Page 33 of A Secret Escape

Lila

O ne delicious chicken burger later - and some playful foot rubbing under the table – and the knots in my stomach are finally starting to loosen. With Marcus here, I feel safe, grounded, happy.

I grin as I watch him sip his lemonade. There’s something endearing about seeing a grown man drink through a straw that makes me giggle.

“What are you laughing at?” he asks, a playful smirk on his face that makes my cheeks warm.

“Nothing,” I reply, shaking my head but still smiling.

He slurps the last of his drink with an obnoxious gurgle through the ice, and I can’t help it – I burst into laughter, his smile warming my heart.

As the laughter fades, a soft silence falls between us.

“Thank you for coming when I called,” I say quietly.

“You don’t need to thank me.”

His eyes find mine with a steadiness that makes my breath catch.

“Listen, after everything… I’m here, alright? Any time you need me, just call, and I’m there. Day or night. I mean that.” His gaze is locked on mine, intent and unwavering, his eyes insisting that his words are a promise .

I nod, my throat tightening. “I know. Thank you.”

“Come stay at mine tonight,” he says, the words instantly sending a sharp thrill through my entire body.

I hesitate for half a second as he rests his hand gently on top of mine.

“I didn’t want you to leave last night, but I didn’t want to pressure you. I shouldn’t have let you go.”

Heat blooms in my chest, spreading outward like a lit match in dry grass. I can already picture the night ahead – his strong arms wrapped around me, tangled in his sheets, the taste of his lips on mine.

“I’d love that,” I say.

His face lights up, his eyes literally glowing, even in the dim light.

“Me too,” he says, and my heart soars.

“I’ll just need to stop back at my flat and pick up a couple of things, if that’s okay?”

“Yea, of course.” He wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “You ready?”

I nod, and as we walk back down the street, hand in hand, the fear from earlier has almost vanished, fading into the background.

It’ll be fine. I don’t need to go to the police. They’ll find him. And tonight… I’ll be safe. With Marcus.

The lift doors slide shut, and Marcus’s fingers tighten around my hand.

He turns, pressing my back against the wall as his mouth finds mine – hungry and certain - stealing the breath straight from my lungs.

I clutch the railing behind me to stay upright, my knees threatening to give out from under me, because holy fuck.

The doors open way too soon and the sudden loss of his lips leaves my skin tingling like a spark cut short.

Hand in hand, grinning like a giddy schoolgirl, I step into the corridor – only to freeze dead in my tracks .

The door to my flat is hanging open.

We stand, silent, still, listening for any signs of sound, but there’s nothing.

“Go back to the lift,” Marcus whispers, not taking his eyes off the door. “Take it to another floor. If you don’t hear from me in five minutes, call the police.”

I nod and turn back in to the lift, jamming the button with trembling fingers. The doors close around me and I press the button for the sixth floor.

Terror grips every muscle in my body, my breath short and sharp, my pulse drumming in my ears. I grip my phone like it’s the only solid thing left in the world, thumb hovering over the nine.

Please, God, please don’t let anything happen to him . The only reason he’s involved in this mess is because of me. Please. Don’t let him get hurt. Please.

The doors open on the sixth floor and everything appears calm.

I step out, cautiously looking around, then find a recess in the corridor where I stand frozen, my back against the wall, straining to hear… anything.

One minute.

Two.

Tears sting my eyes.

Would I hear anything from up here? Would I even know if something was wrong?

My finger twitches over the nine, ready to call for help.

Three minutes.

My phone buzzes.

A text from Marcus.

All clear .

I exhale shakily and jog back down two flights of stairs to the fourth floor, where Marcus is waiting outside my door. Thank you, God.

“What happened?” I ask, not sure I want to know.

“It’s not good,” he says quietly.

I step inside – and my stomach twists. My neat, tidy little flat has been turned upside down.

The couch is tipped over, the back of it slashed open.

Soil from my plant pot spills across the rug, the long green stems snapped in half.

Books are scattered everywhere, some with pages torn out, and my TV is face down on the floor.

“There’s definitely no one here?” My voice shakes as I stand frozen by the door.

“I checked everywhere - bedroom, toilet, closet. Whoever did this was trying to send a message,” Marcus says.

I turn to glare at him with my jaw hanging down.

“A message ? Like what? Get out or die ?”

Rage replaces fear in a heartbeat. Chris. It has to be him.

My eyes jump to my favourite spot on my bookshelf, where the wooden block Marcus gave me lives.

