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Now sticking with Tina back there seemed like a much better option.
But it was too late for second-guessing. My fingers tightened around the child's wrist as I started dragging him in the opposite direction, my entire body running cold with anger. Dominic moved fast behind me, his steps light and quick, leaping in his movement as he caught up. His voice was urgent but hushed.
"Eleanor, wait. Just listen to me—"
"I don't want to hear it," I snapped, my pulse hammering as I pushed through the flow of people. The street was crowded but not dense enough to disappear into. Pedestrians moved at their own pace, some tourists snapping pictures, others absorbed in their conversations. A jogger brushed past me with a muttered "Watch it," and I barely acknowledged him. My focus was straight ahead, towards where Tina’s Ferrari was parked. My fingers trembled as I reached into my pocket, feeling for the key I had slipped there earlier. It was still there, cool against my palm, but even that small reassurance did nothing to slow the erratic pounding of my heart. The chances were low but I had to try.
Dominic didn’t stop. He stayed right behind me, weaving through the crowd as he spoke, his voice tight with frustration. "I didn't know, Eleanor. I swear to you, I didn't know Alaric was working with Vaughn."
I scoffed, not slowing down. "That’s convenient."
"I’m serious!" He caught up beside me now, keeping pace, his face twisted with something close to desperation. "I would never have—"
"Shut up!" I hissed, throwing a glance over my shoulder. "The lady who attacked us in the hallway—Clarissa. Yeah, that's her name."
Dominic looked momentarily thrown. "What does that have to do with—"
"She’s Vaughn's wife," I bit out, my voice laced with venom. "And I saw Alaric pulling up at the school with her to get our son."
That shut him up. He stiffened, his jaw clenching. For the first time, a flicker of something else passed over his face, something beyond confusion or guilt. Fear.
The boy in my grip squirmed suddenly, letting out a small, whimpering sound, and both Dominic and I immediately looked down at the same time, as if synchronized. He was struggling against my hold, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I wanna go home.”
Guilt punched me straight in the gut. Jesus. The amount of stress we had put this kid through in a single day… It was unbearable to think about. But there was no stopping now. No time to explain or comfort him. I sucked in a breath and forced my grip to loosen just slightly, enough to keep him close without hurting him. His little chest was rising and falling too fast, panicked breaths slipping through his lips, and my stomach churned with something ugly.
I swallowed hard, my thoughts spiraling, crashing over me like waves in a storm. What the hell were we doing to him? He was ten—ten. He should have been at home, worrying about school, about whether or not he could stay up late to watch TV, not being dragged through a goddamn city while men with guns hunted him down. His whole body was shaking, and it hit me, hard, that this was the first time I was holding my child’s hand. And it wasn’t in a safe, warm moment of connection, it was in fear, in desperation. The first time I was truly with him, physically, in a way that mattered, I was dragging him through chaos, running for his life.
God, what if he had grown up with me? With Dominic? The thought made my stomach twist, my skin turn cold. We would’ve ruined him. I knew it, deep in my bones. Not because I didn’t love him, but because I would’ve passed on every single one of my goddamn flaws. I would’ve been paranoid, overprotective, constantly looking over my shoulder. I would’ve raised him like a fugitive, and Dominic? Jesus, Dominic wasn’t exactly model father material either. The life he lived, the people he surrounded himself with, the shit he got involved in, it wasn’t something a kid should be anywhere near. If I had kept him, he wouldn’t have had a normal childhood. He wouldn’t have had sleepovers or birthday parties or the simple, quiet life that every child deserved. He would’ve been raised in fear.
The realization hit like a slap to the face. The suffocating control, the paranoia, the constant fear that something bad was going to happen, that would’ve been me. I would’ve been the kind of mother who checked the locks three times, who flinched at shadows, who never let her son out of her sight. And Dominic? He would’ve been absent, half in, half out, torn between whatever mess he had gotten himself into and trying, failing, to be a father.
This boy—our boy—had been spared from all that. He’d grown up somewhere safe, away from the darkness that followed Dominic and me like a curse. He had a chance at a normal life before today, before we came crashing into it and ruined everything. I felt sick. I thanked God—truly, desperately thanked Him that he hadn’t been raised in our world, in the filth and danger and violence that clung to everything Dominic and I touched. But now, because of us, he was being dragged right back into it.
My heart clenched painfully as I glanced down at him, at the way his green, terrified eyes darted between Dominic and me, like he was searching for answers neither of us could give him. He was smart, too smart. He wasn’t just scared; he was processing. Trying to piece things together. Trying to understand why the two people who had suddenly appeared in his life were running like criminals, why people were chasing us, why his entire world had turned upside down in just a few minutes. And he knew. Maybe not everything, not the full weight of it, but he knew enough to understand that something was very wrong.
And still, we couldn’t stop. We couldn’t tell him the truth, not yet. There was no time for explanations, no time for comfort. We had to keep moving, keep running.
I clenched my jaw, forcing the thoughts away. Later. Later, I could drown in the guilt. Right now, I had to get him out of here alive.
Dominic must have felt the same because his expression softened for a brief moment before I ripped the moment away, turning back to him, eyes burning. I had questions that needed instant answers. "How did you know where to find him, Dominic? How did you know anything at all?"
He hesitated. "Eleanor—"
"No, answer me!" My voice was a whisper now, but it was firm enough. "How the hell did you know?"
He swallowed, glancing around nervously. The crowd kept shifting, and we moved with it, but I noticed his gaze darting toward the people passing us. He was getting paranoid. Good. Maybe now he’d start to understand just how bad this was.
Then, in a voice so low I almost didn’t catch it, he said, "Alaric knew."
My stomach dropped. "What?"
"He knew," Dominic repeated, his expression unreadable now. "From the moment we lived in that shitty apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. From when you got pregnant. From when you had him. He knew everything. Even when you gave him up. His foster parents.”
For a second, I couldn't breathe. My lungs felt like they had been filled with cement.
"What are you guys talking about?" the boy suddenly interrupted, his small voice laced with confusion. "What's going on?"
I froze. My instincts snapped into place, and before I even realized what I was doing, I bent down and clapped my hands over his ears. He let out a surprised noise, but I didn’t care. My gaze snapped back to Dominic, and I was seething.
"You knew this whole time," I whispered furiously. "And you never once suspected? Never thought for a second that maybe, just maybe, he was setting us up? He told you he knew all these and you still didn’t suspect? You’re so fucking careless, Dominic!"
His face twisted in anger. "Are you serious? You think I would’ve just let this happen if I knew? I never fucking knew, Eleanor! And maybe if you trusted me for one goddamn second, we wouldn’t be standing here arguing in the middle of the street!"
I opened my mouth, ready to snap back, but something in the air changed. A shift.
I noticed it first. My heart pounded violently as my eyes darted around, scanning. The cops were still there, moving between the crowd, their uniforms blending in almost too well with the bodies shifting around them. But it wasn’t just them. Alaric’s men were filtering in from another direction, their eyes scanning faces, moving too purposefully.
We were cornered.
Shit.
I gripped Adam’s wrist tighter, ignoring his little wince, and turned to Dominic, my voice razor-sharp. "We need to move. Now."
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