SM owns all.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I didn't fucking die.
Not yet, at least.
But standing there, heart pounding and lungs burning, I almost wished I had. Because what the hell was I still breathing for? To watch her—my wild, reckless, impossible girl—lose her goddamn mind? Her hands trembled so hard she could barely keep the gun steady, her face pale enough to haunt me forever. She was one second away from passing out or pulling the trigger, and I couldn't decide which scared me more.
Jesus Christ, kid.
My anger roared and drowned out the panic. This wasn't happening. Couldn't be happening. How the hell had it come to this? How the fuck had I let it spiral so far out of control?
The clerk smirked, like she wasn't even worth the effort it would take to aim. To him, she was nothing. And he was ready to blast a hole clean through her chest without a second thought.
My feet moved before my brain could catch up, before I could fully register the scope of how bad she'd fucked us both. But it didn't matter.
Fuck.
She was gonna get herself killed. And if she did, I'd… No, I couldn't even think about it.
I stepped out of the shadows, Colt pressed to the bastard's temple. "Don't fucking move," I snarled, low and venomous.
The guy froze, hand hovering near the shotgun, but that smirk stuck. He thought I wouldn't do it. Thought I'd hesitate. He had no idea how close he was to becoming nothing but a stain on the wall. It'd be so easy. One pull. One deafening crack. Over.
Fuck it, let's do this.
My finger tightened on the trigger, ready to end it, but Bella's unsteady breath broke through the haze. My eyes snapped to her—wide-eyed, frozen, watching me like she was bracing for the worst. She wasn't scared of me, not exactly. She was scared of what I was about to do. Of the monster I kept just barely on a leash.
It pissed me off. How dare she? How dare she put me in this position, like it was my job to fix this mess she made. This wasn't a game. It was real. She did this. She dragged us here, and now she was looking at me like I'd lost control. Like I was the one who fucked this up.
I blinked hard, shaking her out of my head. Refocused. The bastard was still sitting there, too slow, too smug, still thinking this wasn't real.
"Open the register," I spat, my voice sharper, louder than I meant it to be. The guy still wasn't moving. My pulse thundered in my ears, a deafening drumbeat: Move. Move. Move. "You want your brains on the wall?" I snarled, slamming the barrel harder against his temple. "Open. The. Goddamn. Register."
Finally, the bastard moved, slow and fumbling, opening the register. The ding hit my ears like a slap, but it didn't drown out the pounding in my skull. Every nerve in my body screamed to end it, to stop this shit now. But I couldn't—not with her watching, terrified of the monster she thought I'd become. The one she put in this goddamn position.
"Bella," I barked, the anger curling hot in my throat. I couldn't look at her—didn't trust myself to. "If he moves, shoot the fucker in the head."
There it was—the faint click of her locking her elbows, the steady rhythm of her breath as she lined up her aim.
The paper bag crinkled in my hands as I ripped it open, stuffing it with cash. "Sloppy as shit," I grumbled under my breath, my hands moving faster. This wasn't the plan. None of it.
"It's time to take a nap, asshole," I said, slamming the butt of my gun into his temple. The crack was sharp, satisfying, and his eyes rolled back as he crumpled to the floor.
"We're leaving," I growled, grabbing Bella's arm and dragging her out. My grip was too tight, but I didn't care. Letting go wasn't an option.
The door slammed behind us as cold air slapped my face, sharp and biting, but it did nothing to cool me down. Bella stumbled, her boots scraping the pavement, nearly falling when she tripped over her own feet.
We climbed into the car, and I cranked the engine, gripping the wheel like it might stop my hands from shaking. My chest heaved, mind spinning. The shaking gun. That smirk. The shotgun.
She could've died. Blood pooling while I froze.
That broke me.
"What the fuck was that?" I snapped, gripping the wheel until it groaned. "Do you even realize how close you were to getting your chest blown open? That guy had a shotgun, Bella! A goddamn shotgun! Do you have any clue what that would've done to me if—"
I couldn't finish. My jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth might shatter. The image of her bleeding out wouldn't leave me.
"I'm sorry I scared you," she said, voice calm. Too calm, like she didn't understand how close we came to disaster.
I barked a bitter laugh. "That's a fucking understatement."
She shrugged. "I got tired of waiting for you. So sue me."
