Bound by shadows: A Love Against All Odds (Bloodthirsty series)

20: Tides of Betrayal

The echo of the door slamming shut reverberates through the safe house, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. My heart pounds in my chest as I stare at the spot where Lupé had just been standing, the tension in the air still thick enough to cut with a knife. He's gone after the intruders, his expression a mask of fury, leaving me to deal with the mess they left behind.

I curse under my breath, moving quickly to assess the damage. The once-secure safe house now feels like a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any moment. The data—the crucial, irreplaceable data—is gone. The bastards took it, and they left a message that chills me to the bone.

The note, scrawled in a messy hand, is brief but effective: You think you can outsmart us? Think again. We have what you want, and if you want to see it again, you'll play by our rules. Tick-tock, Alora.

My hands tremble as I fold the note, slipping it into my pocket as I try to steady my breathing. They got in while we were sleeping, bypassed every security measure we had in place. How did they even know where to find us? My thoughts race, scrambling for answers, but I'm coming up empty. We've been so careful, so meticulous. Yet, here we are—vulnerable, exposed, and one step behind.

Footsteps behind me signal Lupé's return. He's breathless, his eyes sharp as he surveys the room. "They're gone," he says, voice low. "But they knew exactly what they were doing. No mistakes, no traces."

I nod, biting back a retort. It's not his fault, but the frustration boiling inside me needs an outlet. "We need to move," I say, my voice tight. "Now. We can't stay here."

He agrees with a curt nod. "I'll pack what we need. You secure the rest."

We fall into a tense, focused rhythm, each of us preparing for the inevitable showdown that's coming. As we work, I can't help but glance at Lupé, wondering how much of this he anticipated. Did he see this coming? And if so, why didn't he warn me? The thought gnaws at me, but I push it aside. There's no time for doubts, not now.

Within minutes, we're ready to go. Lupé steps into the hallway, and I follow, the weight of our situation pressing down on my shoulders like a physical burden. The safe house has become a liability, and the data—our one leverage—is now in the hands of our enemies. We're back to square one, and the clock is ticking.

*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱

We drive in silence, the tension between us palpable. The streets blur past in a dark smear, the city asleep and unaware of the storm brewing just beneath its surface. Lupé's hands grip the wheel tightly, his jaw set in a hard line. I can see the strain in his posture, the way his muscles tense with every turn. He's as rattled as I am, though he hides it better.

Finally, he breaks the silence. "We'll get it back," he says, his voice rough with conviction. "Whatever it takes."

I don't respond immediately. Part of me wants to believe him, to trust in his confidence. But the other part—the part that's been burned too many times—wonders if this is just another game to him, another move in a deadly chess match where I'm just a pawn.

"You don't have to do this," I say quietly, staring out the window. "You don't owe me anything."

He glances at me, his expression softening for the first time since we left the safe house. "This isn't just about you, Alora," he says. "I'm in this too. I care about what happens."

I turn to face him, searching his eyes for any hint of deception. There's something raw and honest in his gaze, something that tugs at the walls I've built around myself. "You care?" I repeat, the words tasting foreign on my tongue.