SM owns Twilight.


Chapter Twenty-Four

The news called us this generation's Bonnie and Clyde. Fucking brilliant, right? Like no one's ever made that comparison before. Personally, I'd have gone with Mickey and Mallory—at least they didn't half-ass their chaos. But fine, call it whatever the fuck you want. The shitty part? They weren't wrong. And yeah, I knew how both stories ended—bloody and fucked six ways to Sunday. Didn't take a psychic to see where we were headed.

But fuck it. I'd already signed my death warrant. The only thing I gave a shit about was Bella. She wasn't going down with me. Over my dead fucking body—literally.

The morning light blasted through the shitty motel curtains, landing right on Bella's face like a giant fuck-you to everything I couldn't deal with. Her hair was a wreck, her eyes glued to me like I was supposed to save her. And fuck, she looked good. Too fucking good. The kind of good that made my chest hurt, made me want to say shit I didn't even believe just to keep her looking at me like that.

My fingers barely grazing her skin as I brushed a strand of hair off her face. "What do you want for breakfast?"

She shifted, her body pressing against mine. "Maybe a sloppy burger?"

"Fries too?"

"And a chocolate shake," she said.

I leaned in, kissed her, told myself it'd be quick. Just a taste. But her hands slid up my neck, pulling me closer, and there was no fucking way I was stopping. Her kiss was a drug—sweet, dangerous. Every time I thought I could handle it, she wrecked me all over again.

She pulled back, her grin sharp. "Or we could skip breakfast. Find something more exciting. You know, like… lucrative."

Fuck. Of course.

"Bella…" My hand tightened on her hip. "Don't start."

She rolled her eyes, smirking. "Don't start what? We haven't done anything!"

"We need to be careful."

"No, you need to be careful, Edward. Me?" She scoffs. "Careful is boring. Careful is stalling."

I sat up, scrubbing a hand over my face. "It's not stalling. We need the right opportunity."

She laughed. "Right. Since when do you care about perfect timing?"

"It's not about timing," I bit out, keeping my voice steady.

"Then what?" Her arms crossed, her tone gearing up for a fight. "We're broke, Edward. Living on scraps in shithole motels. What the hell are you waiting for?"

I grabbed my wallet. "How about breakfast?" I forced a grin that felt like it might shatter. "Burgers, fries, a shake. That's what you wanted, right?"

Bella stared at me, unreadable for once. Then she sighed, rolling her eyes. "Yeah."

I kissed her forehead. "I'll grab it," I muttered, heading for the door before she saw how close I was to breaking.

"What are you so scared of?" she yelled.

I froze, hand gripping the doorknob. No way I was telling her the truth—that watching her almost die last time scared the shit out of me. That every second chasing her next score felt like pulling the trigger on a loaded gun with her name on it. She'd call me a fucking coward. Maybe she'd be right.

But I wasn't robbing another goddamn store with her.

Not after last time.

Not fucking ever.

"I'm not scared of shit," I shot back, the lie clawing its way out. Then I walked out before she could tear me to fucking shreds.


Twenty minutes later, I was at Bucky's Burger, leaning on the sticky counter, glaring at the clock like it had fucked me over personally. Two sad-ass patties hissed on the grill behind the dead-eyed cook who looked about as thrilled to be here as I was.

I wasn't fucking hungry. Not for this crap food and definitely not for the shitstorm waiting for me back at the motel. But Bella needed something to eat, and burgers were easier than trying to explain my bullshit.

Her voice was still in my head. Sharp. Suspicious. Hurt. She saw through every goddamn lie I told. Of course she did.

I dragged a hand through my hair, trying to choke down the guilt twisting in my chest. What the fuck was I even supposed to do?

My phone buzzed in my pocket. First thought: Bella. Fuck. Something had to be wrong. She never called unless shit was bad—real bad. My chest locked up as I yanked it out, every worst-case scenario tearing through my head. Her hurt. Her in danger. Her needing me.

But it wasn't Bella.

Relief hit like a punch, quick and hard, but it didn't last. Terror fucking steamrolled it. My stomach dropped, my hands went cold. The room spun as my eyes locked on the screen. A Mexico number. Last four digits: 0666.

Marcus.

Fucking bastard.

He'd been quiet for months. Too fucking quiet. I'd started to think that maybe he was done with me. That maybe I'd slipped through the cracks. Stupid. Fucking delusional.

Now he was calling.

This wasn't a warning. This wasn't bark.

This was hunt mode.

I pressed the answer button and brought the phone to my ear. "Yes," I said, voice steady. Or close enough.

"Edward."

That was all he said.

