Page 69 of Captive Bride: Armani
This is Vegas, after all, and there are tourists everywhere. I’ll blend in easily. It won’t take long to get a cab to the airport, buy a one-way plane ticket using whatever I have in my wallet, and get the hell out of Armani’s life once and for good. I wonder how far away I can get on a few hundred dollars. If I can just get to Mexico, the cost of living is cheap, and finding a hospitality job somewhere along the coast should be easy considering it’s a tourist destination. I can clean hotel rooms or wait tables, use a fake name and make sure I get paid in cash. My mind flashes with one idea after another, giving me strength and an inflated dose of confidence.
Thoughts of my family weasel in, but I shut them down. I can’t think about the rest of the Gallaghers right now. My brothers have made their own mistakes, and now I have to live with my own. I’m trying to survive. At the very least I’m trying to save my soul before being married to Armani twists me into something from a nightmare.
So, Cabo it is. Or La Paz, or Puerto Vallarta. Warm, cheap, easy to find work. White sand and turquoise waters and all the delicious tequila I can stand. All I have to do is go downstairs, walk outside to the taxi line, and then hop in a cab so I can get the hell out of here.
I don’t bother to take a shower. I change into jeans and a black blouse, hide my red hair under a baseball hat, and slip on a pair of oversized sunglasses. Then I throw my things into my small carry-on bag and sling the strap over my shoulder. After one last look around, I waltz out the door of the suite. But once I’m in the hallway, I’m paralyzed with momentary panic.
The hotel has security cameras everywhere, and I have no idea to what extent Armani will go to monitor me. Or maybe I’m just being paranoid. Either way, I have the element of surprise on my side right now, and I have to take advantage of it.
With a deep breath, I turn to the right and make my way to the end of the hall, then pivot into the first empty elevator that arrives and take it down to the lobby. Once I’m safely to the hotel’s ground floor, I duck behind a potted palm and scrutinize the foot traffic going in both directions before beelining to the exit doors where the taxi line is. I don’t think I’m being followed, but I can’t be sure. I just have to hope I can get a cab fast.
The line is short, but I’m still sweating bullets, and it’s not just from the hot Nevada air. I know I could get caught at any moment. Scrolling through my phone with as much nonchalance as I can muster, I inch forward in the taxi line until it’s my turn. When the cab driver asks where I’m going, I smile and say, “Airport.”
And that’s that.
Thirty minutes later, I’m stepping onto the curb at Harry Reid International. So far, so good. I can’t believe my escape is going so smoothly.
Before I look for the ticket counter, I duck into the first little shop I see that has an ATM sign in the window. The place is full of travelers, which makes me feel better as I slink to the machine in the corner. I chew my thumb nail as the machine spits out my maximum daily withdrawal amount. Next, I withdraw two thousand dollars of cash advances from my credit cards. It will have to last, because I won’t be able to use my cards again without being traced.
As I tap my foot, waiting for the machine to spit out the twenties, my neck tingles as if I’m being watched. I’m sure it’s just paranoia again. I think I would’ve noticed if somebody had followed me from the hotel. Then again, I’ve never been in this situation so I might not pick up on the signs. It was never my goal in life to be a mafia wife.
Stuffing the cash into my bag, I quickly survey the people milling around the convenience store and begin to second-guess myself. Am I really, really going to jump a flight to Cabo San Lucas? What if I can’t find an immediate flight, and I have to pick some random destination? Armani will track me down if I don’t leave right away.
No matter. It doesn’t make a difference. I’ll take whichever flight will get me away from Armani the fastest.
God, what will Juliana think when she finds out? I’ll be dead to her. My heart splinters as I try to imagine my life without Jules in it. She lifted me up and believed in me when nobody else did. And now I’m about to let her down.
Tears burn my eyes and I’m grateful for the sunglasses. I am a very bad person. One who would set her brothers up for certain death. But I can’t think about that right now. I need to focus on myself. I need to stay alive.
Reaching the ticket counters, I take in the variety of airlines before me, then spin around to scan the gigantic departures board. Cabo San Lucas, Cabo San Lucas…there are four different airlines flying there today. But only one of those flights leaves within the next hour. Bingo.
I get in line, sweating the entire time I’m waiting. When I finally reach the ticketing agent, I let out a relieved laugh. Trying not to seem suspicious, I probably accomplish the complete opposite as I somehow end up chattering nonstop to the agent.
My story is that I was supposed to fly home to Boston today, but can’t stand the idea of letting my vacation end, and so if there are any seats left on the flight to Cabo it must be a higher power giving me permission to spend some time on the beach.
Babbling my way through the entire transaction, I end up getting a middle seat on a nonstop flight that will have me arriving to SJD just in time for dinner. It costs me almost five hundred dollars, which means my emergency money is taking a huge hit, but I can live with that. Besides, I have no choice.
After what feels like forever, the agent finally slides the paper ticket across the counter. The slight weight of it is glorious in my hand. I’m going to get out of here.
I am going to make it.
Once I’m safely tucked into the packed security line, I hunch my shoulders slightly, keeping my head down and trying to be as small and unnoticeable as possible. Travelers laugh and joke all around me. I bet none of them have a story quite like mine.
The line inches forward, the passing minutes feeling like hours. My guts twist with anxiety with every step I take. I still haven’t eaten today, and I’m feeling dizzy and out of it. But that’s okay. I’ll get water and a snack once I reach the gate, and if I’m short on time I’ll just get food on the plane.
I’m just a few more steps away from the plastic bins that are stacked up beside the X-ray machines when somebody grabs my arm.
“Shit!”
I spin, already knowing who I’m going to see. Towering over me on the other side of the rope barrier, Armani looks cool and casual, one hand tucked in his pocket, which I’m sure contains a weapon, the other wrapped firmly around my arm.
“Hello, wife. Imagine my surprise to come back to our room, only to find you gone. Going somewhere?”
“I…I…”
There’s no way I’m talking myself out of this. That gleam is back in his eye, the one that’s a blink away from violence. And while he may not do anything violent in the middle of a crowded airport, he’s strong enough to manhandle me out of here.
Do I think he’s going to drag me back to the hotel and beat me? No. He won’t get physical. But that’s because he won’t have to. He can hurt me with more than just his hands.