Disbelief slammed into me. "Sue you?" I hissed. "Bella, that guy can pick us out of a lineup now! Do you get what that means? This isn't a game where we roll the dice and hope for the best!"
Her eyes flashed. "I thought that was the point! How are we supposed to make a name if we keep hiding? This was your idea, Edward! I wanted to run!"
"Bella," I snarled, cutting her off. "You don't get it. This isn't something you just wing! You're so goddamn—"
I stopped, dragging a hand through my hair, trying to rein it in. But the words kept coming. "You're so fucking reckless!"
Her eyes narrowed, defiance burning off her like heat. "I'm what?" she shot back, daring me to say it.
I couldn't. Fury and fear clawed at me, choking off anything I might've said. My hands jerked the wheel, sending the car screeching into the motel parking lot. The sudden turn slammed her into the door, her hands shooting out to clutch the dashboard just before I hit the brakes.
The car jolted, snapping our heads forward. I shoved it into park and growled, "Stay there." Grabbing the paper bag off the seat, I threw the door open. The slam of metal barely registered over the blood roaring in my ears.
Around the car in three steps, I yanked her door open and pulled her out. She stumbled into me, unsteady and slow. "Come on," I barked, dragging her toward the stairs. She didn't fight, just went stiff, her breath sharp and jagged.
The key rattled in the lock as I shoved the door open, yanked her inside, and slammed it so hard the walls shook. The lock clicked, final and heavy, like a gun cocking.
I turned on her, grabbed her, and shoved her toward the bed—not hard, but enough to make her stumble. She hit the mattress with a soft thud, legs sprawled, hair wild around her flushed face.
She looked up at me, lips parted, eyes blazing, daring me. Defying me.
And fuck, she was perfect. Made for this—this chaos, this fire, this mess of a life I couldn't escape.
"You like this," I growled.
She stared, breath ragged, eyes locked on mine, unflinching.
My chest burned, blood pounding too loud to think. She was tearing me apart and didn't even know it.
My eyes dragged over her—legs, curves, sweat-slick skin glistening like sin—and my cock throbbed, hard and aching. She was everything I craved, everything I couldn't stop needing.
Her chest rose, her eyes daring me to move. Always pushing, always finding the cracks.
I gripped the paper bag tighter, teeth grinding as I stalked closer. One step. Two. I stopped at the bed and planted a knee between her thighs, hard enough to make her jump. The bag tore in my hands, cash raining down, sticking to her skin like some messed-up masterpiece.
"So fucking beautiful," I muttered, voice low and rough. My mouth found her throat, tasting her—heat, salt, sin. My lips dragged up her neck, along her jaw, deliberate, while my hand moved lower.
Fingers brushed over her chest, trailing down her stomach, teasing. Then I froze at the cold press of metal against her skin. The gun, tucked at her waistband. Cool, dangerous—just like her.
"Trouble," I growled, pulling it free and tossing it aside. My hand flattened against her stomach, feeling the way her muscles tensed under my touch.
She melted, her body giving in. I dragged my tongue along her bottom lip, teasing, coaxing. Then she snapped.
Her hands fisted in my hair, yanking me down. Our mouths slammed together—teeth, skin, breath all tangled in heat that left me shaking. She kissed me like she owned me.
"Kid," I muttered, broken against her lips. Because maybe she fucking did.
It was a wreck—hot, filthy, and out of control. My hands tore at her shirt, dragging it over her head with savage need. Skin on skin was the only thing keeping me sane.
She clawed at my jeans, cursing as her fingers fumbled with the zipper. "Fucking thing won't—"
"Jesus Christ," I snapped, shoving her hands away and yanking them down myself. The button popped and flew somewhere, but I didn't care. Nothing was stopping this.
Her bra didn't stand a chance. The straps gave under my hands, her tits spilling free, perfect and bare. I was on her—teeth, tongue, lips—hungry like I'd been denied her forever.
Her back arched, and she gasped when I tugged her nipple between my teeth. The sound ripped through me, detonating what little control I had left.
Clothes hit the floor in pieces, forgotten. My hands roamed, dragging over every inch of her—soft, smooth, flawless. It pissed me off how perfect she was, like she wasn't even real.
She raked her nails down my chest, sharp enough to sting, leaving red trails that burned. Her eyes locked on mine, daring me to keep up, to take everything she had.
