Launching myself toward it, bending low to avoid another spray of ammunition that flew over my head. I yanked the door open, I was met with loud music coming from a corner band, so loud they were only now becoming aware of gunshots outside.
Guests were rising from their tables, uneasy from what they thought they’d heard. Squeezing between the tables, I worked my way through the small audience who were rising to their feet.
My heart was pounding.
When I made it all the way through to the other side, a blur of movement came at me from the rear door of the club.
It was Anya.
She flung herself into my arms, and I clutched her to my chest, holding her tight.
“The car’s circling.” Panic drenched her words. “They’re coming back.”
Anya
Lifting my head from where it lay on his chest, feeling the beat of his frantic heart, I tried to get Cassius to listen. “We have to call the police.”
“No.” He was adamant.
He was here, with me, and my heart squeezed that I’d almost lost him. Gripping his shirt and refusing to put distance between us ever again.
With shaking hands, I swept them over his chest, checking for any injury. “Did you get hit?”
He grabbed my hands. “Anya, I’m fine.”
“Okay, that’s good. That’s good.”
He cupped my face with affection. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“You’re in shock.”
“Come on,” I begged him to come with me, but he resisted. “We have to hide.”
“Apparently, I don’t have your father’s blessing.”
“Shut up. This is serious! He could have killed you.”
Agonizing—the moment before everything came crashing down . . . my mother’s hand pulling back—her rejection.
Agony caught in my throat as I replayed my mother’s betrayal . Couldn’t think of that now. Couldn’t let myself crumble from the agony of her refusal to help me. We still had to survive that car coming back around.
Denial was easier to swallow, my throat tightening, grief-stricken. “My father isn’t a murderer.” Even though I knew he was.
Cassius hugged me tighter.
I buried my face against his chest again. “Was it really him?”
“We can’t stay.” He avoided my question. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
Together, we scurried toward the back of the club and down a slim hallway, the sudden confusion all around us conflicting with my own terror.
Cassius opened the door and checked the way was clear. With my hand still in his, we edged along the road, and now and again, glanced back down the street, looking out for the Lexus.
Carrying over the rooftops came the joyful notes of Mardi Gras clashing with what we’d been through.
The world was still turning as ours fell apart.
We headed that way. My heart hammering, mouth dry, clinging to Cassius as we sprinted back toward the parade. We merged with the crowd and disappeared into the swarming bodies. Cassius tugged off his jacket and let it slip to the ground, losing it quickly. We pushed our way into the center to shield us from the street.
“We can’t go home yet,” he said.
Moving deeper into the crowd, hand in hand so as not to lose each other, we let the movement of their swaying mass carry us past building after building until we broke out from the crowd to hurry down St. Charles Avenue.
The Pontchartrain Hotel welcomed us with old colonial décor and the chill of air-conditioning as we stepped inside the brightly lit foyer. Finally, I felt able to breathe. My tremors lessened.
To the concierge and probably the rest of the staff who greeted us on our way in, we would have looked like any other partying couple.
When we reached the check-in desk, the clerk advised us, “There’s only one room left, sir. ‘The Melpomene’.” He looked at us suspiciously, like two revelers suddenly needing a room for something elicit.
Cassius opened his wallet and brought out several hundred-dollar bills. “One night.”
When the staff member refused to check us in without leaving a credit card on file, Cassius slid more cash across the desk. I wasn’t sure if my father had the ability to track someone with their credit card, but he wasn’t taking that chance.
The veil hiding who my father was had lifted. Clearly, Cassius believed he had the kind of connections who might tip him off. Which is why we took the room under the name Blacksmith and kept our masquerade masks on as we made our way through the hotel.
Within minutes, we’d taken the elevator to the top floor. I couldn’t help but glance suspiciously at everyone we passed. Paranoia clung like vines suffocating everything in its wake.
“This is safe.” Cassius tried to reassure me as he slid the key card into the door. “No one knows we’re here.”
Both of us explored the room. Checking out its luxury décor of rattan furniture, velvet drapery, and even a small fridge. Within the bathroom sat a claw-foot tub, and in different circumstances, I’d have run a bath and soaked my aching limbs.
“This was a good idea.” I tried to sound calm, grateful even, but my heart was breaking, and I wasn’t sure how much more I could take.
“It’s a miracle we got a room this time of year.”
It was a goddamn miracle we were still alive.
Cassius pointed at a portrait of Tennessee Williams. “Did you like A Streetcar Named Desire?”
“What?” I cursed him for trying to make it look like being here was anything but okay.
“Anya,” he said, his words hinting he was trying to take my mind off what had just happened. “I’ve got this.”
“I haven’t seen any plays,” I admitted.
“Not one?”
I shook my head.
He looked sad for me. “You’d like it.”
How could he be so calm after everything? So reasonable and able to think on his feet. Because this is what he expected came the harsh truth of realization. He’d always known what kind of man my father was. What he was capable of.
“Cassius.” I tugged on his sleeve. “You were almost killed.”
His lip curled in a half-smile. “I would have been if you hadn’t warned me.”
“I should have done more.”
“You were very brave.”
“I never knew him. Never knew what kind of man he really is.”
“Don’t talk about him.” He looked off, his mouth twisting in hate.
“How long will we stay here?”
“Overnight.” He led me into the bedroom. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
I walked toward the window. Pulling the curtain aside to peek out. Cassius tugged the curtains closed. “Not a good idea.”
That brief glimpse beyond the window had shown the parade was still going on. People were joyfully celebrating Mardi Gras, dancing and laughing in the streets. And in here felt like an unlikely combination of a kidnapped girl who chose to stay with her captor. The man I was falling for.
Yet . . .
There was no other way of asking it. “You knew my mom would be there tonight?” He’d dangled me before her.
“I wanted to see the pain in her eyes, Anya.”