Property: A Dark Billionaire Romance by Renard Loki

Author:Renard, Loki [Renard, Loki]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Stormy Night Publications
Published: 2019-03-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Chloe

The wind is blowing through what is left of my hair, making bright red strands flutter around my face.

I’m driving a very old, very clattery Camaro. I didn’t have to steal it. I did what the young men called a ‘straight swap.’ This car is older and doesn’t have air conditioning, but it also isn’t traceable in any way that I can think of. I’ve picked up a brand new cheap burner phone, and I’m back on the highway, heading up to San Francisco, where my father has another stash point or three.

I can do this. For a moment, I faltered, but my confidence is returning. Darko might be looking for me, but I am a very small needle in a very large haystack, and no matter how many resources he has, there are still ways around them.

“You can go fuck yourself, Darko,” I shout to the wind. “You and your friends can go to fucking hell! Oh... shit!”

Screeeeeeech! The brakes complain as I stamp my foot on the pedal. The traffic ahead of me is crawling to a halt. An accident, maybe. I almost slammed into the back of a Volkswagen with a pink fuzzy toy suspended in the rear window and had an accident of my own.

After a few minutes of crawling along I see that there’s no accident. There’s a road block slowing traffic. The highway has been filled with cops, checking vehicles. It looks like they’ve set up a border patrol in the middle of the road. That can’t be safe, and it can’t be standard procedure, but they’re doing it anyway.

Could this be on my account?

Of course it’s on my account.

It’s too damn coincidental not to be.

My heart slams in my chest as I struggle to maintain composure. There’s no way off this highway. Concrete barriers on both sides mean driving off it isn’t going to happen, and there’s no way I can pull over and leap out without drawing attention to myself. I’m going to have to go through this fucking road block.

Hand shaking, I put sunglasses on and slowly start to brake. There’s a line of cars ahead of me being looked at, so I have a couple of minutes to compose myself.

“It’s okay. I’m going to be okay,” I breathe.

They’re looking for Chloe Parker-Baskerville, stuck-up heiress to the Parker-Baskerville empire. They’re not looking for Tina Parker, bombshell redhead with the gaudiest red lip color to ever be painted on a human being.

“Well, hello, officer,” I beam. “How can I help you?”

“License and registration, please, ma’am.”

“Of course! Of course!” I pull out my fake ID and thrust it into his hand. “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t have registration in my name, I’m borrowing a friend’s car, will this do?” I grab a sheaf of papers from the glovebox and thrust them at him.

“Who are you looking for? Has someone escaped from prison? Oh, my god. Has a murderer escaped? Oh, my god! Has a mass murderer escaped? Oh. My. God. Why isn’t

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