And fuck, I wanted to ruin her. Wreck her. Devour her until there was nothing left of either of us.
The crumpled cash shifted beneath us as I flipped her over, grabbing her hips and shoving her down into the bed. Her gasp hit the air—soft, desperate, needy—and it drove me insane.
My hand came down on her ass, the crack splitting the air. She flinched, gasped, and then melted, her cheek pressing into the comforter, her body sinking like she was born to be there. Like she belonged to me.
"So fucking pretty when you're red like this," I muttered, dragging the words out like I needed her to feel them. My hand rubbed the heat on her ass, fingers dipping lower to tease where she was soaked and trembling.
Her cheek pressed into the mattress, her body stretched out, ass high, perfect and bare. "Please," she whispered, muffled and broken, enough to wreck me all over again.
My hands steadied, calm in the chaos. Everything else could burn, but with her laid out like a prayer, nothing else mattered. I reached for the drawer, yanking it open. Condoms. Fingers found what I needed.
The wrapper tore between my teeth, movements sharp, focused. My eyes never left her—flushed, trembling, her body arching like she couldn't wait another second.
The snap of latex echoed as I moved between her legs, gripping her hips. She fit perfectly, made for me. I lined myself up, steady, patient, watching her squirm beneath me, her body trembling like she couldn't take it anymore.
And neither could I.
When I slammed into her, it wasn't slow or careful. It was raw, brutal—hard enough to rip the air from her lungs and leave both of us breathless.
"Fuck, Edward!" she cried, her voice shaking, fingers clawing at the sheets like they were the only thing keeping her grounded.
Her body was soaked—slick and dripping, the sound of it obscene as I drove into her, wet and loud that only made me harder. "Goddamn, Bella," I growled, my voice breaking as I grabbed her hips, pulling her back onto me. "You hear that? You're a goddamn mess."
Her moan hit the air, guttural and shameless, blowing apart any control I had left. She was so tight, clenching with every move, her wetness making it impossible not to slam in deeper, harder, faster.
"Please," she gasped, her voice wrecked. "Don't stop—fuck, don't stop."
"Don't worry, Kid," I snarled, my hips snapping harder, her heat swallowing me whole. "I'm not stopping until you're screaming my name."
Her cries got louder, broken and frantic, her body trembling as her slickness coated me, dripping onto my thighs, soaking the sheets. Each thrust was messier, louder, a filthy rhythm that drove me insane.
"Jesus Christ, baby," I hissed, slamming into her again, my voice guttural. "You're so fucking wet—you hear that? You're dripping all over me."
"Yes," she whimpered, barely able to get the word out. Then came her moans—soft, wrecked, perfect—until they broke into a scream that hit me like a punch.
"Edward!" she cried, her muscles locking, her body shuddering, completely giving out under me. She was still soaked, still pulling me under, making me lose every ounce of restraint.
"Fuck!"
I gritted my teeth, my thrusts turning reckless, frantic, every ounce of control burned to ash. Slamming into her one last time, I buried myself so deep it felt like I was staking a claim, her tight, soaked pussy swallowing me whole.
I couldn't hold back any longer and came so fucking hard.
"Oh, fuck, oh fuck."
My cock jerked inside her, pulsing hard, spilling everything into her as my body locked up. The sharp, rhythmic contractions sent shockwaves up my spine, each one stronger than the last, making me groan like a man on the edge of losing it.
She tightened around me, milking my dick of every last drop, her body clenching in time with the spasms ripping through mine. I couldn't stop the raw, broken sounds spilling from my lips, couldn't stop shaking as the pleasure wrung me dry, leaving me lightheaded, trembling, and completely fucking gone.
I almost passed out.
We fell together, a mess of limbs, her warmth sinking into me like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. Her chest rose and fell against mine, her breath brushing my skin. Then she moved, just enough to look at me. And those eyes—wide, unbroken, staring at me like I wasn't the thing that almost let her slip away. Like I wasn't the reason she'd nearly stopped breathing. Like I wasn't a goddamn monster.
My hand found her neck, my grip firm, almost trembling, pulling her closer until there wasn't an inch between us. She didn't flinch, didn't fight it. She just watched me like I was something she could handle.
I kissed her, hard and slow, like I needed to brand her, to make her feel what she'd carved into me. She didn't just consume me—she destroyed me, rebuilt me, made me hers in a way I couldn't escape, didn't want to escape.
