Page 22 of Hunt You Down

My brother groaned. “Ugh, I did not need to hear that!”

With that deep chuckle I loved, André said, “Not to the point of destruction. They’re still on the bathroom floor.”

André followed me into the bedroom, where we picked through the clothes to separate them and got dressed.

I was terrified to go back home—even just to pack. One would think that Regan wouldn’t be foolish enough to show his face anywhere near me, but he’d done it before. He knew how to get to me, and he knew exactly who to con to get exactly what he wanted. It was only a matter of time before he found me again.

“Do you want me to come with you?” André asked, handing over my jacket. I took a moment to admire him. The jeans he wore seemed tailor-made, clinging in all the right places. Christ, the man even made a plain white t-shirt look luxurious.

“You don’t have to. You don’t have to do any of this,” I gestured around the room, looking everywhere but at him. “If you made the choice to leave and walk away right now, I’d understand.”

André crossed the room and wrapped his arms around me from behind. “This is the last time I’m going to tell you,” he said, voice low and commanding. “I’m going to help you in any way you’ll let me. This is the last out you’re ever going to offer me because I don’t want ‘em. Understood?”

I relaxed against his chest, letting out the breath I didn’t even know I was holding.

“Why don’t I stay here and get our flight booked. Is tonight okay with you?”

I nodded. It was never too soon to hide myself from my escaped convict ex. “I have no idea what to pack.”

Andre shrugged. “Just the essentials. Anything outside of that we can get for you.”

“I don’t want to be kept,” I reiterated.

“How many times are you going to make me tell you?” I spun in André’s arms, resting my chin on his chest. “I’m not talking about Tom Ford suits or sweeping you off to the Hamptons. If you need toothpaste, or crave fish tacos in the middle of the night⁠—”

“I don’t like fish.”

“David…”

I zipped it.

“Don’t sweat the small stuff.” He paused, then said, “Although, I doubt Regan will be able to get to a secluded beach in Jamaica.”

“No!” I rolled my eyes. “But I will take you up on those tacos.”

“Done,” he said, kissing my nose. “Go get your things, and I’ll get your non-fish tacos.”

I grabbed my phone and keys off the nightstand, then followed Dylan from the room.

Chapter Twelve

Dylan stayed by my side as I shuffled around my room, trying to figure out what I needed to take with me. A couple of old t-shirts, socks and underwear, and I still had an empty side in my suitcase. I didn’t have much to my name at all. I had to leave most of it behind when I moved out of Regan’s house.

“I know this is easier said than done,” Dylan started, “but try not to stress. New Orleans is seven hundred miles away.”

“I’m trying,” I said, tossing some medication into a bag and trying to ignore the heat behind my eyes. “I really thought it was over.”

“I know, but it will be.” I tried to walk past him, but he stepped into my path. “They’ll catch him, David. They always do.”

“And last time he nearly killed me before they did.” My voice cracked. “I’m so tired of running. How far do I have to go to get him to leave me alone?”

“He’s not going to lay a hand on you. André seems like a great person. I wouldn’t let you leave the state with him if I didn’t think as much. Let him help.”

If Dylan could trust André, then I had a little more faith that I could. It wasn’t complete trust yet, but I felt myself getting there. “Are you sure you’ll be okay here by yourself?”

“Are you joking? I’ve been waiting months to have the place to myself.” At my glare, he sobered. “I’ll be fine.”

I shared an emotional goodbye with Dylan, and he drove me back to the hotel. Once André had delivered on his promise of—not fish—tacos, we sat in the backseat of a car on the way to the airport. It was a long drive, so André settled in for the ride. He tugged me into the middle seat, throwing his arm around me and holding me close.