I give him a quick once-over. He hasn’t changed in the slightest. His arm is still bleeding, his clothes are still wet, and he still appears to be on the edge of death.
But I could kiss him.
As soon as I reach for him, though, he shrinks away.
“Drive.” His voice leaves no room for argument, and so I start the engine and throw it in reverse.
“They didn’t help you?” I side-eye him as I back out and start down the muddy, disheveled trail.
“Not here.”
I make a face at him. His answer doesn’t make a lot of sense, and the urge to poke is stronger than I want to admit, but the way he’s glaring at me…
I just turn and focus on the road.
He really fucking hates me.
But I still owe him, no matter what’s shifted in him.
My chest feels tight as soon as we make it back to the highway, my brain running back to those red and blue lights that could come out of nowhere.
“Go right,” Noah’s tone feels like a slap.
I do as he says, smashing the gas pedal, and wincing as chunks of mud loosening from the tires thud against the car. It’s barely raining now, and I only have to run the windshield wipers on the lowest setting.
Which means they’re going to be restarting the search soon.
“In three miles, you’re going to make another right,” Noah keeps instructing, his voice weak but sharp.
I glance over at him in the passenger seat, wanting to tell him it would be better to sit in the back with Bullet. But I can’t find the words. He looks way too angry, too cold, and too intimidating right now.
He’s just in pain and shock, probably… But when has he ever been gentle?I think back to the ravine and the way he kissed me. That’s it. That’s the only time.
Everything else was in the past.
“Right here,” he gestures as soon as we make it to the old, shitty asphalt road. I slam on the brakes and take the turn a little too hard, fishtailing the back end of the SUV.
“Easy,” Noah grunts as he grabs for the door to steady himself. “Don’t fucking crash us before we ever get out of here.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, pressing my foot against the accelerator again. The engine revs, and I crest the hill, then watch the highway disappear from sight.
“You’re going to make a left at the stop sign.”
I nod, choosing silence as I dodge potholes and uneven patches on the road. I make that turn and then slow down, the pavement shifting to gravel.
“There’s going to be a driveway in about a quarter of a mile on the left side of the road.”
I glance down at the trip meter and then back up at the road. My nerves are thumping still, but in a different, more numbing sort of way.
“Right here,” Noah says, as I reach the gravel drive. There’s nothing visible from the road, just a pair of double iron gates that are open.
I take the turn off and ease my way up the hill through a light row of trees. It’s a manicured place, I can tell that even in the dark.
“Go past the house and take the driveway down to the shop.”
We pass the quaint two-story brick home that I’ve never seen before in my life, and then drive another few hundred feet to a metal shop with a massive overhead door. Before I can stop in front of it, the door rolls up, revealing a man with a gray ponytail and a weathered face.
I recognize him.Netty Morales.He hated Matthew.
