Page 49 of Forbidden Fate

So I keep moving.

“Where are we going?” she whispers.

“Parking lot.”

“Are we stealing one of Vega’s cars?”

“No. His vehicles will be tracked.”

“So we’re not stealing a car from the psychopath holding me prisoner. That’s good.”

“We’re stealing from someone else.”

She goes quiet for a second. “I hate that I prefer that.”

“You can hate it after we’re gone.”

The parking lot comes into view beyond a low concrete wall. It belongs to a closed business, though I don’t know what kind. Doesn’t matter. Three vehicles sit under the weak security light.

Not ideal, but a hell of a lot better than nothing.

Robin stops with me. Her hair is loose and tangled around her face, her dark eyes wide open. Fear is there, yes, but also anger. Stubbornness. That same fire that made her talk back to me in the cell.

She should look broken. She doesn’t. And I shouldn’t be thankful for that, but I am.

“Stay close,” I say.

She nods. We climb the wall. I go first and then reach down for her. She grips my forearms, and I lift more than she jumps, pulling her over and setting her down as quietly as I can.

She winces when her bare feet hit asphalt.

“Sorry,” I murmur.

“I’ll survive. I’ve gotten this far.”

I move toward the closest car, an old sedan. Nothing flashy. Exactly what we need. I check the area once more. No movement behind the building. No cameras obvious enough to worry about, though that doesn’t mean there aren’t any.

I pull a small blade from my pocket and work it into the door. Not my cleanest entry, but clean doesn’t matter right now. Fast does. The lock gives after a few seconds, and I open the door without letting the interior light spill too long.

“Get in,” I say.

She climbs into the passenger seat.

For a moment, I let myself look at her in the car. Just sitting there. Alive, furious, scared, and beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with soft lighting or pretty clothes.

Get your head on straight, Cruz.

I slam the door and move to the driver’s side.

Inside, the car smells like stale coffee and cracked vinyl. I crawl beneath the driver’s seat and get to work. Hotwiring a car is a skill I picked up in my teen years. I learned how to do it just for fun. I practiced on an old vehicle of Señora V’s. It doesn’t take long before the engine coughs and then catches.

I put the car in gear. “Seat belt.”

She obeys.

I pull out of the lot with the lights off until we hit the road and then flick them on. I keep my speed controlled. Not too fast. Not suspicious. Every instinct in my body screams at me to floor it, but I stay in control.

Robin twists to look out the back window.