Page 14

Chapter 14

Fantasia

S leep has never been easy for me, which means waking up never feels good. For many years now, I’ve preferred not to close my eyes at all. Instead, I’d grab a bottle of wine and sit in an armchair close to the fire, letting the mingling heat of the alcohol and the hearth lull me into a waking stupor.

This morning, I don’t realize my eyes have even closed- and stayed closed- until I’m shocked awake by a door flying open, letting in cold morning air and blinding sunlight and a harried-looking Piers.

“We need to leave. Get dressed,” he orders, already rummaging through his duffle bag. He tosses a pair of sweats at me, but I’m still trying to remember where I am and who I am, as the fabric slaps me in the face instead of landing in my waiting arms.

“What…?” I croak.

“Crowes,” Piers spits, retrieving his handgun from the duffle and loading it with practiced speed. “Outside.”

My head instinctively swivels toward the window, but the curtains are closed. As I look down at the sweats he just threw at me, I snort in frustration. “Hand-me-downs? I have my own clothes, you know.”

He doesn’t even look at me. “We don’t have time for this! Move!”

The sharpness in his voice jolts me into motion. I pull them on quickly, my hands trembling slightly as I move with more urgency than I thought I had in me. I try to climb out of bed, but pain lances through my side and I only manage to double over. My body stiffened up last night, and parts of me I didn’t even think were wounded in the struggle with Armstrong and Barnes are hurting now. Muscles I tensed and stretched unnaturally while I flailed around, the heels of my feet from kicking at the floor- even my jaw hurts when it didn’t before. I try again to stand and manage it, but it’s agony.

I don’t think I can run like this.

“You should go,” I tell Piers, even though I know he won’t listen.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, but there’s no humor in it. He zips up his duffle, shoves his shoes on without a second thought. “Just so long as you’re right behind me.” His hair is windswept, his cheeks pink from the chill outside. When he turns his dark green eyes on me, I’m shocked by how hard they are. Not with anger, but with determination.

He’s ready to fight his way out. For me.

And if he refuses to leave me behind, then I have to run. For him.

When he holds his hand out for me, I reach to take it, almost on instinct. Then a fist knocks hard on our door, making us both freeze. For a moment we stay quiet, wondering if we’re wrong, wondering if whoever’s on the other side will just leave.

“We know you’re in there. Come on now. Let’s not make this difficult.”

Piers and I exchange a look. No such luck then.

Piers motions me to get behind him, and I’m not stubborn enough to disobey. Together we creep toward the door, staying close to the wall. When the knocking comes again, harder this time, Piers reaches out to unlock it.

He looks back at me, just long enough to mouth, “ Stay here .” Then he flings open the door, pointing his gun at a man on the other side.

But the Crowe is quick- his hand shoots out, slapping the gun aside. It clatters to the ground between us as the man lunges at Piers.

The next moment is chaos. Piers drives his fist into the man’s stomach, forcing him to stagger back, but another Crowe charges from the side, swinging wildly. Piers blocks with his forearm and counters with a strike to the jaw.

The gun lies within arm’s reach, taunting me,its cold metal gleaming in the dim light. I grab it, feeling the weight settle heavily in my hands, but my fingers tremble, weak from the withdrawal. My body aches, each movement a reminder of the alcohol still clawing at my system. I can kill. I know that. The thought of pulling the trigger doesn't frighten me, but I can't ignore the fear of what might happen if I miss.

“Get him!” a third Crowe barks, his voice sharp and chaotic.

The third man strikes a punch at Piers, but Piers is already moving, pivoting low as he drives an elbow into his ribs, sending him crumpling to the ground. The first man grabs Piers by his shirt, yanking him off balance and slamming him against the wall. For a split second, my heart stops as the man’s hand darts toward something at his belt.

“Piers!” I gasp, inching toward the opening, my body screaming at me to stay put.

Piers doesn’t falter. With a fluid motion, he draws his knee up into the man's gut, his expression sharp and unyielding. The man groans and doubles over, but Piers doesn’t stop there. He grabs the guy by the back of the head and slams him into the doorframe, the sickening crack of his nose reverberating through the space.

The second Crowe steps forward, this time armed. His pistol gleams in the morning light, and my breath catches.

“Enough!” the man growls, aiming straight at Piers’s chest.

