CHAPTER 145: WHEN I’M ON THE ROAD ( LUTHER’S POV )

"When I’m on the road"

"Sing it, Jason!"

"I see stuff passing by!"

"Tell them, baby!"

"When I’m on the road"

"What do you have, honey?"

"I’ve got a big bug in my eye!"

"Whooh!"

"I don’t know the lyrics anymore, Lych!"

"Hah, it’s fine! We’re almost at the hotel!"

"Dine and dash again?"

"Well, I ain’t paying and you got no money, Jason."

"Cheers to that!"

My life as a fugitive is nothing but fun.

All my life, I’ve been confined in a box by my father. Then by the crazy psychopath that is kind of my ex.

Rules. Expectations. Fear of getting abandoned. Of being lonely. Of being a disappointment.

Of being killed.

But now?

I don’t have to worry about the wealth of etiquette. About being a good son or useful enough to not get cut up and displayed.

It’s been a few days since I took the first car I saw on the highway and left Emiliano behind. I don’t think about him that much.

He must have made his way back safely. The wound wasn’t that deep.

Was it?

It doesn’t matter. If he died, then all the omegas he had in that lab could escape. So it’s a good thing.

Emiliano dying it’s a good thing.

"Babe, are you ok?"

"Yeah, the headache is back, that’s all."

"You can rest when we arrive. I could give you a massage too."

"Somehow, I doubt your skills, Lych."

I met Lych about five cars ago.

He is a tall guy with pink hair and blue eyes. If a K-pop idol would have been fired and living only off of a handful of fans’ donations would have looked like Lych.

The only trait I remark about him were his hands— supple, smooth with long fingers and colorful nails. Also with the talent to steal anything one may have on him.

It’s pointless to say how his nails were painted red and green. You can never see them coming.

I don’t know what Lych is. Alpha, beta or omega. He flirts with me, but since the last few days we’ve met, he hasn’t dared to do more.

Which is fine by me. Meaningless flirting is exactly what I need.

Emiliano was good at it. But his flirting had consequences.

Tom was also good at it, but Emiliano made that have consequences.

Killian was not that great at it. Claus— hasn’t been great since he was twelve,

But that does not matter. Because all of them are the past.

My future is here:

Luther Willers—no.

Jason without a last name, in a cr-ppy motel room that he can’t afford, stealing, not paying, running from the law.

Yeah, all that law and political school to live this lifestyle.

Isn’t this just the dream?

"All that SpongeBob singing put me in the mood for some crabs. Up to it, Jason?"

"Sure, room service?"

"You know it. Hurry up and take a shower. It’s more believable that you have money if you open the door in a bathrobe than what you’re wearing now."

"You just wanna see me naked."

"You got me. Are you going to indulge me?"

"Well, the keyhole of the door will be left uncovered. Good luck, soldier!"

I might have developed a condition. Separation anxiety? I can’t stand to be alone.

Even taking a five-minute shower is hard for me. I keep waiting for Emiliano to come in unannounced, barging in, demanding blood.

Every drop, every squick of the tubes, every windy breeze from the open window—

It all feels like him.

It’s ridiculous.

I keep telling myself it’s fear. It’s habit. It’s—

It’s not love.

Love is ridiculous.

"Babe, hurry, the room service it’s almost here!"

"It’s your fault for not washing my back."

"I should be punished. I’ll prepare the handcuffs and the leash. You bring those manly hands and we’ll get right to the spanking."

"Maybe. If the crab is good enough."

"Yeah, the last hotel gave us good poisoning, didn’t it?"

When I got out of the bathroom, Lych was laid down the queen-size bed, going through the channel, trying to find something to watch.

"After the food gets here, I’ll dry your hair."

"Thanks, Lych."

"You can reward me later, babe."

"Thought you needed to be punished."

"Pull a Hannah Montana and give me the best of both worlds, babe."

I couldn’t help but chuckle.

This is life.

I don’t feel lonely.

Or stressed.

Or in danger.

Yeah, this is much better than anything I’ve ever had.

"Room service!"

"C’mon in, it’s open!"

The door opened slowly with a soft creak. I turned toward it just as the hotel staff boy stepped in. He was balancing a large silver tray with both hands, stacked high with a ridiculous variety of seafood. Crabs. Shrimp. Mussels. Some kind of spiny fish I couldn’t name. It all smelled briny and sharp, like they’d been pulled straight out of the ocean ten minutes ago.

