All Chapters of The Surrogate Virgin : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

We walked toward the men together, side by side, Noah’s shoulder brushing mine. The motel sign behind them flickered sickly, casting their faces in a strobe of yellow and blue, as if the night itself couldn’t decide whether to show them whole or hide them in pieces.Four of them or maybe five, shapes shifting in the haze of neon glow and cigarette smoke curling from one man’s lips. All dressed in black, all armed, their silhouettes sharp against the roof’s edge.One of them grinned when he spotted me. “There she is, boss’ll be pleased.” His voice was too casual, like he was commenting on the weather.My stomach turned, bile rising, Boss.Noah’s hand brushed against mine, not holding, not pulling, just there grounding, a silent don’t break. His voice was calm when he answered, but beneath the calm was iron. “Tell my mother she’s lost.”The man with the cigarette laughed. “That’s not what she said when she gave the order.” He tilted his head at me. “She wants the girl alive and said the

We found a place to hide in a laundromat and it smelled like mildew and rust. Machines sat in crooked rows, some with doors hanging open like broken mouths. A single flickering fluorescent bulb hummed above, casting everything in a sickly green light. The hum reminded me of the motel sign, another neon ghost but here it felt heavier, like a warning.Noah leaned hard against me as I pushed the warped glass door shut behind us. His breath was ragged, each exhale hitching with pain. I guided him to a bench along the wall where cracked tiles curled upward like peeling skin.“Sit.” My voice came sharper than I meant, more command than plea.He didn’t argue. His body lowered onto the bench with a grunt, one hand gripping the edge of the seat, the other clamped over his wound. Blood seeped between his fingers, dark and sticky.I dropped the document bag onto the floor, the strap slapping against tile, and crouched in front of him. “Let me see.”“I’m fine, Grace.” His jaw was tight, his tone

I had tried to escape and hid with Desmond and Noah and Vivienne couldn’t men couldn’t locate us. She knew that my weak point could only be Nova and she was planning to use that against me with Catherine. She sat at her mahogany desk, a glass of white wine untouched at her elbow. The dim lamplight pooled over stacks of files and a leather-bound notebook where she had been sketching rough diagrams—routes, names, contingency plans. Every arrow pointed inward toward one central mark.“You’re too calm.”Catherine’s voice broke the silence. She stood near the tall window, her slim figure reflected in the black glass. She had shed the composure she carried in public now she looked restless, arms folded tight across her chest. Her eyes were sharp, though, always sharp.Vivienne allowed herself the smallest smile. “Panic is for people who don’t know the ending of their own story.”“And you do?” Catherine turned, a flicker of challenge beneath the question.“I wrote it,” Vivienne said simply.

Noah’s hand clamped around mine, dragging me toward the fire escape. Behind us, Desmond’s gun cracked again, echoing against the rooftop like a drumbeat against time.The ladder rattled as Noah shoved me down first. My sneakers slipped on the rust-slick rungs, metal biting into my palms, but adrenaline shoved me downward. The stink of gunpowder clung to my clothes, sharp in my throat.“Noah—Desmond!” I gasped, looking up.Noah was still at the top, firing into the swarm of shadows spilling across the roof. Desmond stumbled against the edge, his shirt darkening with fresh blood, teeth clenched as he laid down fire like he could hold them off with sheer fury.Then Noah vaulted onto the ladder, one arm hooking me steady, the other gripping his weapon. Bullets clanged against the fire escape, sparks spitting in the dark. The metal groaned under the three of us as Desmond staggered onto the rungs last, his breath ragged, every movement strained.The world narrowed to the clang of metal, th

The city felt predatory, as if every shadow sharpened into fangs. The alleys narrowed into hungry throats, and even the buzzing, stuttering streetlights seemed to guard men waiting just beyond the edge of their glow. By the time we shoved our way through the splintered doors of the abandoned church, fear and exhaustion had fused so tightly inside me that I could barely tell them apart.The air inside was thick with mold, dust, and that cloying sweetness of flowers left too long on a grave. Shattered stained glass left jagged mouths where saints once gazed down. Pews were gone, pushed aside years ago, leaving only a makeshift camp: one lantern, a couple of crates, a thin mattress slumped in a corner.“This is it?” My voice felt swallowed by the cavernous dark.Desmond’s grin was weak but alive, though his shirt collar was stiff with dried blood. “Coziest spot in town,” he rasped. “Used it back when I was running errands for your delightful mother-in-law. Nobody dares squat here, too ho