My eyes flicked around the gas station, sweeping over every shadow, every goddamn corner. Nothing. No movement. No sign of him. But Marcus didn't need to show his face to make you feel trapped. That son of a bitch was always ahead of the game, always lurking just outside your line of sight. Watching. Waiting. Pulling the strings.

Then it hit me. Bella. Alone. At the hotel.

I forgot the burgers and bolted for the car. The phone was still pressed to my ear as I threw the door open and slid behind the wheel.

"Marcus," I managed, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "I know you're upset with me."

"Upset?" His tone was maddeningly calm. "I wouldn't say that. Confused, maybe. I thought you and I were partners. That we had an agreement."

I jammed the key in the ignition, my hands slick with sweat. It didn't turn over right away. Of course not. Piece of shit.

"We did," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "We do. Look, I know what it looks like, but—"

"You made me look stupid, Edward," he said, cutting me off. He wasn't yelling. He didn't need to. "I don't like looking stupid. And neither does my brother."

"Marcus, listen," I said, my voice cracking just a little. "I can fix this."

"Oh, you will fix this," he said, still calm. Too calm. "But first, I want you to think about what happens to people who break their promises to me."

The car finally roared to life, and I tore out of the lot, tires screeching, heart pounding so hard I could barely breathe.

Bella.

I had to get to her.

And I had to figure out how the hell to stay alive long enough to make things right.

"I didn't break my promise to slight you," I said, the words tumbling out like they could save me. "There was… complications."

"Ah, yes. A woman." Marcus's voice was smooth, detached. "I've been following you two closely on the American news."

My stomach dropped again, this time straight into the void.

"You know," Marcus continued, his tone soft but lethal, "I expected better from you. Running away, getting distracted… disappointing me. That's not like you, Edward."

"I didn't mean for it to happen," I choked out. My voice sounded foreign, weak. Like I wasn't even in my own body.

"No, I suppose you didn't." Marcus's voice sharpened, just a fraction. "But intention doesn't matter, does it? Results do. And the results… well, they're unfortunate."

I wanted to hurl the phone out the window, let it shatter on the asphalt and take this nightmare with it. Hell, I wanted to slam my foot on the gas and end it all in a blaze of fire and twisted metal. But I couldn't.

As much as I hated myself, as much as I wanted to disappear into nothing, I couldn't take that chance. I couldn't leave her to face this hell on her own.

"How do I keep my girl out of this?" My hands strangled the steering wheel, knuckles white, as if gripping it hard enough could somehow shield her from all of this.

I prayed to God she was still breathing.

Marcus stayed quiet for a moment, long enough for my pulse to pound in my ears. When he finally spoke, his tone sharpened, bristling with a subtle edge. "Ah, my brother—he's always had a flair for theatrics. Loves the over-the-top gestures. Let's just say I'd rather not go into detail."

"And what about you?" I shot back, voice harder now, masking the fear crawling up my throat. "Are you about the dramatics?"

He laughed, a low, cold sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "No, Edward. I'm more… dignified. A quiet professional, if you will. But don't mistake that for leniency. I don't shy away from setting back a balance when it's been tipped."

Balance. He said it like it was some sacred fucking principle, like all the blood he'd spilled was just a math equation to him.

And the motherfucker still didn't answer my question.

So, fuck it.

"Look, tell me where you are," I snapped, my voice raw, cutting. "I'll come to you. Do whatever the fuck you want to me. Just… leave her out of it."

Silence. Long enough to make my chest tighten like a vice. Then Marcus, calm as always, asked, "You really love this woman?"

"More than my own life," I said. No hesitation. No second thought.

And just like that, I knew. I'd fucked up. Big.

Marcus sighed, the sound long and heavy, dripping with disappointment. "You've let her become your weakness, Edward. What I admired about you was your detachment. No distractions. No liabilities. Efficient. Ruthless. A machine. And now?" He scoffed, the sound sharp, cutting. "Now, you're just a fool. A fool for a woman."

My hands tightened on the wheel, knuckles bone-white. He wasn't wrong. Christ, he wasn't wrong. I was a fucking disease, infecting everything I touched, and she'd caught it. Now she'd suffer for it. My chest caved in on itself as panic clawed up my throat, my mind spinning out of control.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

But I had to know. Even if it broke me.

"Did you kill her?"

Marcus turned serious. "Let me ask you a better question."

I swear to fuck! This fucking asshole. Everything was a game to him. But I couldn't tell him to fuck off. Bella's life was on the line. So, I stayed in my lane, and floored it. The hotel was only two minutes away.

"Ask it," I said through gritted teeth.

"If you found out the woman you love was brutally raped, what would you do?"

