Three Years(36)

I’m covered in blood, but none of it seems to be mine. I focus on Elliot, and gasp when I see blood pouring from his shoulder.

“Jesus, Elliot. You’re been shot.”

He gestures to a towel on the floor, and I grab it, applying pressure to his wound.

“It’s a flesh wound,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.

I stare out of the back window of the van as we pass trees and buildings in a rapid blur. He’s definitely going above the limit.

“We just left them there,” I say, suddenly horrified.

Elliot gives me a tight glance before looking back at the road. “They’ll get out,” he says. “Or they’ll get shot. You’re my problem. They’re not.”

My heart sinks as I imagine Jase and Dornan trapped in gun battle. I can imagine only one of them will end up coming out of it alive.

Elliot’s cellphone rings, and he grabs it off the dash, hitting answer.

“Yeah?”

Unintelligible yelling comes through the other end, and Elliot ends the call just as quickly, throwing the phone back on the dash.

“They got out,” he says blankly “Jason and Luis. Though, given that last piece of news, I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

Luis. That’s The Prospect’s name. Relieved and sickened, I continue applying pressure to Elliot’s wound as I watch his blood seep right through the material and onto my palm.

“You saved me,” I say in wonderment, as I watch his red blood swiftly devour the white towel.

He flashes me a wicked smile, topped off with a wink. “Just call me Superman, sweetheart.”





Thirty minutes and an endless stream of backstreets later, we’re at the San Diego port. Why, I have no idea.

Before I’ve even taken my seatbelt off, Elliot is out of the car and in the back of the van, a black duffel bag in his hands.

He comes around to my side, helping me out, looking me over uneasily. I don’t react. I know I look like shit. I’m still wearing the white dress Dornan gave me, now stained with Elliot and Emilio’s blood. Elliot hasn’t even seen my stomach yet, the awful mess where Dornan cut away the tattoo he inked.

“Come on,” Elliot says, tugging my hand. I’m confused, until my eyes fall upon the yacht parked up next to the jetty. “We’re sailing?”

He nods. “Too risky flying. And we can’t exactly drive across the border when Emilio fucking owns it.”

“Emilio’s dead,” I say blankly.

“Yeah, but Dornan’s not,” Elliot says, clearly peeved. “I fucking knew Jase had—”

“Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t talk about them, please, El.” He killed my father? It’s too much to comprehend. I just wanted him to tell me it was a lie, or something. Anything! But he didn’t even try to defend himself.

And Dornan’s not dead? FUCK! The sick motherfucker just won’t die! Not by a bomb, not by a bullet. I’m equal parts disappointed and relieved that he isn’t dead, because when he does breathe his final breath in this world, it should be while he’s forced to stare into my eyes as I watch him slip away.

I notice Elliot’s shoulder is weeping fresh blood again, and I frown, concerned.

I wonder if he’s OK.

Elliot seems to read my mind. “It was a flesh wound,” he says to me. “I’ll be fine.”

“You suck at sailing,” I say, tilting my head as I study the yacht. “You crashed our houseboat in the river.”

He snorts. “I hired a boat that came with a driver,” he says. “Five-star, baby.”

“Wait,” I say, squeezing his arm. “Where’s Kayla? Grandma?”

He glances at me before tossing his bag onto the boat. “I put them in a safe place around the same time that Dornan blew up my tattoo shop.”

I gasp. “Your shop? Your tattoo parlor?”

“Is no more,” he answers. “May she rest in peace, that sexy bitch of a studio.”

Devastation plucks at my heart at the image in my mind of Elliot’s tattoo studio going up in flames. Because of me. Yet, I can’t help but smile at the way he tells me. No wonder I fell in love with him all those years ago. Elliot can make me smile even after he’s lost everything.

Elliot’s led me below deck so I can rest. He doesn’t understand when I tell him I’ve been resting a lot lately. Instead, I perch myself on a couch in the small but comfortable cabin, grabbing a cushion and hugging it to my stomach. He goes back to the top deck and as I wait for him to return I hear other voices alongside his. My blood runs cold when I recognize them. Jase and Luis. I can’t face Jase any time soon—I don’t even know if I can trust him. He killed my father?