Page 57 of Forbidden Sins
ESTELLA
W e wake up before the sun has even come up, just after two in the morning.
Sebastian stirs before I do, leaning over to kiss me gently.
“We need to go,” he murmurs. “We have enough time for a quick shower and to change clothes, if we’re fast. And then we need to get back on the road.
We’re going to need to get a different car. ”
I nod groggily, pushing myself up. My side hurts like nothing I’ve ever felt before, and when I make a pained noise, I see Sebastian look over at me worriedly.
“Are you alright?” he asks, and I nod.
“It hurts really badly,” I admit. “But I’ll be fine. What about you? You got shot too,” I point out, and he gives a one-shouldered shrug with his good arm.
“It hurts. But I’ve been through it before. You haven’t.”
“I’ll live.” I get out of bed, realizing how stiff I am as I do.
I’m in good shape from years of swimming and running, but I wasn’t prepared for the kind of exertion that yesterday required—not to mention the sex, which seems to be using a whole new set of muscles that I’ve never exercised before. “You said there’s time for a shower?”
“Ten minutes,” Sebastian says, digging through the duffel. “I’ll come join you, but we have to make it quick. Nothing extra.” He winks at me, but his expression is deadly serious.
I make my way to the bathroom, wincing with every step.
The wound in my side throbs with a dull, persistent ache that makes it hard to think about anything else.
I turn on the shower, letting the water heat up while I carefully peel off the bandage Sebastian applied last night.
The wound looks angry and red, but at least it's not bleeding anymore.
The area around it is bruised black and blue, and I can see how close it came to hitting my ribs. I was very, very lucky.
I get into the shower, wincing when the hot water hits my side, stinging painfully.
But it’s worth it for how good the rest of my body feels as the warmth seeps into my aching muscles.
I'm just starting to wash my hair when Sebastian joins me, his broad frame taking up most of the small shower stall. He’s taken off the bandage for his shoulder wound, too, and I can see the tension in his jaw as the water hits it.
"Let me help," I say, taking the washcloth from his hand. I gently wash around his wound, careful not to touch the actual wound itself. His eyes never leave my face, and there's something in them I can't quite read—something beyond desire, beyond the urgency of our situation.
"Estella," he says softly, and just my name on his lips sends a flood of heat through me that has nothing to do with the water temperature.
"I know," I reply, though I'm not sure what I'm acknowledging. That we need to hurry? That this moment of tenderness is stolen time we can't afford? That everything has changed between us in ways I'm still struggling to comprehend?
He takes the soap back, returning the favor by washing me with the same gentle care.
His fingers trace the curve of my waist, skimming over my injury with feather-light touches.
Even in this rushed moment, there's an intimacy to it that makes my heart ache. I wash my hair quickly, grimacing as the movement stretches the skin and muscle in my side, but Sebastian’s shoulder would hold up to the movement even less.
"Time's up," he says after what feels like seconds. "We need to go."
We dry off quickly, and Sebastian helps me apply a fresh bandage before doing the same for himself.
I dress in the clothes he's laid out for me—one of the pairs of jeans I purchased yesterday and a simple black T-shirt that will hide the blood if any should seep through the bandage.
Practical clothes for a life on the run.
Not the designer labels I'm used to, but I find I don't miss them at all.
I don’t miss anything about my old life.
I wondered if I might, a little bit—the excellent food, the indoor swimming pool, the hours of leisure.
I miss my painting supplies and the sunroom that felt like my own private sanctuary, but those are things I can have again, if we manage to escape and get away for good.
What I have now instead of luxury—Sebastian, and what we’ve become to each other, can’t be replaced if I lose him.
"How are you feeling?" Sebastian asks as we gather our few belongings. "Be honest, princess.”
I consider downplaying the pain, but the look in his eyes tells me he'll see right through it. "Like I've been shot," I admit. "And like I could sleep for another twelve hours. But I'll manage."
He nods, satisfied with my honesty. "We'll get you some painkillers at the next stop. For now, we need to focus on getting a new car and putting more distance between us and Vito's men."