"Kill the motherfucker."

"And what if you couldn't?"

The hotel was in sight now. The vacant parking lot looked exactly as I left it. But that didn't mean shit. Those assholes could've already taken her.

Needless to say, I was wound tight and my patience was thin as fuck. "What do you mean? Like the fucker killed me first?"

"No," Marcus said, his tone darker than I've ever heard. "Like the motherfucker was your brother."

My foot eased off the pedal at the sudden shift and we weren't talking about Bella anymore. "If I couldn't kill himself, I would get someone else to do it."

"I don't want to kill you, Edward - or your girl. Well," he chuckles, "at first I did, after you pulled your little act, but circumstances have changed and I would like to offer you a solution to the mess you've made."

I jumped on it a little too eagerly. "Just name it."

"You see," a deep, disappointed sigh, "I, also, am in love with a woman. Didyme. Mi Amor. Mi esposa Hermosa. My brother—no, that filth Caius, he… he defiled her. Took what was sacred. Broke her in ways I can never fix." Marcus cleared his throat. "I want you to kill him."

"Done," I muttered, yanking the car into the hotel parking lot. My eyes locked on her immediately—Bella, leaning on the second-floor railing like nothing was wrong. Like she hadn't just torn a hole in my fucking chest. She was fine. Alive. Fucking perfect. It should've been enough to calm me down, but it only made me feel worse.

Marcus let out this smug little laugh, and I wanted to punch him in the throat. "Not so fast, primo. I've got other wants."

Of course, the bastard wasn't done. He never was. Killing his asshole brother wasn't enough? I'd put a bullet in Caius just for the goddamn fun of it. But Marcus always had to dangle more bullshit in front of me, and I was too buried in his crap to say no.

I didn't stop the car. Couldn't. I kept fucking driving, rolling past the lot, past Bella, like my whole body wasn't screaming at me to turn around. I went down a block, two blocks, parked the car just out of her sightline. Close enough to get to her if shit hit the fan. Far enough to keep my head from completely imploding.

The second I cut the engine, I dropped my head against the seat and let out a string of curses, low and vicious. My hands wouldn't stop shaking, so I dug out a cigarette, fumbling with the damn lighter like I didn't know how to use it. Finally, the flame caught, and I took the first drag. It hit like a fucking sledgehammer, dragging the chaos down to a low simmer.

No snark. No anger. Just keep him happy.

I exhaled slowly, the smoke curling out like a sigh. "What do you need?"

"I have twenty pounds of wildcat that needs moving," Marcus said.

Wildcat. Uncut cocaine. Top-shelf shit. The kind of product that could buy you an empire or bury you alive. Impossible feat to some, but my clown ass said: "Where to?"

"Chicago. The hand-off is at the St. Regis."

My spine went rigid. "The drop is at my father's building?"

The silence on his end wasn't hesitation. It was confidence. A trap, perfectly laid.

"You need access to him, don't you?"

I swallowed hard, keeping my voice steady. Respectful. "Just like you can't kill your brother, I can't kill my father. And believe me, I've fucking tried."

Marcus laughed. "You and Caius are more alike than you'd care to admit. Always ready to swing the hammer. There are other ways to settle things without violence."

The jab didn't land. Not visibly, anyway. I bit down on the first response that came to mind—something sharp, something reckless. But I knew better. Marcus didn't tolerate lip, not from anyone, least of all me.

So I exhaled slow, letting the smoke fill the silence instead of my words. "I'm listening."

"Caius will deliver the product, together, you'll exchange the wildcat with my cousin, Ramon, and as a curiosity, he will grant you building access. Bring in only the people you trust."

"Will your brother play nice?"

"Yes," Marcus replied, his voice cold. "But once the job's done… eliminate him."

"And your cousin, does he know about these plans with Caius?"

"No, Ramon sees this as a way to expand my product throughout Chicago. No one knows about our deal. I suggest you tell no one."

"Understood," I said, only pausing, a detail nagging at the back of my brain. "Once I'm inside the building, how do I get to my father?"

Memories flashed, sharp and unwelcome. The guards that used to camp outside his door. Never a moment where the old man wasn't shadowed by someone with an earpiece and a Glock. But Marcus didn't deal in what-ifs. He dealt in certainties.

"He'll be gone the day you go. Security too. Ramon has a master key. He'll get you into the apartment."

"What exactly are you expecting me to do once I'm inside?"

I kept it even, careful. No edge, no challenge. Just enough to make it clear I needed answers.

"Once you're inside, you figure out how to get what you need to bury the senator. And while you're at it, see if you can dig up something else for me."

