Take It On The Run

Chapter 25

He shrugged. "Fair enough. But if you want answers, you have to leave with me right now."

Wasn't this exactly what I'd wanted? Answers? Closure? The chance to make him pay? All of it was mine for the taking now. Still, I was wary of how easily it'd fallen into my lap. There had to be a reason he was here now, and I doubted it benefited me.

I also knew it would kill Deacon and the rest of the guys if I disappeared on them without any warning. Just this afternoon, I'd sworn to Deacon that I was done running away, and I'd meant it too.

But what other choice did I have now?

I wasn't the only one who'd excelled at the art of vanishing. My father had convinced the police and everyone he'd ever known, including me, that he'd died. Avery's contact also had yet to come through on information about my father or The Collectors thus far. I doubted I'd ever get this opportunity again unless he took it upon himself to find me.

I left the bar, walking toward the front door. "Fine. But if you try anything, I've got all the guys on speed dial, and they'll rip your ass apart."

"Yeah, I noticed," he said wryly as we exited the bar onto the packed street. "Dating four men at once? That's mighty ambitious of you, Lexa."

My gaze whipped in his direction just as he tugged a baseball cap onto my head. "Have you been spying on me?" I demanded. "And my love life is none of your fucking business."

"I've always kept tabs on you, sweetheart."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I merely asked, "Why the fuck are you speaking with an Irish accent?"

"Because I'm Irish."

I lifted a brow at him, waiting for him to elucidate. When he didn't, I said, "I'm assuming you mean on paper."

I guess that's where he'd been hiding out all of this time, or it was his main base.

It made sense. Ireland had remote, rural places where one could disappear, and there were political issues over independence that might discourage people from thinking he'd relocated there.

"No, sweetheart. This is my real accent. I was born in Ireland. I grew up there and lived there until nearly three decades ago."

I guess I shouldn't have been shocked by anything he had to say at this point. I didn't trust a word that came out of his mouth, but there was still a part of me that wanted to know all of this.

"What a surprise, more secrets and lies." I laughed mirthlessly. "Hold on a second." I walked over to a nearby window and ordered three shots of whiskey. 

Many of the bars on Bourbon Street offered to-go booze like this. I was glad The Blushing Rose didn't, though. I got ogled and groped enough inside. I didn't need strange men copping a feel through a window and running too.

He came to stand at my side, and I noticed then that he was shorter than I remembered. "We need to move, Lexa. They could have followed me to..."

I held up a finger, silencing him. "Do me a huge fucking favor and shut your dirty, lying trap for a minute."

He grinned wryly as I downed the liquor and tipped the bartender. "See. Ireland runs through your veins."

I wasn't sure if he was referring to the swearing or the drinking. I didn't give a shit either way.

My eyes flashed. "And I suppose I'm related to leprechauns, and rainbows shoot out of my ass, too?"

He laughed again. "I know you hate me right now, but I missed you, daughter. I don't blame you for not believing me. It's the truth, though."

Yeah, that was probably about as true as his accent. "Eat glass, asshole."

Thunder cracked overhead, and I looked up then, noticing that it was overcast. I'd already been warned by the guys about the flash floods that pummeled New Orleans without warning. However, I'd left my rain jacket and purse behind since there was no way for me to grab them from the back without Deacon noticing. Luckily, I kept my IDs, credit cards, and some spare cash in the hidden compartment on the back of my phone case. Not that it would shield me from the nasty thunderstorm on the horizon.

My father led me onto an empty side street, then pulled me into an alleyway that reeked of vomit, piss, human excrement, and trash that had clearly been left outside too long. I managed to suppress my gag as I got my bearings.

Both of us instinctively looked around for cameras or strangers and found neither.

I hated how alike we were in that moment, how much I'd clearly inherited from him against my will. I had half a mind to break his nose right then and there.

I folded my arms across my chest and leveled him with a withering expression. "I'm listening. What does the father of the year have to say for himself? I'm dying to know."

He looked down at his watch, marking the time before he fixed me with those eyes that reminded me of spring and freshly cut grass. "There's a lot I need to tell you, Sloan. But you can't stay in New Orleans." He reached inside the front of his jacket and pulled out a burgundy passport, handing it to me.

I stared incredulously at his hand, like the documentation might bite me. "So let me get this straight. You show up out of the blue after sixteen years and expect me to run off to Ireland with you?"

"I'll explain everything on the plane, but we need to go. Now. The Collectors know where you are. Assassins are on their way as we speak."

I still didn't take the passport from him. "I'm not leaving Deacon, Avery, Sumner, and Reed here without warning. They'll be tortured and killed."

He sighed. "I had a feeling you'd say that. You've always been brave and selfless, Sloan. You got that from your mother."

I whipped around when I heard a vehicle zoom down the alley toward us. I froze at the sight of the unmarked black SUV. The windshield was tinted, so I couldn't see who'd come for us. 

My hands shook as I thought of the man in the suit with the slashed face and gold teeth. The very same man I thought I'd seen at the Carousel Bar last night.

"I may have been a sorry excuse for a father most of your life, but I'm doing the right thing now."

I felt a cloth over my mouth then. It was drenched in something wet and pungent that made my knees buckle. My father caught me as I held my breath, fighting the effects of the chemicals.

I should've known better than to leave the safety of the bar and go anywhere isolated with him. I wanted to throttle myself for letting my guard down. How could I be so fucking stupid? So incredibly reckless?

Sumner and Deacon had been right about my emotions getting me killed, even if they'd been dead wrong about the who of it.

My phone was still in my hand, and I attempted to hit the speed dial. I couldn't crane my neck enough to see if I'd succeeded. A moment later, my father slapped the device out of my hand, and I heard it crack off the cobblestone.

"Don't fight it, Sloan. I'm taking you somewhere safe, even if you hate me for it."

I thought of the guys as I held on. My foot shot up, just missing my father's groin. There wasn't much strength behind the kick anyway, but I'd be damned if I went down without a fight.

Thunder echoed through the alleyway as a bolt of lightning split the sky. I no longer cared about the possibility of flooding, though. All I cared about were Sumner, Reed, Avery, and Deacon and what would happen to them if I didn't warn them in time.

My lungs burned so badly now that I knew I wouldn't last much longer. Still, I held on a few more precious seconds until I finally dragged in a deep breath of the chemicals that soaked the rag.

Their faces were the last images I saw before blackness swallowed me whole.