My blood runs cold. My hands shake. I grip the gun with both hands, trying to steady my trembling fingers. Every instinct tells me to point and shoot, but fear clogs my throat and clouds my mind. What if I miss? What if I hit Piers instead? My heart pounds as I force myself to lift the gun, but Piers moves faster than I thought humanly possible. He grabs the limp body of the man he just knocked out and uses him as a shield, ducking low to grab the weapon from the unconscious Crowe. The armed man hesitates for a fraction of a second, his aim wavering- and that’s all Piers needs.

He fires.

The shot is deafening, echoing through the room like a thunderclap. The armed Crowe stumbles back, clutching his shoulder, and the gun falls from his hand with a clatter.

“Move!” Piers yells at me, his voice razor-sharp. He’s already on the move, throwing the duffle bag over his shoulder as he grabs my arm. I stagger, still frozen by the sound of the gunshot.

“Fantasia, now!” His eyes meet mine, and they’re wild, unrelenting. The world snaps back into focus, and I let him drag me out of the room, past the fallen Crowes groaning in pain.

The gravel crunches under our feet as we sprint toward the edge of the motel, rounding the corner to the back of the building. Adrenaline surges through me, dulling the sharp ache in my side as we push forward. Behind us, the shouting escalates, voices edged with fury- proof of just how thoroughly Piers held his own against them.

We dart into a narrow alley that cuts between two houses, leading to a waist-high chain-link fence. Piers vaults over it effortlessly, landing silently on the other side before turning to help me scramble over.

“Come on,” Piers calls, his tone clipped but laced with concern as his eyes catch on the gun still in my hand, his jaw tightening.

He reaches for the weapon. I hesitate for a fraction of a second, my grip faltering, before he gently takes it from me. “You focus on climbing,” he instructs, tucking the gun into his waistband.

I place a hand on the metal fence, but the sharp pull on my side makes me wince. My legs wobble beneath me, and I can’t muster the strength to pull myself up.

“Don’t tense- let me do the work,” he says, his voice steady and commanding. His grip is firm, and before I can protest, his hands shift to lift me. “Hold onto me.” I cling to his shoulders as he hoists me up. His arms steady as he carries me over. Pain ripples through my side, sharp but bearable.

He lowers me carefully to the ground, his movements controlled as if afraid to hurt me further. My feet touch down, but the impact sends a jolt of pain through my side, and I stumble. His hands remain on me, steadying me until I regain my footing.

His hands linger for a beat longer before he pulls back, his focus already shifting. “Stay close,” he says, his tone firm as he turns to lead the way.

The hard-packed dirt shifts to soft grass as we cut through the backyard of a small house. A dog barks furiously, snapping at the air, but we don’t stop. We dodge laundry lines, scattered toys, and a low-hanging tree branch before disappearing into the shadows of another yard.

Cold bites at my cheeks, and the distant roar of an engine reminds me the Crowes are still circling the motel, hunting us. My legs scream in protest, but I push on, following Piers through one last backyard and onto a quiet side street.

“There’s a bus stop a block away,” he whispers, his gaze sweeping the area, sharp and calculating. “Stick with me. We’ll make it.”

I nod, too winded to argue, and follow his lead.

In the distance, the bus’s headlights appear, cutting through the gloom. I glance back- no sign of the Crowes. We reach the stop with seconds to spare, slipping on just as the doors close behind us.

“You alright?” Piers asks once we settle into our seats.

The chair beneath me feels like a victory. My legs are trembling, half from adrenaline and half from sheer relief, but I manage a nod. “Yeah,” I say, though my voice comes out softer than I mean it to. “I’m fine.”

“Let me see your side,” he murmurs, already reaching for my shirt.

I hesitate but relent. He lifts the hem, revealing the blood seeping through the bandage. It’s not a lot, but enough to make my stomach churn.

“Some of the stitches pulled,” he says grimly.

“It’s nothing,” I snap, tugging my shirt back down. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m about to shatter.” My tone is sharp enough to cut, and for now, it silences him.

When the bus stops near the dealership, Piers is already moving, guiding me off and into a waiting cab. Minutes later, we arrive at a quiet, tucked-away lot where a sleek car is waiting. I don’t know how he pulled it off, but it’s here, and we have what we need to get away.