"Something else?" My jaw tightened as Marcus' silence said everything. "You're asking me to rob my father?"

"Not asking, Edward. Telling. How else did you plan on paying the ten million you owe me?"

I forced myself to keep breathing, to keep the heat out of my voice. "His assets are locked down. Everything's encrypted or buried under layers of lawyers and bullshit. If I can't access it—"

"Figure it out," Marcus snapped, cold and cutting. No room for argument. No patience left to spare.

The line went dead.

"Motherfucker!" The phone cracked against the dashboard as I slammed it down again. And again. And again. My hand cramped, but it didn't stop me. "Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!" I hurled the damn thing across the seat and grabbed the wheel like it could steady me, but my breath was ragged, uneven. The pressure in my chest built like a goddamn bomb about to detonate. My teeth ground so hard I swore they'd shatter. I was unraveling, the seams of control ripped apart.

What the fuck was I supposed to do?

I couldn't think—couldn't fucking breathe. Except for one thought. One name. One fucking lifeline.

Bella.

My head snapped up. The car screamed into reverse, tires spitting gravel as the back end fishtailed. I didn't give a shit. Didn't care if I wrecked it. My pulse hammered in my ears, every second louder than the last. The wheel jerked hard in my hands, and I nearly skidded into the ditch before straightening out. The road blurred as I floored it, my only thought get back, get back, get back.

I was parked under the hotel in less than a minute, slamming the car into park so hard I half-expected the transmission to give out. Bella wasn't on the balcony anymore. That hit me like a punch to the gut. Another wave of panic crashed over me, colder and sharper this time. My throat tightened.

Where was she?

Slamming the door shut, I took the stairs two at a time, boots hitting the metal with the force of a gunshot. Every step felt like a mile, every second a fucking eternity. My hands were shaking by the time I got to the door, fumbling for the damn keycard. It slipped once, twice. My breath hissed between my teeth as I jammed it in again. Green light. Thank fucking God.

I pushed the door open, bracing for—what?

For blood? For a fight? For the goddamn walls to come crashing down?

The hotel room stood still, silent except for the low hum of the TV and the muffled roar of my pulse in my ears. Bella was on the bed, barefoot, beautiful, flipping through channels like the world wasn't imploding. She blinked, startled, her head tilting as her eyes locked on me. Confused.

She didn't have a goddamn clue how tight the noose around our necks was.

And I'd make sure she never did.

"Edward?" Her voice was soft, hesitant. It wrecked me, because it didn't deserve to be steeped in fear. Not yet. She didn't deserve any of this shit.

But my chest still heaved like I'd sprinted through hell, and the weight of everything I couldn't say pressed down so fucking hard I thought I'd crack.

I didn't say a word. Didn't trust myself to. I just crossed the room in three long strides, grabbed her, and crushed my mouth against hers like it was the only fucking thing keeping me from coming apart. My hands cupped her face, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her closer—too hard, too desperate. The kiss wasn't gentle. Couldn't be. I needed her to feel it, to know that if the world decided to rip her away, I'd fucking burn it to the ground.

She froze for half a second, a startled gasp breaking against my lips, and then her hands were on me—clutching at my arms like I might vanish into thin air. Like she could feel the unraveling in me and was trying to stitch it back together.

I broke away just enough to meet her eyes. Wide. Startled. Perfect. Fuck, she's still here. My chest was caving in, but I forced the words out.

"You okay?" My voice cracked like a goddamn fault line.

She blinked, dazed, then frowned faintly. "Yeah… just a little hungry." Her eyes darted past me, scanning the table. "What happened to my sloppy burger and fries?"

I kissed her again before she could dig into the obvious. Harder this time. Maybe to shut her up. Maybe to make sure she was still breathing. Probably both.

"You wanna get out of here?"

"Uh…" Her hands pressed against my chest, trying to push me back enough to read my face. "What the hell? Are you serious?"

"Yeah." I shoved off the bed like the place had started burning down and glanced at the duffel bags near the door, already half-packed. "This place blows."

"Why?"

That one word was a landmine, and she fucking knew it. I felt the silence stretch out between us, heavy enough to crack ribs. Her eyes drilled into me like she could see straight through my skin to the shit I was trying to bury. She didn't even blink. Just sat there, daring me to come up with something that wasn't pure bullshit.

I forced a smirk. My default defense. "What, you're into this hellhole now? Food sucks, bed sucks, people suck. Let's bounce."

Her brow shot up like she couldn't believe the words coming out of my mouth. "You're bored."

"Yeah, bored. Fucking bored. What, you thought I was gonna set up shop here? Get a goddamn timeshare? Be serious."