It’s not there, but a small brown square on the floor catches my eye and my heart does a slight leap as I cross the room quickly, crouching to pick it up.

I hold the wooden block in my hands for a moment, taking a deep breath before I stand back up, sliding it into my coat pocket.

“They’re trying to intimidate us,” Marcus says. “Let us know they’re serious.”

“I told him I wasn’t going to tell!” I shout.

My eyes burn, but I refuse to let the tears fall. “Why the fuck would he do this?”

“Pack a bag,” Marcus says softly. “Get anything you need for a few days. You’re staying at mine. ”

The tears I’d been holding back suddenly break free as a whirlwind of emotions overwhelms me. Disbelief. Gratitude. The surreal chaos of it all.

What alternate reality am I living in? Just over a week ago, I’d been living a normal life, going to work and hoping to bump into the man of my dreams in the coffee shop.

And now I’m going to be spending a few days with him at his place as we wait for my psychotic murderous ex-boyfriend to be arrested?

A psychotic murderous ex-boyfriend who, by the looks of it, wants me dead as well.

I head to the bedroom, and the destruction that greets me sends my blood boiling. My clothes have been strewn all around the room, my drawers pulled out and emptied, and my mattress slashed down the middle, same as the couch.

It’s going to cost a fucking fortune to replace all this.

I spot my gym bag on the floor and grab it, shoving clothes into it haphazardly.

Marcus’s hoodie and joggers, along with a few pairs of pants, a dress, a couple of t-shirts.

I have to laugh at the ridiculousness of the fact that all of it being on the floor makes it easier to see and to grab quickly.

I grab my phone charger and reach for my iPad that’s normally by my bedside table, but it’s gone.

Fucker. Of course he took the only thing worth any real value.

I let out a growl of frustration, my anger growing by the second.

The bathroom is no better – mirror shattered, toiletries scattered everywhere. My make-up bag lies open in the sink. I grab it, filling it with what I can, and storm back out.

I dare Chris to come back now. I’ll strangle him to death myself !

Marcus stands by the door, checking his phone. Even now, seeing him standing there in his gym kit, tall and handsome, gives me a little wobble.

“Ready?” he asks, slipping his phone into his pocket.

“Yea, let’s go.”

I go to lock the door, but where the keyhole should be, instead is a mess of splintered wood and twisted metal. The lock has been completely destroyed.

I pull the door closed anyway, the latch barely catching with a feeble click.

We move quickly, cautiously, ears tuned to the silence around us.

I spot Marcus’s silver Audi up ahead, but my stomach sinks as we approach it. The side mirror hangs down by a wire, and the front tyre’s been slashed.

“ Fuck !” Marcus shouts, kicking the tyre.

I flinch.

This is my fault. He’s only in this mess because of me.

A cold wind blows, biting at my skin.

“I’ll pay for the tyre,” I mumble, but he doesn’t hear me. He’s scanning the street, one hand sweeping through his hair as he looks around in every direction.

A million thoughts run through my head as I look around as well, each one more distressing than the last. How long have they been watching us? How many people are there? How did they know which car was his? Where are they? What do they want?

My eyes dart up and down the street, trying to catch a glimpse of anyone in a black car, my insides swirling with a mixture of anger and panic.

If someone is watching us, they’re well-hidden .

“Come on,” Marcus says, taking my hand as he starts walking away from the car. “Can you order a cab?”

I nod and fumble for my phone, my feet moving quickly to keep up with his pace as the wind whips around us.

“Where should I order it to?”

“Here,” he says, glancing over his shoulder as we turn a corner, but he keeps walking. “We’ll come back when it gets here.”

I drop a pin into the Uber app, but it needs me to put in a destination.

“Where are we going?” I ask, my breath turning into clouds in front of me as we move quickly along the street.

“Just put Eccles,” he says.

I enter the destination and press submit, tucking my phone into my coat pocket.

We circle the block twice before a car pulls up with an Uber logo on the side. With one final sweep of the street, Marcus pulls the door open, climbing in behind me.

“Windy one today, innit?” the driver says.

“Yea. Eccles Library, please,” Marcus says and the car sets off.

I stare out the window, trying to catch a glimpse of anyone that looks like they might be following us.

The car is silent for several minutes as we drive towards the city centre.

Finally, Marcus lets out a big breath as though he’s been holding it this whole time, and rests a reassuring hand on my knee.

“Sorry about my outburst earlier.”

“You don’t need to apologise.”