Don't Run
Автор
Sofia Landeiro
Прочтений
2,5M
Глав
45
Maya is on the run from a relentless danger she can’t escape. When she stumbles into the path of Enzo, a fierce yet protective stranger who claims they’re fated mates, her life takes a dramatic turn. The bond between them grows, but Maya’s fear of endangering Enzo and his pack drives her to push him away. Enzo, however, refuses to let her face the threat alone. With danger closing in and her past catching up, Maya must decide whether to keep running or trust Enzo to fight by her side. In a world where love is her greatest risk, Maya learns that survival might mean embracing the very thing she fears the most.
Chapter 1
MAYA
The breath I exhale dissipates into tiny clouds in the chilly air as I step off the bus. It’s unusually cold for spring.
I grip the strap of my backpack tightly as I sling it over my shoulder. No one else is disembarking here, which suits me perfectly. It’s easier to notice if someone’s following me that way.
I look around. The sign in the middle of the bus station is barely visible in the thin rays of the late-afternoon sun.
Old Bern. This will have to do.
It’s a small town, smaller than I initially thought. The station is more of a bus stop with a small ticket office and a few benches. In front of me is a large road, lined on each side by individual houses and framed by a dark forest.
A young woman with a small child passes me. She raises her eyebrows as she glances my way, pulling her little one closer as she hurries by.
A newcomer always causes a stir at first, but as long as I keep to myself, people eventually lose interest. I remind myself of my rules as I start walking toward the town center.
Keep moving. Don’t get attached.
I’ve been on the road for two years now, and it never gets easier. The paranoia of always looking over my shoulder to make sure I’m not being followed, of wondering if I can trust anyone, is exhausting.
But after Toronto, I have to be more vigilant than ever. They can’t get that close again. My life depends on it.
My first priority is to find a motel or something. Someplace where they take cash and won’t question if I take off in the middle of the night.
I stop at the edge of a cobblestoned town square. Store fronts face its large open lawn, a big fountain resting in its center. Their big display windows are dark, already closed for the night.
Maybe I can find a job at one of them tomorrow. I could use the cash. Tonight, I just want to collapse into bed and pray to all the gods for a nightmare-free rest.
I pause to admire the beautiful flower beds encircling the water feature, reaching out to touch the petal of a tulip when the hair on the back of my neck stands up.
I turn quickly, but I don’t see anyone. Still, the feeling that someone is watching me lingers. Fear washes over me as I squint down each of the shadowed alleys between the shops.
They couldn’t have caught up with me yet, could they? I changed buses three times. I took all the necessary precautions to hide my trail. It shouldn’t be possible.
I try to shake it off as I hurry past the square, crossing through a narrow alley and coming out on the other side. I hoist my backpack up, shifting it over to my other shoulder as I search for somewhere to hide.
I need to find a crowd or a building. Being out in the open like this isn’t safe.
I groan as I settle my bag. I’m stiff and need a long, hot shower. I sat on that bus for six hours. No one can say that they feel fresh after such a long trip on public transport, but I still haven’t seen a single sign for a motel or anything.
Have I ended up in such a small town that they don’t even have accommodation to rent?
I’m just about to turn around when I see a sign.
Café and bar. Okay, a beer with my muffin please? What an unusual combination of establishments, but hey, who am I to judge?
The sun has already started to set, the temperature dropping quickly as my stomach rumbles loudly. I can hear the building’s music playing from across the street. Probably a good sign that there’s a crowd.
I can stop there, warm up for a while, and lose whoever’s tailing me. Maybe ask the barista or bartender where the nearest motel is.
I put my hand in my pocket and pull out the last of my cash, counting it quickly.
Fifty dollars. That should be enough for some food, a beer, and hopefully one or two nights in a shabby motel.
I grab the wooden door handle. It creaks when I open it. I’m greeted by laughter and clinking glasses as I step into the warmth.
