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Pop, pop, pop.
Wheels screech as they reverse. I hit the grill and try for a tire, but I’m not close enough. They peel away as my brothers flood out, guns drawn, searching for the target.
“What the fuck is happening?” Jameson pants, pointing his gun in the direction I have mine aimed.
“Someone is following me,” I grind out.
“Ink, Hog, Halo,” Animal barks, gesturing for them to follow the fucker. It’s too late to catch his trail unless he parks somewhere close by.
I’m going too. This fucker can’t get far.
Jameson clamps his hand on the forearm. “We need to talk.” He looks like he’s seen a ghost. Drew sidles up next to him, her eyes peering up at mine. “I know this seems crazy, and the last thing I want to do is add to your pain, but I know Willa,” she tells me. My head fogs, my chest rapidly rising and falling. “She’s telling the truth, Gabe.” He holds up a cell phone to show a screenshot. Acid bubbles up to my throat. Fire rages in my mind, threatening to explode. It’s Willa, but not.
Straight hair, much lighter than Willa ever wore it…but that face, older, still breathtakingly beautiful.
“How…?”
“We have to go now.”
“You want me to come with you?” Drew calls out.
“No. We’ll call if we need anyone else,” Jameson tells her, pushing me toward his truck. He’s crazy. It’s not her. She’s fucking dead.
Thirty-Seven
Willa
I end the call, my mind racing. It’s going to take me a good hour to get back to the bar to pack. Drew showed up there one night. I told her I was the manager. In reality, I was hiding out while the owner found a buyer to take the place over. She called herself Wren and was looking to earn some money to put a roof over her head. I recognized a woman in need when I saw one. She was running just like me, and I took pity on her, and now it’s turning around and biting me in the ass. What are the odds of her being part of the Royal Bastards? She slipped up with her name on day one. It was reckless of me to open up to a stranger. Crap. It’s like the cosmos are pushing me back to Gabe. I’d give anything to go to him—anything but my son’s life—and that’s what it will cost. I know he’ll never forgive me for allowing him to think I’m dead, but I didn’t have a choice.
I finally make it back to the bar, rushing inside. I take the stairs two at a time, James groaning behind me. “Mom, why are you freaking out?” he whines.
I need to stop letting him watch YouTube. This kid is ten going on sixty.
“Just take a couple breaths and relax,” he huffs.
“James, listen to me. You know the drill, okay? I need you to get your stuff together. You have ten minutes. Only take what you absolutely can’t live without.”
“I hate this,” he calls out as I rush to my room and grab my already half-packed suitcase from beneath the bed. I’ve always got one foot out the door, ready, prepared, terrified. We’ve had nine months here, but it’s time to move on.
I add a couple outfits and check to make sure all my personal documents have been left undisturbed inside a brown envelope hidden beneath the lining. My heart thunders in my chest, thinking about the call I received, seeing Jameson’s face. Oh god. Closing the suitcase, I drag it out of the room. “James, move your butt!”
Getting downstairs, I go into the office and unlock the safe, taking everything inside. We’ll need the cash flow for another three months of running while I search for our next home. Why the hell did I have to hire Drew? Because she was a lost girl, the broken girl—just like you.
A hammering on the door makes me jolt, sending a cold shiver up my spine. It’s probably just a regular wondering why I closed the place up.
James comes hopping down the stairs, looking over the banister at me. I hold a finger to my lips, then a hand up, signaling for him to stay up there.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
I swallow the stone lodged in my throat, willing my heart not to burst through my chest.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Silence.
Maybe they left. Suddenly, the window to the back door is cast in a silhouette. The handle wiggles, then hands cup together as someone attempts to peer inside. I drop to the floor in panic, looking up at the baseball bat I keep on a hook beside the door.
When the window is clear, I wave my hands, signaling for James to come to me. He knows how to be silent, invisible. Without even breathing, he’s in my arms. I drag us through the bar when the front door flies open. I screech, cradling James’s head to protect him.
