Page 45 of Rotten Men

Or so I thought.

“What are you going to tell him about us moving?” James asks, coming from another angle to support his argument.

“I’ll think of something,” I bite back.

“So you are going to lie? To Jude? To your own flesh and blood?” He shakes his head, disappointed with my reply.

“I have to! You don’t have to come if you have a problem with how I deal with the situation,” I warn coolly.

“Oh no, you don’t. You and Jude are my family, and I won’t allow you to run away from me so easily. Before you might have been successful in doing it to them, but that’s only because they had no idea you were a flight risk. I know better. Wherever you go, I’ll go with you.” He laughs as if the mere idea is unfathomable to him.

“James—”

“Don’t ‘James’ me, Beautiful. This is not up for debate. Ten years ago I offered to help you in any way I could. I have devoted the last decade of my life in keeping that promise. I won’t turn back on my word now,” he affirms, crossing his arms over his chest to make his point clear.

I bite my inner cheek to keep silent, knowing nothing I say will make him change his mind. Especially when I, too, am bound by a promise that I made when I was only twelve years old—to always put the happiness and wellbeing of the pieces of my heart above my own, and to protect them in any way I could.

Always and forever.

How can I argue with James when his moral compass is so much more righteous than mine?

Life on the run isn’t fun and games, and taking my family across the country to hide from the devil and a mad man isn’t what I intended to do either. Still, I can’t presume that they won’t somehow learn of my whereabouts if we stay in Nashville. It’s just a risk too dangerous to take.

My thoughts are still rambling on when I turn into our neighborhood and see in the distance, a silhouette of a man sitting on our stoop. A black limo, which is parked on the curb of our street with a chauffeur sitting idly inside, is a clear indication of who exactly awaits me at my doorstep.

“Shit!” I groan, slapping the steering wheel in annoyance and aggravation.

“Who’s that?” James asks, taking stock of the pretentious car and the man now standing on our lawn.

“Vincent.”

“That’s Vincent? Pompous asshole, isn’t he?” he remarks taking another look at Vincent’s car. “Couldn’t be less conspicuous, huh?”

“It comes with the job of being king. Why hide what you are when you can gain more by flaunting it in people’s faces.” I shrug.

“Where is he? Where’s Jude?”

“Next door with Mrs. Henderson, but I told him we should be home around this time.”

“Shit. Okay, no worries. I’ll go next door and stall him, while you deal with our visitor,” James suggests.

I throw him a stiff nod.

“Selene?”

“Yes?”

“Get rid of him. If he finds out about Jude, I doubt the world is big enough for you to hide.”

“Why would you say that?” I ask rubbing my lower lip raw.

“Because I wouldn’t rest until I found you both. And by looking at him, I can tell you that he won’t either.”

Seventeen

Vincent

“Is that him?” I ask, standing still while locking eyes with the man who stole everything from us.

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