Page 33 of Thrown into the Mob

Flint looked at Conrad. "Do you have somewhere not connected to your family?”

My mate nodded and explained there was. He’d rented it years ago in a fake name and paid in cash.

“I was always hoping to leave but didn't know if I’d get the chance.”

Oh, Conrad. My chest ached, but it wasn't the shoulder wound. He’d spent years maintaining a hiding place just in case.

“You leave tonight.” Flint straightened. “You’ll have no phones and no contact with the pack until I send word.”

The others got up and left, but Conrad and I didn’t move.

“Did you ever go there?" I asked.

Conrad was still standing behind me. “Once. The day I signed the lease. It was enough to know it existed.”

I gripped my mate’s hand, the same man who’d paid rent based on hope.

“Now you've got a reason to go back.”

Ranger drove us two hours north, and we picked up a rental car under Conrad's false name. The apartment was on the third floor of a building in a non-descript small town. I stood in the doorway and looked at the space my mate had kept secret for years. It was small and bland with minimal furnishings.

This is what our life had become. We had to blend into the neighborhood. There’d be no loud music or singing. We couldn’t go to a football game and cheer, though I suspected my mate had never been near a stadium. We had to keep our laughter to a minimum. We were going to be just like this lonely-looking apartment.

“Home.” Conrad attempted a smile.

I closed the door behind us.

SEVENTEEN

CONRAD

The apartment had one lamp, and it cast a yellowish light that emphasized how dismal the place was.

It reminded me of the Solari jail cells where I’d deposited more than one offender before Father interrogated them. Not that I should have prettied this place up. This was my bolthole, not a place to spend a lifetime.

I needed to do something, so I busied myself checking the locks and windows, and I stood on the small balcony scanning the sky for shapes that didn't belong there. My dragon was alert like me, scenting the air for any sign of dragons.

I wasn’t used to being on our own, not for extended periods. I didn't have a security team, cameras, the Wyvern people, or any of the infrastructure I'd built. I had a bolt lock, a knife from my stash, and a wolf shifter with a healing bullet wound who was sitting on the couch eating food out of a container his Grandpa had given him.

Grandpa. Arnie had told me to call him that as he passed us the bag of food before Ranger growled at us to hurry up. Grandpa. I’d never had a grandfather, or if I did, Father hadn’t mentioned it. But the word didn’t come easily and I still thought of him as Arnie.

The secondhand leather sofa squeaked, and I glanced over my shoulder. Madd was putting the rest of the food into the almost-empty fridge. We’d picked up some basics at a convenience store near the car rental place, but that wouldn’t last more than a couple of days.

“You should sleep,” I told him.

“So should you.”

“I’m keeping watch.”

“Huh?” He pointed outside to the balcony. “If Evander sends dragons, you'll scent them before you see them, and you can do that from the bed.”

“I’ll take the first watch while you rest.” I wasn't going to negotiate.

He said he wasn’t tired, and I pointed out he was shot a few days ago. Or two or maybe it was yesterday. I’d lost all sense of time.

“And I've been running on adrenaline ever since, so my body doesn't know how to stop.” He adjusted his position on the couch and winced, proving my point that he should lie down. “Sit, Conrad. You're making me nervous pacing around like that.”

I sighed, and my dragon gave me a nudge saying I should do as my mate asked. I eased myself into a chair opposite, and rather than staring at my fated mate, I clenched my hands and closed my eyes.