But if she left me… fuck, if she even thought about it…
My hand tightened, my breath ragged as I whispered against her lips, "Don't test me, kid. Don't even think about it." My voice was soft, deliberate. Dangerous. "You know what I'd do. What I have to do."
Then I heard it.
A sound in the distance. My head snapped up, sharp, like a dog catching a scent. "Did you hear that?"
Bella blinked, her brows pulling tight. "I don't hear—"
I slapped my hand over her mouth. "Shhh."
Her eyes went wide, her breath hot against my palm, but she didn't fight me. She knew the drill. My ears strained, desperate, pulling apart the hum of silence until it wasn't silent anymore. That faint wailing—it wasn't just in my head. It was there. Real.
Closer.
Fuck. "Shit." Police sirens. They were coming. Fast.
Instinct kicked in, sharp and ruthless. I was off the bed and at the window in one goddamn second, naked, pulling the drapes just enough to see outside. A blade of pale light cut through the shadows, splitting the room. The lot looked empty at first glance, but my gut wasn't buying it. Something was off. I could fucking feel it.
Christ.
The longer I listened, the more absurd it became. No stealth. No strategy. Just blaring lights and noise, screaming to the whole fucking world.
Small-town cops. Sirens blared, lights flashed—loud, stupid, and aimed right at us.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck." My breath hissed out as my eyes raked over every car, every shadow, every spot that didn't feel right.
Behind me, Bella was a goddamn storm. Clothes everywhere, bags spilling, coins hitting the floor like bullets. Her breathing was ragged, frantic, but her hands? Steady as hell. She was shoving cash into her purse, fast and precise. Always calm when it counted.
That fucking clerk. Should've hit him harder. Should've cracked his goddamn skull. Now he's up, dialing 911, blabbering some shit like, "Red Chevelle, loud as hell. Driver looks like a psycho. Girl? Too fucking pretty for him."
The sirens weren't just noise. They were a death sentence.
"We don't have time," I barked, striding to the bathroom. Condom. Gone. Flushed. Back in the room, pulling on boxers like time wasn't slicing us into pieces. My pulse was a fucking drumbeat in my throat. "Grab your shit. Less than five minutes."
I didn't look at her. I didn't need to. I knew she was moving, scrambling, every movement locked and loaded like muscle memory. That's why we worked—until we didn't. Until we couldn't.
"You ready?" I jammed the Colt into the waistband of my jeans, still half-dressed, my focus flicking back to the window. The lights were there now. Too bright. Too close.
Bella's voice was tight. "Yeah. Got everything."
"Shit." It came out sharp, clipped. My chest burned as I paced, each step carving a path in my skull. We were too fucking late. My brain ran through every exit, every escape, slamming shut one after the other.
And then Bella did the one thing I should've stopped. She moved to the drape, parting it with steady fingers, her breath hitching just before she froze. I saw it before she said a word. The way her face changed. The way her body locked up.
Some cop saw her.
Fuck. We're dead.
I paced the room, every step like a fucking gunshot in my head. Think, think, think. We couldn't go through the front door—the cops were right fucking there, sirens screaming like a goddamn announcement. The walls? No chance. What was I gonna do, punch my way through to the next room? I'd need a damn sledgehammer for that.
Then it hit me. The bathroom window. Second story. Behind it? Forest—dark and endless. Our only shot.
"We gotta get out," I barked, crossing the room in three strides and grabbing Bella by the shoulders.
Her wide, glassy eyes told me she wasn't ready. She felt so small, so rigid under my hands.
"Are you hearing me?" I barked.
She nodded, but it was automatic, empty. "Yeah… but how? They'll have the place surrounded in no time."
I pressed my forehead to hers, squeezing my eyes shut for a second. I needed her in this moment, sharp and steady. My pulse hammered like a drum in my ears, but I forced myself to breathe, forced her to feel it.
"The bathroom," I said, my voice like a knife cutting through the tension.
She blinked, confused. "What?"
"There's a window," I snapped, already pulling her toward the bathroom door. "We can get out through it."
Her feet dragged, heels catching on the cheap-ass carpet. "No," she muttered, voice trembling like a goddamn leaf.
"Bella, we're on the fucking second floor," I barked, already shoving the bathroom door wide open. "It's not that far down."
