Page 61 of Faded Rhythm

The sun is stillrising when we slip out of the hotel room. The hallway is empty, the kind of quiet that makes every sound feel suspicious. Even the click of the door behind us sounds like a gunshot. I swallow hard as we go down the hallway.

Julian moves ahead of me, his body tense, steps measured. One hand hovers near his gun, the other extended behind him like a barrier meant to keep me back.

Every few feet, he pauses to scan around us—doors, corners, shadows.

I don’t speak. I feel like I’m barely breathing. I just follow as my heart rattles like a loose screw in my chest.

We pass the elevators and enter the side stairwell. We descend fast and silent. When we finally emerge into the parking lot, I see Julian’s eyes lock on a black SUV tucked beneath a flickering streetlight.

“When did you rent a car?” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he approaches the car, then motions for me to stop. He pulls a small, sleek wand frominside of his jacket and slowly waves it over the vehicle, from the wheel wells to the bumpers and across the trunk and hood.

“I didn’t,” he finally answers. “My contact dropped it off an hour ago.”

“What is that thing?” I ask.

His eyes scan the area. “Testing for tracking devices. Explosives. Shit like that.”

My stomach drops.

I’m shaking now, terrified at the thought of being blown to pieces. An icy realization sinks into my bones as Julian opens the passenger door for me; I’ve been pretending we were safe. It was easy to feel comfortable holed up in hotel rooms, wrapped up in each other. Letting myself feel something for a man again. But I let myself forget.

Brett is still out there. Still gunning for me. And maybe my girls.

I put a hand over my mouth as Julian moves quickly around the front of the car. He gets in and stares at me, noticing my distress immediately.

“I told you. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he says. His voice is low, rough, and genuine.

I nod, but I can’t speak. My throat’s too tight.

We’re off, heading through winding roads as dawn creeps up the edge of the sky. I swallow down a sob as I think about my daughters, imagining the worst, terrified of what I’ll find when I reach them. Julian puts a hand on my thigh, but it does nothing to calm me.

Finally, we reach the guard gate of Ebony’s subdivision. The guard nods at me, then calls my sister. He knows me, but he doesn’t know Julian, and I’m relieved that he’s taking the precaution. He hangs up, then buzzes us through. Just moving past the gate gives me a brief respite from the terror coursing through my veins.

We pull up to the house, and I’m so eager, I open the door before Julian pulls to a stop.

“Wait,” he urges as he kills the engine. “I’m walking you to the door.”

I nod. I want him close.

We step up to the porch together. He stands a few inches behind me, watching. Protecting.

When Ebony opens the door, her brows damn near touch her hairline.

“This must be my long-lost cousin,” she teases.

I roll my eyes and pull her into a tight hug. The warmth of her arms around me, and the calmness of her demeanor soothes me instantly. My girls are okay. I’m okay.

Then, there’s chaos. The good kind.

The girls come barreling toward us, their pajamas wrinkled and their bonnets askew. Henry is on their heels, barking and jumping.

I turn to receive them, but my girls don’t go to me.

They go straight to Julian.

“King!” they squeal. Rae clings to his leg. Kelice hugs him around the waist.

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