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‘I’m sorry,’ I said, swallowing the rock in my throat. ‘I didn’t want to – I had to go along with it or I don’t know what he would’ve done.’
John shook his head. ‘Doesn’t matter. We’re getting out. We’re taking those kids with us.’
I breathed a sigh of relief. Those kids. I nodded. ‘Yeah, we are,’ I agreed. ‘And we have to do it now. This week. The FBI thinks I’m going to testify against Dornan and Emilio in exchange for immunity.’
‘What?’ John said.
I told him about how Lindsay had drugged Dornan and insisted I meet with him in Vegas. How they were planning to move on the cartel and the Gypsy Brothers very soon. John listened intently, his forehead lined deep with worry.
‘We need cash,’ he said.
I nodded excitedly. My insurance policy was about to pay off. ‘I’ve got cash,’ I replied. ‘Lots and lots of cash. Think you can gather it up for us?’
John smiled, shaking his head. ‘I knew it,’ he said. ‘I’m impressed.’
I rested my head on his shoulder for a brief moment, terrified at the prospect of having to go back out there and interact with Dornan and Emilio.
‘I play the long game,’ I said quietly.
John chuckled. ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘Because I’ve got twenty-seven dollars to my name. Shit, I don’t even own a leather jacket anymore.’
I looked up sharply as the puzzle pieces slammed together in my brain. ‘That’s your jacket Dornan’s wearing? In front of you? Parading around like you’re not even here?’
John nodded, cupping my chin with his hand and pulling my face to his. ‘That would be the one,’ he murmured against my lips, kissing me again. ‘So we’ll have to go somewhere warm, okay?’
‘Okay,’ I agreed, grabbing onto his wrists for dear life as he held my face in his palms.
‘Now,’ he said, grinning, ‘tell me where I need to find this money.’
I couldn’t help but grin back. I’d always been a planner. A saver of options for rainy days and escape plans. Thank Christ. Life on the run was going to be so much easier when we were millionaires.
CHAPTER THIRTY
MARIANA
We rode back to LA, a motley procession of motorcycles and the occasional car. I wasn’t lucky enough to be a passenger in air-conditioned comfort, unless you counted the air blasting past my skull at a hundred miles an hour. No, I got the same four-hour ride on the back of Dornan’s motorcycle that I’d endured on the way to San Diego, my entire body numb from the waist down by the time we rattled into Santa Monica.
Dornan deposited me at the gate to my apartment complex. ‘Pack your shit,’ he said, his sunglasses showing me my own reflection. I didn’t look good. I looked sick with stress and anxiety.
‘Pack my shit?’ I echoed. ‘What do you mean?’
He looked at me like I was an idiot. ‘Pack your shit because I’m coming back tonight with my pickup and we’re taking your stuff to my house.’
I snorted. ‘I’m not living with those fucking savages.’
‘Yes, you are,’ Dornan snapped. ‘They’re not savages.’
‘Honey,’ I said, placing my hand on Dornan’s shoulder as I spoke in the sweetest, most sickly sarcastic voice I could muster, ‘your sons told me last night that they’d like to feed you sleeping tablets and then, quote, take me “for a spin”. I don’t think they were talking about taking me for a motorcycle ride.’
Dornan didn’t say anything.
‘That’s what I thought,’ I said, turning on my heel and walking towards my apartment.
‘We got a meeting tomorrow,’ Dornan called to me. I stopped in my tracks and turned back to face him. ‘Tomorrow? What for?’
Dornan shrugged. ‘Something about Sunday being a holiday in Italy,’ he shrugged. ‘My father’s going away on business, so we’re meeting tomorrow.’
Shit.