It’s not a big venue, but the atmosphere is very homely. Thick wooden beams stretch across the ceiling, extending from one end of the space to the other. The walls are painted a dark green, and framed pictures are hung asymmetrically throughout the room.
Large potted plants rest in the corners, and mustard-yellow curtains hang over the windows. There are a few small tables with chairs to my left, and a long wooden bar to my right.
A huge glass display case full of pastries sits at the front of the bar. Behind it, there are rows of liquor bottles and a large espresso machine. It’s the strangest mix I’ve seen in a long time.
Some of the guests are drinking beer, while others are chatting over steaming mugs and plates of cookies. Two large men at one of the tables have a pile of empty shot glasses in front of them and a plate of half-eaten cheesecake.
The door slams shut behind me, and everyone turns. I swallow hard when their gazes land on me. Straightening, I walk to the bar, feeling all their eyes follow me.
Oh my god, have they never seen a stranger before?
I place my backpack in front of one of the barstools before I sit down. I don’t have to turn around to know they are still watching me, but I forget all about them when the woman tending the bar walks up.
She’s absolutely stunning. She has fiery-red hair and green eyes. Her tall frame is dressed in a tight black T-shirt and ripped jeans.
I blink, shaking my head when I realize that she said something to me.
“Um…what?” My voice is raspy, and I clear my throat, ashamed that I’m coming across like some drooling idiot. “Sorry, what did you say?”
She giggles and her eyes sparkle.
“What can I get you?” she repeats happily.
“Ahh, okay.” I look behind her and then to the glass case. “A beer…and a blueberry muffin?”
“Coming right up!”
She turns, grabbing a cold beer from the fridge and opening it before placing it on the bar in front of me. Foam rises from the opening, sliding down its neck, and I quickly pick it up, licking the cold liquid before taking a sip.
She places my muffin on a small plate next to my beer a moment later.
“Thank you,” I say, fiddling with the label on my beer bottle.
It’s damp and has started to peel up at the edges. I tear off a piece, placing it on the edge of the plate.
“You’re not from here,” she says, more of a statement than a question as she leans against the counter.
It feels like the whole café has gotten quieter.
“No. I came into town today on the bus.” I hesitate, quickly diverting the conversation away from me. “I’ve never seen a café and bar before. It’s a bit of an odd combination.”
I meet her gaze before taking a bite of the muffin.
Oh my god! This is divine. Did she make this?
She laughs, wiping a towel over the bar. “Yeah, it’s a little weird maybe. My partner and I wanted to open something together. I’ve always loved being a bartender and she loves to bake, so why not combine the two?”
Her smile is contagious, and I can’t help but grin back.
“Yeah, why not? Whatever floats your boat,” I answer as I take another sip of my beer. “Hey, where’s the nearest motel?”
She gives me a surprised look. “Um, Old Bern doesn’t have a motel, but we do have a bed and breakfast. It’s farther up the street on the left. You can’t miss it. It’s called Missy’s B&B.”
“Sounds expensive.”
“Don’t worry… What’s your name?”
“Maya.”
“Don’t worry, Maya. I know Missy,” she says, winking at me. “I’ll let her know you’re coming. She’ll give you the friends and family discount.”
“Wow. Thank you, um…”
“Samantha, but everyone calls me Sami.”
“Thanks, Sami,” I say, raising my beer to her and smiling.
I feel myself relax a little.
I like this woman. She’s easygoing and fun. In a different world, maybe we could have been friends, but I can’t afford to take the risk.
“Sami! Can I have two more tequila shots?” shouts one of the cheesecake-eating men as he wobbles toward the bar.
“Of course, Jonah,” she replies.
I remind myself of my rules as she turns around to grab the bottle.
Keep moving. Don’t get attached.
The man stands unnecessarily close to where I’m sitting. The scent of his cologne is intrusive, overpowering my senses.
The bar stool creaks under me as I lean away. He’s huge and doesn’t seem to understand personal space, reminding me a lot of the people I grew up with.
“Hey, beautiful,” he slurs.