The window loomed ahead—big enough to work. Big enough to save our asses if she didn't stall too long. She stood there, frozen, clutching her bag like it'd save her from the shitstorm coming.
Fuck this. No time for coaxing. I climbed over the toilet, yanked the window open, and cold air slammed into my face like a goddamn slap. Leaning out, I craned my neck, sizing up the drop. My pulse hammered so hard it felt like my chest might crack.
I'm 6'2. Sixteen, maybe twenty feet down. Hang and drop? Closer to ten. Doable. Fuck, it'll hurt like hell, but I'd live. No broken legs, no excuses. The forest behind the motel stretched out in shadows—black, endless, and perfect. It swallowed the light spilling from the parking lot. We just had to get to it.
I whipped around. Bella hadn't moved. Still glued to the doorway, her knuckles white as she clung to the strap of that damn bag.
"It's not that far down," I said, biting out the words through clenched teeth. "I'll fucking go first. Catch you if I have to."
Her eyes darted to the window, then back to me. "You're sure?"
"Fuck yes, I'm sure," I snapped, the edge in my voice sharp enough to cut. But I softened it, just a little, just for her. "Trust me. I've got you."
She hesitated. I yanked the bag from her hands and threw it through the window.
"Kid, move. Hang by your hands, okay? You'll be fine."
I watched her weigh it. The broken leg or the alternative. Pick, Bella. I didn't have time to explain the shit we'd be in if she froze now.
"I'll go first," I said, grabbing the back of her neck and yanking her toward me. My mouth crashed into hers, hard, fast, fucking brutal. Her panic tasted like acid, but I didn't let it sit. "Trust me. It'll work. You just need to jump when I tell you to."
Her nod was weak. A maybe at best. But fuck it, it was all I had.
I twisted twisted through the window, my fingers clawing at the cold-ass ledge, legs dangling in the air. The drop didn't look so bad when you were halfway there, but I knew it'd still suck. Letting go, I hit the ground hard, the impact jolting up my legs, but I didn't fucking pause.
My head shot up to the window. "Bella!"
She was there, her face lit in that sick, yellow bathroom glow, her hands gripping the sill like it was the last goddamn thing holding her together.
"Come the fuck on! You've got this!" I shouted, waving her down.
But she didn't move. She was frozen, her whole body locked up like she couldn't decide whether to jump or crumble. And then—bam, bam, bam. The pounding fists hit the hotel door. My stomach fucking dropped.
"Bella!" I barked again, my chest squeezing as I saw her flinch. Her fear cracked, breaking apart into motion, and finally, finally, she moved.
Her legs dangled out, her hands clinging so tight to the sill her knuckles went ghost-white. "Let go!" I yelled, stepping closer, hands up, ready to catch her if she fucking hesitated again.
She hesitated anyway. I saw her forehead press against the stucco, like she was muttering a prayer to a God that didn't give a shit. But then her fingers peeled away, slow as hell, and she fell.
For a split second, my brain short-circuited—what if she hit the ground wrong? What if—fuck that. She didn't. I caught her. Always did. Her body slammed into mine, knocking the air out of my lungs as I staggered, arms locking tight around her.
"You good? Baby, are you hurt?" I demanded, brushing her hair out of her face to see her wide, panicked eyes. She was shaking against me, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
"I'm okay. I'm—" she stammered, her gaze flicking back up at the window. "Just…let's not fucking do that again, okay?"
"Deal," I said, even though we both knew I'd make her jump out a dozen more windows if it meant staying free.
I slung the bags over my shoulder, gripping her hand so tight I probably bruised it. "Now we run."
And we did. Hard and fast.
Across the open field, the shitty grass whipping against my legs as we bolted toward the tree line. Behind us, sirens screamed louder and louder, flooding the quiet air around the cheap-ass Super 8 motel. I didn't look back. Couldn't. What the fuck was the point? Cops were coming, and we didn't have time to do anything but run.
Once we hit the forest, I slowed, bent over with my hands on my knees, dragging in air like it might do something to fix this shit. Bella stumbled up beside me, gasping like a dying fish, her steps as useless as ever—no fucking coordination, no rhythm, just a fucking mess.
"Fuck!" I roared, the word exploding out of me. It tore through the trees, scattering birds, but it didn't change the fact that we were royally, irreparably fucked.
Thanks for reading.