. He disapproves of my decision. I almost wish he'd say something, yell at me, tell me I'm making a mistake. The silence is worse. It leaves me alone with my thoughts, regrets, doubt...guilt.
His phone has lit up a few times, but he would just check it and then place it back in the cup holder without responding.
I shift restlessly, trying to keep my healing back away from the seat. But no matter how I position myself, eventually the muscles in my back (upper and lower), my neck, even my butt start cramping. Driving anywhere for longer than five minutes in my current physical state is as pleasant as running a marathon wrapped in barbed wire.
Eventually, I can’t take the quiet anymore and whisper, "Please say something."
George takes a deep breath, and I prepare myself for a scolding, but instead, he reaches over and gives my knee a gentle pat. I don't think George has ever initiated physical contact with anyone in the few weeks I've known him.
"I will do whatever it takes to keep you, your brother, and your family safe. Rhys will not take it well; you have to prepare yourself for the consequences. But I'm sure you've thought long and hard about it."
His insinuation is clear: I haven't thought this through.
That's where he's wrong. I've been thinking of nothing else since Turner revealed himself at the press conference. It's all connected; I can feel it. Despite it being the opposite of support for my decision, his words bring the reason "why" back to the forefront of my mind, pushing the guilt and doubt further back. The longer I stayed, the more I put my family in danger.
I’m doing the right thing.
We’re parkedinside a hangar of a small private airfield in God knows where.
After our brief conversation, we drove for another twenty minutes. George pulled up to a gate, exchanged a few hushed words with the security guard stationed there, and then pulled in. Through all of it, I averted my face out of the window. Keeping a low profile has become my number one priority.
Whenever doubt and guilt tried to take hold again, I kept repeating ‘You’re doing the right thing’ silently in my head. I know this will be a continuous battle until I can speak to Rhys and explain myself. Rhys. My throat closes up, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
I’m doing the right thing. I’m protecting the people I love.
Once George stops the Navigator in the back of the structure, near a small office space, he gets out and walks around the SUV. He opens the passenger door, staring at me expectantly.
"It’s warmer in the office, Miss Lilly. There is a heater in there. It’ll be a while." His tone is low yet commanding.
I unbuckle myself, swing my legs out, and let my feet hit the ground. The slap of my soles echoes through the massive hangar as I trail behind my bodyguard. Inside the square room is a metal desk, a few metal chairs, and a military-style cot.
"What is this place?" I scowl.
"The best I could come up with on such short notice. We can't fly commercial now, can we?" George deadpans, walking past me and depositing my duffel bag on the table with a thud.
I slowly follow him. "So, how are we getting...wherever we're going."
He swivels around and leans against the desk, leveling me with a glare that gives me the chills. He is truly disappointed in me for running. "Nate is sending the jet. But since we have to stay under the radar—the Altman jet does not necessarily blend in—I had to find a private airport that will keep this under wraps."
Meaning, my brother had to drop a good chunk of change.
Guilt charges to the front like a 5.56 leaving the barrel of an M-4, and I swallow hard.
"We have approximately another three hours; you might as well get some rest." He nods toward the cot.
I blow out a non-comical breath. Is he joking? There’s no way in hell I'll be able to sleep. Nonetheless, I sink onto the makeshift bed and pull out my phone, aka the burner. Plugging in headphones, I click on the notes app and start typing. "Good Goodbye" by Linkin' Park and "Under Your Scars" by Godsmack are blaring on constant repeat through the small speakers into my ears. As soon as I type the first word, my vision blurs, and by the third line, I can barely make out the screen. A George-like shape, distorted by my tears, is watching me closely, but he remains mute.
The tightness in my chest constricts my airflow, and I have to stop multiple times to put my head between my legs.
I’m doing the right thing. Please forgive me.