The mention of my former fiancé sends a chill through me.
Yesterday's confrontation plays in my mind—Vito's cold eyes, the crack of gunshots, Sebastian's body shielding mine as we ran.
I still can't believe how close we came to being caught.
How close I came to losing Sebastian before I'd even really had him.
“I want to throw away the ring.” I glance toward the duffel, where I know Sebastian stashed it in some inner pocket after we left the first motel. “I don’t want any part of him with me any longer.”
“I can appreciate that,” Sebastian says, as he unlocks the door and checks the walkways and parking lot, gun drawn. “But we might need to pawn it at some point, princess. That ring probably cost him upward of a hundred grand. No use in throwing away cash when we might need it eventually.”
His logic is sound, as much as I hate it. I let it go, for now at least, because there’s no time to really talk about it, and I don’t want to spend what precious minutes we have arguing.
“Do you think we can lose them?” I ask as we slip through the parking lot to the truck. Sebastian throws the duffel in the backseat, sliding in to hotwire it again.
“We’re going to fucking try,” he says determinedly, as the engine roars to life. “We’ll ditch this car and pay cash for another beater. As much as I don’t love spending the money, having the cops on our tail for stolen vehicles is one more problem we don’t need.”
I can’t argue with that logic either. My breath catches in my throat as I glance over my shoulder, looking for any sign of headlights in the darkness, and Sebastian catches my gaze. “Are you alright, princess?”
“I’m scared,” I admit, looking back at him as he puts the truck into gear. “But not of the future. I’m scared of losing this—losing you—now that I've finally found something real."
He kisses me then, brief but fierce, like he's trying to imprint himself on me. "Let's go," he says when he pulls away. "The sooner we get across the border and into a different country, the sooner we can start figuring out what 'real' looks like for us."
We drive until the sun rises with no issues, sticking to the back roads.
Sometime after seven, we pass through a tiny town that has one drive-through restaurant, a pharmacy, a few stores, and an old car lot that looks as if the building in the center of it would fall down with a strong wind.
We stop at the pharmacy first, with Sebastian reloading my revolver and handing it to me.
“If anyone tries to talk to you?—”
“Shoot first and ask questions later.” I manage a weak smile. “I know.”
He nods, getting out of the truck and walking quickly to the pharmacy. He’s back out in ten minutes with a small bag. “I got painkillers,” he says. “Not the type of town where I can get Plan B.”
“We’ll see what happens.” I smile at him. “Right now, I want ibuprofen more than anything.”
“Let’s get something to eat, and you can take the painkillers while I negotiate a car.” Sebastian glances across the street at the drive-through. “We’ll leave the car and walk to the lot.”
I nod, leaning back in the seat and taking a slow breath as Sebastian drives us to the restaurant. We get greasy breakfast food and coffee, and I take three ibuprofen while we scarf the food down. Sebastian grabs the duffel bag and the gun, and we head down the road toward the car lot.
It takes all of twenty minutes for him to pay cash for a car, very few questions asked, especially when he gives the ancient man running the lot five hundred extra dollars above the asking price.
Still, on my feet and out in the rapidly heating morning, it feels more like an hour, especially when I can’t stop looking over my shoulder.
Sebastian gets us an old black sedan, serviceable, but once again, nothing that is going to outrun Vito’s men.
“We’re going to have to evade them, not outrun them,” Sebastian says as we get in, seeing my expression.
“It’s hard to find the kind of car that could outrun them with the limitations we have right now. ”
We drive for another hour or so, the soft background hum of the radio the only sound."What are you thinking about?" Sebastian asks finally, his eyes on the road as we wind our way through another long stretch of nothing.
"About how different my life is going to be from what I always expected,” I say softly, looking at the open road ahead of us. I glance at him, and I see his jaw tighten a little.
"Do you regret it?" The question is casual, but I can hear the tension underneath.
I turn to look at him, taking in his profile in the glow of the late-morning sun.
The strong jaw, the slight furrow between his brows, the lips I now know the taste of, the stubble that I love rasping against my palms. "Not for a second," I tell him truthfully.
