Page 106 of Boneyard HEA

After the last month of horrors that are surely imprinted on my soul, on my heart, burned into me for the rest of my life, Hell would be a let-down.

Snick, crunch, snack.

“Shut up,” I mutter.

Ignoring the aches and twinges in my back and legs, I resume my wobbly march toward the vehicle in the trees.

That probably belongs…make that belonged, to the dead men.

Are those hoofbeats? I cock my head, half-turning and listening.

My hearing might be damaged. Yet through the large gap in the hedgerow I catch sight of someone riding down the road toward Rafael. He slows and turns his head as he passes and our eyes meet and lock. On the huge black horse is a man with peppery gray hair, wearing a fucking suit. What is it with the brits and their attire? Then he’s gone. I should hurry. I don’t know who he is and if this property is where Alden was going, it could be that man’s land.

The Somersby’s? His dad was Lord Somersby? Benjamin Somersby, my strangely random memory tells me. It cannot remember recipes or song lyrics but spits out the names of British Lordy Sir Somethings on a whim.

Limping—I may have sprained my ankle—I reach the grove of trees and yank at the driver’s side door of a silver-gray Skoda SUV, while praying they left the keys somewhere inside. The door opens.

Yesss.

I slide in and softly shut the door, assessing the controls as I do so.

After a frantic five minutes of searching under every mat and in all the hiding places, I find the keys nestled in the cup holder in the central compartment, under some balled-up grotty tissues.

How did I miss them?

This is an EV. Thank god. Getting this thing going should be simple. I press start and it barely makes a sound, the sneaky car, even as I shift into drive and edge out onto the track they’ve used to back into this hiding spot. I think this runs at right angles to the road we used. I accelerate onto the small one-lane, one-way road then curve right and merge into the larger road.

I’m cruising along, purring away from Rafael. That simple.

That’s a yell from behind. I refuse to check the rearview mirror.

Rafael might hate me for escaping him. Good.

He’s been like a parasitic thing on my ass, watching me ever since he helped extricate me from that hellhole place, from the Evil House.

I clench my jaw and stop myself reminiscing over the bad shit.

I was beginning to like him and that would never do. Is he a good man? It’s possible.

I’m stupid for leaving his protection but staying also has risks.

Providing this car has no tracker on it, it should be safe-ish, and what self-respecting assassins have trackers on their getaway vehicle?

Safe, providing the cops don’t come after me, too. Three men are dead back there, with bullet holes in them. There is a place on the coast where I can hide. I hope James and Raina are still away. And if they aren’t? I’ll beg them to let me stay. I just need some peace, some space, then a miracle. I can keep away from everyone for a week or two.

Is that long enough though. My hands are shaking on the wheel. I relax them and inhale slowly, exhale. The tires keep humming. And after that? How do I get home to Australia?

Flying saucer? And it’s not exactly home anymore.

An eerie kind of silence descends on my thoughts. I don’t know what I’m going to do, really. If I can rest and think and get my head in order, I will still need to meet the world again.

My butt shifts on the upholstery as I go over a bumpy section and I remember the surgery I had done in Australia. Internal sutures, after the finger surgery was done, because the first doctor didn’t check me inside. Despite all the rapes and the violence I told him about. The stupid fucker. Men.

I know I shouldn’t think that—putting all men in the same basket is wrong and dumb but…one basket is easier.

The scalpel blade, when I pressed it into Alden’s neck. I can see it, feel it twist in my hand, and the red line appear on his skin.

I dearly wanted to cut him deep, and he didn’t even do anything bad. He tried to help me. Fuck men though. Even Rafael.