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The door clicked shut with a finality that felt as deafening as the silence. This was the part where the heroine was supposed to have hope, wasn't it? I wondered if hope was just another four-letter word.
After all, fairy tales end at midnight—and look at that, we're way past curfew.
Chapter
Twelve
The cold dampness of the night seeped into my dress as I stood outside the dingy motel room. The door slammed shut with a finality that echoed in my pounding heart. The argument with Kylo still sizzled in my mind, his words like acid on my skin. My breath came out in short puffs, visible ghosts that dissolved into the air. The damn neon sign above flickered in a lazy rhythm, casting a glow over the puddles in the parking lot.
"Fuck it," I muttered and my gaze landed on Kylo's car. It looked like a patchwork quilt of metal. Bullet holes peppered the side doors, each one a story, a close call, a reminder that we lived life with a target on our backs.
"Kylo's precious baby," I smirked and the idea formed like a storm cloud in my mind. "Well, let's see how she handles betrayal."
Without another thought, I strode over to the car and the gravel crunched beneath the expensive heels Kylo had given me for the ball. My fingers found the hidden spare key he kept under the wheel well. Trusting idiot.
"Always prepared for the worst," I said, half admiration, half mocking. "Except when it comes to me."
I slipped into the driver's seat and the familiar scent of leather and Kylo’s aftershave invaded my senses. It felt like a violation, an intimate betrayal. But wasn't that the theme of my life?
"Sorry, partner," I whispered, not sure if I meant it, as I fired up the engine. The car roared to life, a beast waking up from a catnap. The tires squealed their protest as I pulled out of the lot.
I laughed darkly to myself and imagined the look on his face when he realized his car — and his unruly partner — were gone. But it didn't matter. Nothing did anymore.
Every man for himself, right?
New York's neon fingers clawed at the night sky and the car was a torpedo cutting through its veins.
Get my shit, get out, lay low. I coached myself, trying to drown out the doubts with determination. You've danced this tango before.
My apartment complex loomed, like it guarded memories I'd rather forget. But tonight, it wasn't about what I wanted. It was about survival. With a screech of tires, I parked Kylo's bullet-ridden baby haphazardly by the curb. The engine ticked like a time bomb as I killed the ignition.
"Sorry, sweetheart," I pat the dashboard. "We're not done yet, but you need a break from me."
I slipped through the rain toward the apartment building, its icy embrace a reminder that nothing lasted forever—not the calm, not the storm, and sure as hell not me.
I bolted up the stairs. I didn't bother with stealth. Every second counted. Subtlety was a luxury—and I was a broke bitch.
"Home sweet hell hole," I breathed and the familiar scent of must and desperation greeted me like an unwelcome relative at Christmas time. My eyes darted around the cramped space and zeroed in on my wardrobe. Clothes were thrown around like a testament to my chaotic existence.
"Ah, there you are," I snatched the leather jacket and slipped out of my drenched dress. I hissed as the fabric clung to my skin, reluctant to part ways, and zipped up the jacket to appraise my reflection in the cracked mirror. My gaze flicked to the corner of the room, to the bag I always kept packed for quick exits.
"Always be prepared," I mocked, the Boy Scout motto twisted into a survivor's creed. Grabbing it, I threw one last glance at the apartment—the scene of too many bad decisions.
"Goodbye, crappy apartment. It's been real. It's been nice. But I can't say it's been real nice." My voice echoed, hollow and heavy with unspoken goodbyes. But there was no time for nostalgia; sentimentality was a weakness I couldn't indulge.
Time to disappear.
That's when the world decided to throw its next punch. The door burst inward with the force of a hurricane, splintering wood and shattering the fragile silence. The SWAT team flooded the room like a well-oiled machine made of muscle.
Fuck me sideways.
"Hands in the air!" One of them barked and the command sliced through the chaos.
"Easy there, boys. Wouldn't wanna ruin your spotless arrest record by shooting an unarmed woman, would you?" My voice fell flat.
"Shut up! On the ground, now!" Another shouted, gun trained on me.
"Touchy touchy," I retorted and slowly stepped back.
