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I give Ayla a quick smile, one I hope she reads that I’m just as disappointed as she’s probably feeling right now.
Sadness fills my chest when she soundlessly breaks eye contact and turns her attention out the window. There’s nothing out there to see on this section of road, but she’d rather look at nothing than at me.
Chapter 23
Ayla
I wasn’t exactly expecting a five-star luxury hotel, but the outside entry motel whose sign only works three out of every ten seconds is much worse than I let myself consider.
There’s no level of safety, no sense of security at the idea of going inside one of those rooms. My skin crawls with just the thought of it, which also makes me feel like a jerk. Angel hasn’t once pretended to like me. The man can’t stand the sight of me, and I have no doubt, given the chance, he’d put that bullet in my head that he’d planned on the first time we met. Not that I would, but I don’t think explaining to him why I did what I did would help.
I stared at the scarred flesh on the back of his neck. The man was just as much a victim of Raul Cortez as Nash and I are. It makes me wonder why he’s so hell-bent on hating me. He has to know what it was like, what power they wield over their captives. His hatred is misplaced, although I get a very strong feeling he hates Cortez just as much. He seems to have it in reserves.
As I watch a man leave his room, having to pause just outside the door to hack and cough until he spits something on the concrete, I want to argue that taking our chances with the patrols happening at the border would be the better choice. Any one of these men has the ability to hurt me, and that includes Nash and Angel. Trusting anyone ever again will never happen. After what I’ve been through, I can’t even imagine it.
Angel didn’t say a word when he climbed out of the truck five minutes ago. He’s not going to assuage my fears or tell me everything will be okay. If anything, I bet, he gets a certain kind of thrill, knowing I’m afraid.
My hands start to tremble when he leaves the front office, wondering if he’s going to insist we all share a room. The man doesn’t owe me a damn thing, but I hope he dislikes me enough to at least grab two rooms. As tired as I am, I’d never be capable of sleep if he were in the room with me. Deep down, I think the man is waiting to follow through what Cerberus stopped him from doing two days ago.
I press myself even closer to the door, the plastic molding of the thing digging into my back when Angel pulls open the back driver’s side door. His meaty fist clasps the strap of an overnight bag, his eyes darting up to mine. He seems pleased to know that he terrifies me, but at least the man doesn’t goad me for it.
“Nash, you’re with me,” he says, his own irritation abundantly clear in his growly tone. “You got the other room.”
The key he tosses my way hits my chest before falling to the seat at my hip.
“We’ve got 207 and you’re in 205,” he says before slamming the door back and walking toward the stairs to the second floor of the shitty motel.
“Come on,” Nash urges as he opens his door. “I bet you’d like a shower and a good night’s sleep.”
I climb out of the back of the truck wordlessly. I can’t argue with him. I’m in no position to ask for favors, and my head is racing at what Angel will expect for paying for this room.
“The key,” I say before he can close the door after I climb out.
I swipe it from the seat quickly, well aware of my vulnerable state when I bend into the massive truck.
My feet are tired from walking so much today, but it’s trepidation that makes me catch the toe of my shoe on the cracked asphalt.
Nash slows but doesn’t reach out to me, something I’m grateful for.
We walk past Angel when he stops at the iron cage protecting the vending machine from thieves.
“Do you want something?” Nash asks as he hitches his thumb over his shoulder.
“No thank you,” I manage, my eyes zeroing in on the stairs that lead up to the second floor.
I’m not exactly thrilled about this motel, but despite not being completely safe, I know it’s safer out of sight in one of the rooms.
Angel has managed to catch up with us by the time I’m standing outside of room 205. My hand trembles, the key in my grip already slippery from my sweating hand. I feel like crying, the threat of tears burning the backs of my eyes as I try to insert the metal into the lock.
