Bleeding Edge: Elliot Security (Elliot Security Series Book 2) Evie Mitchell (romantic novels in english .txt) 📖

the bus travelled down the highway, taking me far from the people I loved, the things I owned and the man who made me feel.

I swiped angrily at tears as they fell. Today, on this bus, I would cry. Once I stepped off, I’d be a new person. No tears. No regrets. No thinking of the past. Not even Luc. It would be too tempting.

Numb. I needed to fall back into numbness. It was the only way to survive.

The bus rocked to a stop, the door opening. I followed the flow, stepping off and down the street. The storage facility was a fifteen-minute walk. I tucked my hands into the pockets of the hoodie, keeping my head down.

Years ago, I’d learned three truths:

One, always have an exit plan.

Two, prepare for the worst.

Three, always have a Plan B through Z.

Goulburn was my Plan D. When I’d settled in Canberra, I’d planned backup options. I’d purchased a crappy car that ran well, forged a bunch of documents, and collected cash. Every three months I’d take a drive out to Goulburn, check the car was still running, swap out clothes if needed and pay up storage for the next four months.

When I stepped off the bus, Emmie no longer existed. I was now Lauren O’Connor.

The lot sat empty as I entered the storage facility. Yet another reason I chose this place −no cameras, no website, just a guy renting out sheds. Mine had two padlocks, both with number combinations rather than key locks. I’d planned for this exact scenario.

I rounded the end of the first row and froze.

“No.”

Luc pulled out a phone lifting it to his ear.

“Got her.” He tucked it back in his pocket, walking towards me.

“No.” I shook my head, hands up warding him off. “You’re not meant to be here!”

“Baby,” he coaxed, slowing his approach. “Come here.”

“No!” I backed up, desperately hoping he was an apparition.

“Emmie…” He approached, hands out, face gentle.

I couldn’t. I was doing this to protect him. I’d made peace with my decision. I was determined. He couldn’t be here. I couldn’t have my efforts undermined like this.

I twisted, turning to run. I made it three steps before arms wrapped around me, pulling me tight against a hard chest. I thrashed, lashing out at him, screaming my frustration, anger and fear. He held me tight, letting me beat him. I drew on my training, an elbow ramming into his stomach. He doubled over, his grip loosening. I followed up with a kick to his shin. He grunted, losing his grip.

I sprinted, running two, three, four metres before a hand caught my arm, jerking me back into him. My fists pounded his chest in my struggle. Luc spoke reassurances, trapping me tight in his arms, making no attempt to stop the abuse.

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t focus on anything but the swirl of emotions– anger, fear, confusion.

Relief.

I screamed abuse, pounding while he absorbed every hit, every word. An impenetrable wall.

“Calm, Emmie. Breathe. I’m here. It’s okay.”

Finally, slowly, I calmed. Or perhaps I gave up. Either way, I stopped struggling, just leaned against him, his jumper fisted in my hands, my head pressed tight to his chest.

He continued to whisper fierce words while the wind whipped our clothing, the cold penetrating deep in my bones. Eventually, I withdrew enough to look at his face.

“Okay,” I whispered, resigned.

Luc tucked me into his arm, and together we walked down the rows of storage containers out to the carpark. He helped me into the passenger side, rounding the bonnet and sliding into the driver’s. Inside the vehicle he turned on the car, then sat watching me.

“Home or run?” he asked, gaze solemn. “Your call.”

I hesitated, torn. I could take us home, but the risk… We could disappear, but I’d be taking him from everyone he loved and everyone who loved him. Either decision was selfish. There were no winners today.

“Home,” I decided, feeling my gut clenching.

He backed us out of the facility, navigating the streets towards the highway. We were silent for half of the journey, his hand resting periodically on my knee, warm and comforting.

“How did you find me?” I asked as we passed Lake George, my gaze focussed on the waterless flatland.

“Sawyer. He already had a list of places you might use.”

I grunted, leaning my head against the cool glass of the window. “And you just happened to choose that one?”

There was a beat of silence.

“Luc?” I turned in my seat.

“I may have done something bad one weekend. Inadvertently.”

I crossed my arms, waiting. He ran a hand over his beard, swearing softly under his breath.

“Last summer, I did a bike ride. I’d just finished breakfast with some mates at one of the wineries. I saw your car heading this way. I decided to follow, thought it would be amusing to catch you, see if you wanted lunch or something.” His lips twisted into a wry smile. “When you got to the storage facility, I gave up. I’d already tracked you for thirty minutes. It would have been too stalkerish to follow you further.”

I intellectually understood this was a funny story. Emotionally this was devastating. I’d put in place so many precautions. Worked so hard to make sure I was never followed. And Luc had done it without my noticing. He hadn’t even been trying to hide.

I turned back to the window, tears burning.

You got complacent.

I was an idiot. An absolutely ridiculous idiot. I should have left years ago. Instead I’d been seduced by friends, familiarity, and recognition.

When you belonged somewhere, people saw you, they recognised you, they smiled and asked how your day was, and were genuinely interested. When you were transitory, you were just another face passing through. No one invested in you. No one cared.

I had to admit I’d ached for someone to care. I’d wanted someone to see me. And as more people did, I fell into the daydream of staying. I had convinced myself that my precautions were enough. The joy of being recognised and appreciated had