Chapter 238 240

Chapter 238 240
CLARA

So far, so good.

Martin tried taking advantage of our “bonding time” by putting on the physical romance when he got home, but I fended him off by running to the bathroom and shouting that I had explosive diarrhea.

It’s stupid, I know. But it was all I could think of.

Lucky for me, he bought it. He gave me a strange look after I made several (fake) ungodly noises in the bathroom and asked if I was still able to cook dinner. Willow came out of her room to ask if I was okay.

Princess did me a solid by passing gas when she checked on me in the bathroom. Martin got one whiff and avoided me, the bathroom, and this part of the house in general.

Thank God for small favors.

And for dogs with helpfully rank digestive systems.

Martin leaves me alone while getting ready for work. I’m still sleeping in Willow’s room but he hasn’t brought it up. I’m hoping he figures I just need time to readjust with her. He’s trying to connect with her and make her his “baby girl,” but again—it’s too little, too late.

This time, when I drop Willow off, I convince her that Princess needs to stay home to “guard the fort” while I run a few errands. She pouts but agrees, and we get her settled into her classroom for the day without a hitch.

Martin’s at work. Willow is at school.

Time to move.

The truth is, I needed Princess at home to act as a sort of alarm system. If I can hear her when I pull up, I know someone else is here. I can’t afford to take any risks with what I’m about to do, so I need all the help I can get.

Despite Martin’s best efforts to convince me to finish unpacking, I managed to delay it by making up excuses like “I’m still organizing” and “I’m not sure what I want to keep or throw out.”

When, in reality, my gut said today was coming sooner rather than later.

I run into the quiet house and Princess immediately meets me at the door. After a quick head rub and treat, I move past her and start throwing Willow’s clothes into a backpack.

Could I just buy her new ones after we leave? Yes.

Do I want to risk a paper trail by using my card right away? Not so much.

My clothes are even easier to pack since I’ve been essentially living out of Demyen’s borrowed suitcase. All I need to grab are my toiletries, and I throw Willow’s toothbrush in along with mine.

I stop to take one long, last look at the cramped living room, the small kitchen… the tiny, miserable, caged life Martin wanted me to live.

If arson wasn’t a felony, I’d take a match to this whole fucking place.

Princess doesn’t need a leash to guide her to the SUV—she books it out of the house and beelines right for her favorite spot in the front seat. When she feels like I’m taking too long to drag the suitcase out, she whines and yips until I pop the trunk open.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. We gotta go.”

I’m almost ready to leave when I glance inside the garage. Martin’s very abandoned workstation is in there, full of top-of-the-line equipment he swore he’d use but never touched once they were out of the package.

I don’t know why, but the toolbox sitting on the workbench intrigues me. I motion for Princess to stay put inside the car while I peek inside the garage.

It’s not dusty like the tools.

In fact, it looks like it’s been recently moved.

Curiosity gets the better of me. I slip inside and tiptoe over to the toolbox with only the sunlight glowing through gaps in the wall slats lighting my way. I flinch when the latches loudly snap open, but I also remind myself that Martin is away at work.

Holy shit.

This thing is stuffed with cash.

I don’t even think about it—I take the whole damn thing. There’s no time to count or sort it out; I just relatch the lid and carry it with me, practically throwing it into the trunk.

Consider it child support.

The engine barely registers in my ears, my heart is pounding so loud. I peel out of the driveway in reverse, whip the SUV around, and start driving the fifteen minutes it takes to get back to Willow’s school.

I’m doing it.

I’m actually doing it.

I’m not going to some casino on a whim or getting swept off my feet by some not-quite-knight in beat-up armor.

I’m getting my daughter and me the hell out of Vegas, just like I’d wanted to from the start.

And you know what?

This feels fucking incredible.

I laugh. I laugh and I laugh, and then I laugh some more. That dumbass Martin won’t know what to think when he sees that we’re gone. He probably won’t even figure out I found his toolbox until it’s way too late and we’re in Canada or Barbados or on the freaking moon.

We’re doing this, baby girl. Mama’s got you.

Mama’s also going nineteen over the speed limit, which I don’t notice until the red, white, and blue lights start flashing behind me.

Shit.

Something in my gut tells me to keep going, don’t pull over.

But that “something” won’t have to deal with the consequences of evading a police officer, especially as the daughter of one. So I do what any normal, not-running-from-her-ex person would do and pull to the side of the road.

Princess feels as unsettled as I do. She whines and shifts in her seat, eager to break free from the gentle restraint of the seatbelt.

The officer steps out of the car.

And my heart plummets.

Fuck.

No. No, no, no…

Martin adjusts his sunglasses and saunters up over to my driver’s side window that I already rolled down before I saw who it was. “Well, well, well,” he drawls. “Looks like I caught myself a sexy little speed demon. What’s the rush, baby?”

Breathe. Fucking breathe.

“Heard a good song on the radio,” I lie through my teeth. “Didn’t notice I was tapping my foot.”

“Oh, yeah?” He laughs and leans on the door frame. “Which one?”

I can’t think of anything. My panicked mind is utterly blank. “Er, I don’t know. It was just good.”

Martin nods and drums his fingers on the top of the car. “I figured you’d be home by now. I’m honestly surprised to see you out and about.”

Please… please don’t see the bags in the back. “We’re out of a few things back home. I needed to run and grab groceries.” I’m praying for this to work. “I was thinking about making steak for dinner.”

“That sounds delicious, baby.” He grins at me and leans in through the window for a kiss. “You know you’re my favorite chef.”

I laugh nervously. Anything to get him to back out and leave me alone.

Martin reaches in… and yanks the keys from the steering wheel.

He grabs the back of my head.

Then slams me face-first into the wheel.

My world is ringing. And spinning. And filled with vicious barking and snarling that does seem to keep Martin at bay.

There’s blood all over the steering wheel. All over me.

“You think you’re so fucking clever, huh? Huh?!”