Page 84 of Auctioned Innocence
The call cuts off as flashlight beams sweep past our window, casting moving shadows across the stained wallpaper.
Dante’s hand finds mine in the darkness, steady and sure. “Ready to run again?”
I squeeze once, trying to memorize the taste of his kiss, the weight of his hands, everything we almost had. Everything we might still have if we survive this.
“Let’s do this,” I whisper.
16
DANTE
The bathroom window is barely wide enough for Sofia’s shoulders, let alone mine.
I boost her through first, my ribs screaming in protest as I lift her weight. Fresh blood seeps through my bandage, warm and sticky against my shirt.
“Go,” I hiss as she lands in the narrow alley behind the motel. “Don’t wait for me.”
But she does wait, of course she does, her hands reaching back to help pull me through the cramped opening.
The window frame catches on my jacket, and for one heart-stopping moment I’m stuck—half in, half out—as boots thunder through the motel room behind us.
“There! Bathroom window!” someone shouts.
Sofia yanks me through with surprising strength just as the bathroom door splinters inward.
We hit the ground hard, my wound tearing open completely.
The pain is white-hot, radiating from my ribs through my entire torso.
I taste copper—either from biting my tongue or internal bleeding. Neither option is good.
Flashlight beams sweep the alley, deadly bright in the darkness.
I press Sofia against the brick wall, covering her body with mine as armed figures pour through the window we just vacated.
My vision grays at the edges—blood loss or shock, doesn’t matter which.
“Six men minimum,” I breathe against her ear, forcing my mind to stay moving even as my body threatens to shut down. “Automatic weapons. Excellent formation.”
They’re spreading out, cutting off escape routes.
These aren’t hired thugs—they’re operators.
The kind who don’t miss and don’t leave witnesses.
We slip deeper into the maze of dumpsters and service equipment, my left side on fire with each movement.
Blood runs down my ribs, soaking through my shirt and leaving a trail any competent tracker could follow. I need to stop the bleeding or we’re both dead.
“This way,” Sofia whispers, pointing toward a gap between buildings.
I follow, but my legs nearly give out halfway across the open space.
The pain hits in waves now, each one threatening to drop me.
Sofia catches my arm, steadying me, and I hate how much I need her support.
More shouts behind us.