Her head tilted, sharp and calculating. I could feel her breaking my excuses down into bite-sized pieces. "You've been fine with it for two days. Now suddenly you can't stand it?"

"Guess it took me two days to realize it's a shithole. Don't tell me you're sentimental."

Her expression hardened, her eyes narrowing to slits. "You're not telling me something."

"Jesus fucking Christ, kid, not everything's a goddamn conspiracy." My laugh came out jagged, cutting too high at the end. I grabbed her bag off the floor and tossed it onto the bed.

She didn't budge. "Edward."

"What?" I spun to face her, teeth clenched, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You want me to get on my knees? Fine. Please, Bella, let's go find somewhere with less mold and fewer serial killer vibes."

Her arms crossed, her jaw tightening like she was bracing to go to war. "You're lying."

My chest tightened like a goddamn vice, but I kept my tone casual, like I hadn't just been caught. "Lying about what? Hating this place? Trust me, it's not that fucking deep."

"Don't." Her voice hit me like a punch straight to the ribs, knocking the wind out of every excuse I had. "Don't pull that everything's-fine crap with me. Just tell me what's going on."

"Nothing is going on," I snapped. Too loud. Too fucking fast.

Her eyes pinned me in place, dissecting every twitch of my face, every slip in my tone. "You think you're protecting me, don't you? You're hiding something, and you're too much of a coward to say what it is."

That one stung. I clenched my fists, jaw aching from the effort of holding my shit together. My brain screamed at me to tell her, to make her understand, but no. That would blow everything apart.

"Pack your shit," I said, voice low and flat. "We're fucking leaving."

She stared at me, lips pressed tight, her eyes locked on mine like she was waiting for something—an admission, a crack, anything. My stomach knotted, but I didn't flinch. Couldn't. I was too fucking deep in this lie.

Finally, she huffed, shaking her head, her shoulders sagging like she'd just given up. "Whatever," she muttered, yanking her hoodie off the bed.

"That's a good girl," I said, shoving her bag toward her. "Let's move."

Bella yanked the zipper open, shoving clothes inside with jerky, pissed-off movements. The slap of fabric and the scrape of zippers filled the room, every sound a reminder that she wasn't buying my shit. Not really.

I grabbed the duffel from the floor, jaw so tight it ached. Every part of me screamed to keep moving, keep shoving this forward before she could dig deeper. Her hands paused mid-stuff, though, and I felt the shift before she even said a word.

"You just decided this while getting me food?" she asked, her tone skeptical, laced with accusation. "Like, one second you're ordering me a burger, and the next you're ready to bolt? That doesn't make any sense, Edward."

Fuuuck. I froze for half a second, just long enough to feel the heat of her stare boring into the side of my skull. She was too fucking smart, always had been. Smart enough to see through me, through everything, if I wasn't careful.

I turned slowly, a smirk tugging at my lips like this was all some big joke. "Yeah, well, I went to use the bathroom, took one good look around, and realized that place was a walking health code violation."

Her brow furrowed, arms crossing over her chest, but I didn't give her a chance to argue, and barreled on, leaning into the lie with everything I had.

"Jesus, you should've seen the kitchen, kid. Grease everywhere, something growing in the corners. You wanna spend the day hugging a toilet? I don't."

Her lips parted like she wanted to call me out, but I didn't let up, stepping closer, lowering my voice like we were in on some big secret together.

"Or—and hear me out—we can pack up, hit the road, and find somewhere decent. Hell, we'll grab sandwiches and have a picnic in the park if you want. Anything's better than staying here and risking food poisoning."

She blinked at me, and I thought maybe, just maybe, I'd sold it. But then her eyes narrowed again, suspicion crackling like a live wire between us. "So, you saw a dirty sink and that's why we're leaving? That's what you're going with? Really?"

"Yes," I said without missing a beat, plastering on my best crooked grin.

Her mouth opened, then shut, her tongue running along her teeth like she was holding back a comment that might've set the whole place on fire.

All I could remember thinking was: Come on, baby. Please fucking let it go.

With a sharp exhale, she grabbed the bag and slung it over her shoulder. "If you're lying to me, Edward, I swear to God—"

"I'm not," I said, too quick, too sharp. I turned away, pushing toward the door before she could push me any further. "You'll thank me when we're eating sandwiches in the sun instead of wondering if the food here's gonna kill us."

Her footsteps were heavy behind me, echoing her frustration. "You owe me," she muttered.

"Yeah, yeah." I didn't look back, didn't let myself pause. The air outside the door hit me like a slap, cool and sharp, but it wasn't enough to steady me. I needed to keep moving. Keep her moving. Before I fucking broke.


Thanks for reading.