He moved quickly, efficient. The tray hit the small table near the window with a light clunk, and he started arranging everything like he’d done it a thousand times. His hands moved fast—no wasted motion. I barely had time to process the fact that he hadn’t said a word. No greeting. No nod.

I reached into my back pocket, fingers brushing the edge of a crumpled five-dollar bill. It wasn’t much, but it was habit. You tip. Even if they don’t say anything.

I pulled it out, straightened it a little between my fingers, then leaned forward, ready to slip it into the kid’s jacket pocket. He was still bent over, adjusting the legs of a crab, making it sit just right.

Then he stopped.

Slowly, like he knew exactly what he was doing, he stood up straight. His head tilted upward until his eyes locked with mine.

I froze.

His stare wasn’t just eye contact—it was pressure. A weight right behind my ribs.

My fingers holding the bill started to shake. My breath caught halfway out of my chest and wouldn’t come back in. The room felt smaller. Closer. The lights were too bright. Too dim. I couldn’t tell.

My heart kicked up fast. Way too fast. My throat tightened like it was closing off. My hand dropped to my side but the shaking didn’t stop. I stumbled a step back and hit the chair behind me. I gripped it, trying to stay upright.

My chest started to ache.

I couldn’t breathe.

The edges of my vision darkened. I reached for the wall, missed, and knocked over a small vase instead. It hit the floor and shattered, water and glass everywhere. I couldn’t even look down. Couldn’t focus.

Just him. Just those eyes.

My knees buckled. I dropped to one.

The panic clamped down fully, hot and suffocating.

Then, without saying a word, the boy moved.

He stepped forward fast and crouched in front of me. One hand came up, quick but not rough, and covered my mouth. The other braced my shoulder.

His palm was warm. Dry.

I didn’t fight him. Couldn’t.

I just stared at him while I tried to suck in air through my nose. My chest still felt tight, but it was like the pressure started to let go. Not all at once. Not fully. But enough.

He didn’t move. He didn’t speak.

His eyes didn’t change, either. Not angry. Not concerned. Just watching.

I sat there on the floor, leaning into his grip a little too much. My hands were fists on my knees, and I was still shaking. But I could breathe again. Not great, not clean, but I was pulling in air.

"We don’t have time for this. You have about three minutes until this place will be filled by cops. Your little vacation is over, Luther!"

"How are you here?"

"It doesn’t matter. Grab Pinkie and get out!"

"Babe, do you know him?"

Lych grabbed the hotel lamp ready to swing.

"Yeah...We gotta run! Now!"

"Get under the tray. You, retired Bubblegum Princess, take these clothes and get him out. Here is some cash. Lay low! I’ll come to help you eventually."

"Why are you helping me?"

"Believe me, I am helping myself. If you come back, God knows what Killian and Lucrezia will do to me and to my baby."

"Your baby?"

"I got pregnant with Killian. Long story. I need you to disappear until I give birth. Three more months. Please."

"I—"

"Babe? If the twink is right, we ain’t got time!"

"Right. Go! Now!"

Lych grabbed the clothes and changed fast. I didn’t watch—I was too busy sliding under the food tray, curling up tight, making sure none of the seafood shifted. The metal was cold against my back, and the smell of crab was already sinking into my skin, but it didn’t matter.

We had to move.

He threw some bed sheets over the tray to cover me, gave the room one last scan, and wheeled the cart toward the door.

The hallway was quiet. We didn’t speak. Just the steady roll of the tray’s wheels over the carpet. Lych kept his head down, moving like he belonged there. No eye contact, no hesitation.

We passed two cleaning staff and a couple in swimwear coming back from the pool. No one gave us a second look.

The elevator was too exposed, so we took the service stairs. Every step, I held my breath, counting each one like it mattered. By the time we reached the basement, I was sweating through my shirt.

We ditched the cart near the loading dock. Lych pulled me out quick, and we slipped past a distracted delivery guy smoking behind a stack of crates.

The back gate was open. No cameras. No guards.

We walked fast, heads low, straight into the side street, away from the hotel and everything inside it.

Two blocks later, I finally stopped. Took a breath. Looked back once, just to make sure.

That’s when it hit me.

I turned my head a little, just enough to let the words out.

"Thank you, Damian."

I knew he couldn’t hear me and I knew it didn’t matter even if he did.

Then we kept walking.

As police sirens echoed behind.