Page 25 of Owen (Storm Enterprises)

“Please.” The pleading tone in his voice has me moving. Rightly or wrongly, I follow my heart and drag the dresser away from the door. Each action has my chest rising faster. Then I push the chair aside, blow out a deep breath, and unlock the door. My fingers tremble with each move, and I will myself to remain strong.

Before I have a chance to step back, Carlos is pushing through the door. His fraught eyes lock onto mine, his hair is disheveled and face pale, and his body shakes with what seems to be panic but could easily be withdrawals.

His face falls. “Mi amor.” His lip quivers, and the broken tone of his voice has me choking on my emotion. I step in front of Romero’s bassinet, and my fingers tighten on the lamp, and his brow furrows until he sets them on the soft mewling sound of our son. My chest constricts when his face morphs into horror, as if realizing the enormity of his actions and my stance at protecting our son from the last person he should need protecting from. When his shaky hands cup my bruised cheek, I step back and turn my head away from him, refusing to give him the comfort he’s craving. He nods, and his Adam’s apple slowly slides down his throat. “I messed up.” Licking his lips, he shakes his head, and I want to tell him this is so much more than messing up. “I messed up bad, Laya.” Tears fall freely down his face, and he drops his head, and I itch to pull him toward me, to tell him everything will be okay, that we will be okay. But I refuse to do so because after tonight, nothing will be the same. A war is coming, and I’ve already chosen where I stand, and that’s by my son’s side.

He inhales deeply, then with a heavy exhale, he steels his shoulders, raises his head, and stares at me with a renewed vigor.

“You’re in danger, Laya. I need you to listen very carefully to me.” The severity of his tone pulls my attention. Danger?

My eyes roam over him, wondering if he’s having some sort of mental breakdown, but all I see is anxiety laced in sincerity that makes my heart skip a beat with a foreboding feeling.

His eyes flit around the room. “Where’s Romero’s diaper bag?”

I furrow my brow, searching for a sign of the drugs that took hold of him only a short while ago, but find none.

His gaze lands back on me. “I got the doctor to administer me with a shot to help me recover quickly, and it’s a good thing too because we’re in danger, mi amor. Real fucking danger.” His sharp eyes sear into me. They speak the truth.

“What are you talking about?”

He moves around the room, pulling open the closet while I follow behind. “Grab Romero and his diaper bag.” My feet are frozen to the floor, unable to comprehend what he’s saying.

“What’s happening? You’re scaring me.”

“Laya! Fucking listen to me. Romero, get him and everything he needs. They’re coming!” he screams, and it snaps me out of my daze. The frantic look in his usually controlled eyes has panic surging through me. I almost trip over the bed to grab the diaper bag, then move to Romero, scooping him into my arms, hoping he can’t sense the terror unraveling inside me.

“Who is coming, Carlos?” I ask again as I clutch my son tightly.

He shakes his head, unwilling to tell me more, and disappointment fills me. The secrets he holds are not good ones, I know that, but I’d hoped he could trust me enough to keep them. I touch my cheek and stare at my frantic husband moving around the room like a tornado, and all I want is to feel the safety and security of strong arms wrapped around me, to tell me everything will be okay, that he’d never hurt me, and I’d believe it.

But those arms are miles away from here, and that thought terrifies me even more.

I want to go home.

My phone lights up, and I move quickly to pick it up. “No. Not the phone!” Carlos snaps, and I glance over my shoulder to see he has a backpack in his hand. His tone softens. “Not the phone, Laya. I don’t want them tracking you.” I search his face for truth and find it shining back at me with teary eyes. What the hell is happening? And why does my normally well-put-together husband look like a train wreck?

Leaving the phone, I turn back to him, and his shoulders relax, then he reaches out, tugging me toward the bathroom.

Once inside, Carlos scans his hand above the mirrored wall. It opens, and my mouth falls agape. How the hell did I not know about this? He turns to face me. “It’s a panic room. Nobody will know you’re in here. They won’t be able to see or hear you.”

“What? Carlos, why the hell do we need a panic room? What’s happening?” He pulls me inside and drops the bag to the floor while I make a quick assessment of the small room.

A cot sits in the corner, a small kitchenette, a safe, and a wall of guns that has me reeling back on my feet. Carlos catches me, and I spin to face him, then realize we’re standing in front of the mirror in our bedroom. It’s one-way glass.

“You can’t see inside here,” he attempts to reassure me.

This time, I let his cold hands cup my face as a lone tear trickles down my cheek. “I’m so sorry, mi amor.”

My chin wobbles, and I blink away at the wetness pooling in my eyes.

“I need you to know I love you with all my heart, and I need you to tell Romero what a good papa I was going to be.”

His words whirl around in my head. He’s talking with such finality. And then it hits me. He’s not staying with us.

“C-Carlos?”

“Shh.” He places his finger over my lips. “Listen carefully, mi amor. Nico will collect you and take you both to safety. I’m going to fix this. I promise everything will be exactly how it always should have been.” The solemn tone of his voice sends a shiver down my spine. It’s like he’s given up, and that scares me even more. “Trust no one but Nico. And Owen.” My blood stills.

I shake my head as panic surges inside me. “I don’t understand.”

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