My attention is fully zoomed in on his touch. “Let go of me.”
His lips press into a firm line. He drops his hands and glances away from me, his throat bobbing on a swallow.
There has to be another way. Another option. If I can just get whoever’s working in that porn shop to call the cops, Nero will have to leave me behind and run. He can’t risk getting caught. He’d go to prison for the rest of his life. The cops will protect me from the Iron Raptors. They have to.
This might be my last chance.
I knee him in the groin and run.
“Fuck,” he huffs.
My shoes pound against the cement.
Faster, faster!
The neon sign above the shop is my beacon, and I race toward it, my breaths coming out in harsh puffs—
“Ungh!” I trip on a pothole and tumble to the ground. Pain explodes through my right knee.
I push myself up, my palms scraping against the rough pavement. My heart thunders in my chest as I try to scramble to my feet, but a strong hand grips my arm and yanks me up.
“Goddamn it, Blake. What was that?”
His face looms in front of me. Humiliation and despair prickle over my cheeks. He didn’t even need to chase me. I barely made it twenty feet.
“Your knee’s bleeding,” he says roughly, angrily. “Why would you do that? What were you hoping to accomplish? Did you really think whoever’s in that shop would be a match for me?”
“The police,” I whisper.
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You were going to call the police?”
When I nod, he barks a humorless laugh. “You’d be signing your own death warrant. They’d ship you right back to Missouri and let the local PD handle the case. Do you think the Iron Raptorsdon’t have at least a few of those cops in their pocket? You’d be dead within a week.”
He doesn’t seem to expect a response, which might be for the best, because I’ve got nothing. If even the cops can’t help me, then…I guess I’m marrying him.
Nero pulls me back to the car, lifts me onto the passenger seat, and rummages inside the glove compartment for tissues.
I stare at the dark sky above him as he dabs at the scrape and will myself not to cry.
It turns out, Nero’s right. The officiant does exactly what he’s told, casting only a mildly concerned look at the bruises on my face and the tear in my jeans. There’s no need for threats—Nero’s tone inspires complete obedience. It’s the tone of a man you’d be an idiot to defy.
It’s the tone of a killer.
And of my new husband.
The cheap silver ring on my finger burns almost as much as my knee as we drive toward a Walgreens. In the parking lot, he leaves me alone inside the truck, secured with a zip tie again. He didn’t need to bother. The hopelessness of my situation has finally sunk in. I have no documents, no money, no phone. I’m exhausted. My body is this close to giving out.
Nevada isn’t far from California, and from here, I could probably hitchhike my way to Del, but I won’t risk putting her on the Iron Raptors' radar. I won’t be responsible for another person getting killed because of me.
A searing pain spreads through my chest.
Sam didn’t need to die. He could have left through the back and saved himself when Uncle Lyle showed up at the house. Heshouldhave saved himself.
Instead, he fought. Fought to protect me, to buy me time, even though we both knew the odds were stacked against us. His bravery cost him his life, and the guilt I carry weighs heavier than any chain Nero could bind me with.
Maybe I should be angry at Sam—Sandro—for lying to me the entire time too. But there’s no anger when I think of him. Only sorrow. The kind that leaves a permanent scar that won’t ever fade.
The passenger door opens. Nero frees me from the door handle and drops two plastic bags at my feet. “Got us some food and water.”
