Page 57 of Seduced By the Billionaire
But she forced out, “I can’t run anymore, Daniel. Please take me home. I don’t want to go back to the motel.”
Ronan believed he could trick Daniel into going to the motel, lured by the promise of killing him. But Daniel’s motivations were more nuanced than that. Guessing what she might do was one part of the game. Inflicting the most suffering was another. And if he knew where she’d be… would he try to hurt Ronan there, in front of her? Take the game to the next level, soothe his boredom?
It was a long shot. But it felt true.
Daniel cocked his head as if waiting for her to act. Utterly still. Almost as if he wanted her to attack him. Wanted her to say she was done with this shit so he could finish her off, then go home and finish her mother.
Not today, asshole.
Juliette stepped backward.
He smiled. “Don’t run away from me, baby. Not yet.” He said it as if he was a hunter waiting for the start of big game season.
It was easy to be a predator when you were the only one with a gun.
“I’m not running.” She resisted the urge to add, and I’m not your baby, biting back her rage, her fear. “I just don’t want him… looking at me.” She gestured to the dead man and sidled backward to the arm of Waylon’s chair.
“But… you are going to run again. Aren’t you?” He cocked an eyebrow, no longer bored—the glee in his face turned her stomach. Bile rose in her gorge.
“Yes,” she whispered. “As soon as I get my stuff from the motel, I’ll go.”
“You aren’t going to say goodbye to your detective? You didn’t say goodbye to Sanchez, either.” He edged closer, eyes tight. “Maybe you should go now. How much more desperate might you be without a dime to your name?”
Juliette rested her left hand on the back of Waylon’s chair.
“What would you do for a meal, Juliette?” Daniel smiled. “Are you going to hitchhike to your next location? Let some trucker pick you up? Let him do nasty things to you so you don’t starve to death?”
Her eyes burned, and this time, she let the tears stream down her face. “I doubt those truckers will want me,” she said, bringing her right fingertips to the scar.
“But the ones who do…” The leer on his face was straight out of a horror movie. “They’ll put you in your place. Even that detective is just having a little fun before he arrests you for killing Jason. You have to know that.”
Daniel closed the gap between them, expecting her to run—he always expected her to run. Instead, she ripped the canister from the back of the chair and released a stream of pepper spray straight into his eyes.
Daniel stumbled back, shouting—“Goddamnit, you fucking cunt!”—but she was already leaping backward, head ducked low as the first shot rang out. The bullet cracked off the table to her right. She zigged left. Another bullet hit the chair.
Her eyes watered, her throat burning, but she managed to lurch through the beaded curtain, and then she was outside, racing through the freezing rain.
She raised her face to the sky, but it only seemed to make the burning worse. Juliette stumbled across the road, breath ragged, eyes on fire, her throat half-closed—choking. In the distance, sirens squalled. About time. She’d only been in the building for ten minutes. But would she make it back to Ronan before Daniel?
Juliette blinked, swiping at her watery eyes, running as fast as she dared over the cobbles. She cut a right at the next alley just as the police cars squealed onto the road.
She already knew what they’d find: Waylon with a blade in his throat, her fingerprints on the handle, the caustic reek of pepper in the air.
But no Daniel.
He had a way out of there. Same as he had the night he’d killed Jason. A hidey-hole in a nearby building, a way into the warehouse. He always had a way out.
But this time… she had Ronan. This time, she knew who Daniel’s next target was. And Daniel was the one on a time crunch—she could tell by the tension in his eyes when he’d said she should go now.
The sirens were already fading in her ears. Juliette ducked into a doorway and put her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath, her lungs resisting the fresh air—irritated by the pepper.
The rest of her life hinged on what happened in the next few hours. Her mother’s life. Ronan’s life.
Please, she thought to herself, suppressing a cough as she pushed herself from the doorway and raced off through the rain.
Please let this work.
Please let it be enough.