"I'm starting to think that inheritance was more of a prison than a privilege. "
He glances at me, surprise evident in his expression. "You're not upset about losing it all?"
"I'm not saying I won't miss certain comforts," I admit with a small laugh.
"But when I think about the life that was planned out for me—marrying Vito, being the perfect mafia wife, turning a blind eye to all the ugliness—I can't believe I ever thought that was what I wanted.
" I reach over to place my hand on his thigh, needing the physical connection.
"This feels more like freedom than anything I've ever known. "
Sebastian covers my hand with his, squeezing gently. "I still can't shake the feeling that I've taken something from you. Your family, your security, your future?—"
"You didn't take anything I wasn't willing to give up," I interrupt. "I made this choice, Sebastian. We made it. Together. Nothing about this is ever going to be your fault. And if we’re going to have a future, we’re going to have to leave that feeling in the dust somewhere along the road."
He doesn't look convinced, and I can see the guilt still weighing on him. Before I can press the issue, he tenses, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror.
"What is it?" I ask, twisting to look behind us.
"Another SUV. They've been following the same turns we have for the last few minutes." His voice is calm, but I can hear the undercurrent of concern. "Could be nothing. Could be trouble."
My heart rate picks up immediately. "What do we do?"
"For now, we keep driving normally. No sudden moves." His hand moves from mine to the gun tucked into his waistband. "But be ready to duck down if I tell you to. Make sure your gun is ready if you need it."
The next few minutes are excruciating. The headlights behind us maintain a steady distance—not closing in, but not turning off either. Sebastian takes a sudden right turn onto a smaller road, and my stomach drops when the car behind us follows.
"Definitely not a coincidence," Sebastian mutters. "Hold on."
Without warning, he floors the accelerator, and I'm pushed back against my seat as the car surges forward. The car behind us grows smaller for a moment, then rapidly begins to close the distance again.
"They're faster than us," I say, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.
“Let’s hope I’m a better driver,” Sebastian growls, taking another sharp turn that has me gripping the door handle.
He takes us through a series of increasingly complex turns, the tires squealing in protest. I can see his focus, the way his eyes constantly check the mirrors, the road ahead, and the speedometer.
This is the Sebastian I first knew—the professional, the protector, the man who stayed three steps ahead of any threat.
For a moment, it seems like we're losing them. The car disappears from view after a particularly sharp turn. Sebastian maintains our speed, navigating the winding road with precision.
"I think we—" I begin, but the words die in my throat as the black SUV suddenly veers out in front of us from the treeline along the road.
Sebastian curses, slamming on the brakes and wrenching the wheel to the side. The car skids, and for a terrifying moment, I think we're going to crash. Somehow, he manages to bring us to a stop just short of the vehicle blocking our path.
"Get down!" he shouts, and I don't hesitate, ducking below the dashboard as the first shots ring out.
Glass shatters above me as bullets tear through the windshield. Sebastian returns fire, his movements quick and precise. I hear shouts, more gunfire, and then Sebastian's hand on my shoulder.
“Stay down,” he growls. “We’re going to run for it. They’re down, and we need to go. Don’t move.”
The car accelerates, almost throwing me to the floorboard if I didn’t have my seatbelt on.
Sebastian curses, and I feel the hard bump of the car moving over difficult terrain as we veer around the SUV and into the bumpy, grassy side of the road.
I hear another shot behind us, and Sebastian floors it, the tires squealing and the car fishtailing as we lurch forward.
“I shot out the tires,” he explains breathlessly as we drive.
“They won’t be going anywhere fast. We’re going to drive until we get out of the state, maybe a couple of states over, and then we’ll stop for the night.
We need to put a lot of distance between us and them, and we need to be somewhere that your father doesn’t have the kind of sway that he has in New York and close by. ”
“Where are we going?” I ask, swallowing hard.
“We’ll stop in Ohio, maybe. Indiana or Kentucky, if I can get us that far. And then from there we’ll cut west again.” He looks over at me. “Sleep if you can, princess. It’s going to be a long day and night.”