We need to get you to a hospital.” I pulled Martin along, trying to find somewhere safe for us to sit.

“I don’t think I’ve been shot; I think it’s just from the glass. I tried to take the brunt of it.” His voice faded as if he was going to pass out. “Let’s just find shelter for now. We need to call your father.”

There was a diner not far from Martin’s condo that I recognized from the bags of food that Cruz had brought over. The place looked nearly deserted, but a neon green signs said that they were open. We found a quiet booth far in the back and ordered coffee. While Martin patted himself down with napkins to stop the bleeding, I called Daddy’s private line.

Ophelia answered, and I nearly hung up the phone. But the panic in her voice stopped me. “Oh dear, Vanessa, we’ve been so worried. Are you guys okay?” Ophelia cried into the phone.

“Where’s my father?”

Daddy got on the phone and could barely contain himself or get any words out, so Ophelia took the phone back. “What do you need? Please, let me help you.”

“We need to get out of town. There’s nowhere to hide.” I looked at Martin, and he was pale, slumping over in the seat in a very unnatural position. Fear shot through me because I thought he was dead, but then he smiled at me, and I exhaled.

“I can get you some money. You just stay safe for a day or so, and we will have it ready.”

“I don’t know where we can go. They have found us everywhere.” I felt myself breaking down, and I bit my lip. There was no way that I would cry to Ophelia.

Martin stirred in his seat. “How much cash do you have on you? I think I have fifty dollars.”

I patted myself down, but I was only wearing one of Martin’s oversized work shirts. I had nothing on under it. I shook my head.

“I’m sure we can find something around here for fifty bucks. Tell them to hurry up and wire some money so we can get the hell out of Dodge.”

“Hey! Hey! You get the hell out of here. I don’t need any trouble from you.” A large man, probably the owner of the diner, came running from behind the counter, waving a spatula at us. “I know you! I know who you are!” He stared right at me.

“Let’s get out of here.” Martin stood and pushed me toward the door.

The fat man chased us, still yelling, “I don’t want none of your kind at my restaurant. I run an honest establishment. You tell La Familia that Vito’s is off limits!”

I wanted to turn around and yell back that I was not part of the La Familia. Anger coursed through me. His outburst only deepened my resolve to leave this blasted town once and for all, get out of here and start a new life away from Daddy and Ophelia and this messed-up life that he’d thrust upon me. Martin yanked my arm and pulled me out the door. The expression on his face reminded me that now was not the time or place.

Martin and I ran down a back alley and hid behind some trash cans, watching for Antony and his men. After about ten minutes, it was clear that we hadn’t been found. That old man’s scene hadn’t attracted any attention. We both breathed a sigh of relief, neither of us prepared for another run-in with Amara and his men.

“I think the coast is clear,” Martin whispered. “You ready?”

We continued down the alley and eventually came across a beat-up looking motel with a flickering vacancy sign. “You can’t be serious?” I asked him. It looked like something out of a horror movie. What paint there was had flaked off in large patches across the awning. The name wasn’t even visible anymore. I squeezed Martin’s hand, hesitant, not wanting to take one step closer.

“I know you aren’t from this side of the tracks, but fifty dollars doesn’t get much of anything these days.” Martin tried to give me a reassuring smile as he opened the creaking, dusty door to the hotel, but it was masked in the pain that I could still see across his features and my own worries. This wasn’t going to be good.

As we entered the hotel to pay, Martin’s phone buzzed. He looked at the caller ID and swiped his finger across the screen to ignore the call.

As much as neither one of us wanted to climb any stairs or be anywhere other than the nice safe ground, Martin asked for a room on the second floor. He said it was still safer than a ground floor room, so we braced ourselves and took the steps at the side of the building very slowly.

I watched Martin as I climbed; his eyes never rested on one place for more than a second. He was on high alert as we turned the corner and found room 212. He placed a finger over his mouth in a quieting motion and told me to stay put as he picked out the room. I began to say that there is no way Amara knew where we were, but I really didn’t even believe that myself at this point. He seemed to know every move we made two steps before we made it.

Obediently, I stood outside the door and waited for Martin to secure the room. I thought about how happy I would normally be at him suggesting we get a room. Although I knew that neither one of us were in any shape to fulfill a promise like that, I still chuckled at the irony. Then again, at myself for wanting him, even after what we’d just been through.

Then, a wave of fear and guilt washed over me. Here I was thinking about sex when we’d almost been killed. Daddy was in such a state. Martin was hurt. The weight of it all crashed down on me, and I began to cry, staring over the railing of a dingy motel and waiting for Martin to let me in.