Page 2 of Devoted

I can’t see them. I was too quick for them. Our training might be similar, even our experiences, but I doubt they had my unusual upbringing. I can gut through this all day and again tomorrow. I force my breathing to slow, swallowing to catch my breath. I sound like a freight train in my own ears, but I don’t need to panic, thinking they can hear me.

Voices reach me. Damn. They aren’t far enough away.

I take stock of my surroundings. I’m heading back into the thickest of the forest. I’m not familiar with the road I crashed on, and I’m not as familiar with the area as I’d like to be, but I’m familiar with the terrain. I did a lot of trail hiking while trying to figure my shit out when I came home from overseas.

I think about where I’m at compared to the gas station I left. I can’t go in the direction I came from, but if I loop around the water and head west, then I’ll end up near the highway I turned off of. From there, I can find a phone and call for help.

I’ve left Jacobi and Kase out of the loop. I didn’t want to risk them, but whatever Roman has planned for me and Penelope is going to draw them in anyway.

Penelope

The driveback to LA takes an eternity. My driver, the man who yanked me from Cannon’s car, is named Mick, and other than telling me his name, he doesn’t talk. He also doesn’t stop for water or a bathroom break. My mouth is parched, but I refuse to ask anything more from Mick. I doubt he’d humor me.

I use the car’s mirror to look at the damage from the airbag. My eyes are red and my lips are a little puffy, but I don’t have any scratches. I might have bruises tomorrow, and whiplash, but I’m not concerned. Nothing’s broken, and my pain is mental.

I can’t quit worrying about Cannon. The steady stream of questions in my brain about him and his motivations is going to drive me over the brink. The questions that surface thanks to Mick and his vague answers and unwavering loyalty to Roman are going to give me a heart attack.

An hour ago, I told Mick I’d like to go back to my mother’s.

She’s visiting a friend, and your father is in Hong Kong. Mr. Hughes would like you brought home.

That’s no longer my home. Take me to my friend London Dixon’s place, please.

Mr. Hughes will explain what you need to know.

My decision to divorce is the same. Why does Roman insist I return to his place?

Fear claws up my throat. He supposedly saved my life. Why am I scared of him? Why is terror building when I think about Roman and not when I think back to the recording Mick played for me?

The lack of answers I’m getting doesn’t help. All my questions are met with Mr. Hughes will explain what you need to know.

Why can’t I call anyone?

Mr. Hughes will explain what you need to know.

I have to hand it to Mick. He doesn’t lie. Roman will tell me what I need to know, and I doubt it’ll be any more informative than what I’ve learned from Mick.

I don’t want to talk to Roman. I thought I’d have to see him only at our divorce proceedings. What will he do? We haven’t talked since I hung up on him. His anger scares me, but he hasn’t physically hurt me before.

But then he couldn’t be bothered to.

The longer the drive takes, the angrier I get. We’re going through the city. I should be able to tell him to stop the car and get out. I could ask someone to call London for me.

But I know Mick’s response.

I’m seething by the time Mick turns into the long driveway to Roman’s Bel Air mansion. Stomach acid climbs up my throat, leaving a sour stain in my mouth.

I don’t want to be here, but if I have to be, I don’t want him to be home. What are the chances I can get out of this car, find the keys to his Jaguar in the garage, and leave?

Since Mick doesn’t move from my side as he opens the passenger door and follows me through the front door of the house, the chances aren’t high.

Roman strides out of the large den on the first floor. I’ve stayed out of that room since we were married. When we were dating, he took me in there and fucked me on his desk. It was exciting, thrilling to my young, inexperienced self. A powerful businessman lost his head and couldn’t resist me when he had so much else to occupy his time.

Now, I can see it for the calculated move it was.

Mick stops several feet behind me while I study my ex. I refuse to think of him as my husband. I don’t want to be married to him, and I don’t want to be in this house. And the feeling that I don’t have a say in either is disturbing. He’s dressed in his impeccable suit. He’s tall, but after being with Cannon for weeks, Roman’s height doesn’t overwhelm me.

Cannon’s expressions were closed. He hid what he was thinking. Roman’s are the same, but so different. There’s no concern in his eyes. No warmth. No hint of humor or dedication to me or anything else that isn’t his work.

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