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“You got any money on you?” he demands while simultaneously hauling me across an intersection.
Up ahead, a bus trudges around a corner, and I stop in my tracks. An advertisement takes up the entire length of the vehicle—one sporting a picture of smiling, beautiful people bathed in golden sunlight. In the center stands a handsome man with graying blond hair and a warm smile.
Learn the Beauty of Hope, reads the slogan printed underneath him.Become one of the collective.
I stare until the bus lurches around a corner. It’s a promo photo from a years’ old campaign, one of the few to survive the recent purge considering Father supposedly stepped aside as Shepherd during his election campaign. Publicly anyway.
“Hey, Blondie!”
I startle to awareness on the edge of a curb and throw my hand out to get my bearings. Automatically, my fingers capture something warm. Pulsing. Alive. A man’s arm, I see, looking up.His. Visibly annoyed, he fixes me with a probing stare, and I tense in anticipation of what he might say next.
“Do you got any money?”
“What?”
He scoffs. “I’ll take that as a no.”
He continues down the block, using my arm as a leash. I can’t resist risking a glance over my shoulder, hunting for a police car or one of the black vans belonging to Covenant. All I find is the typical mid-morning traffic, and some of the fear building in my stomach eases.
Though, Father should be the least of my worries. I inspect the filthy hand latched onto my wrist and consider the fact that, for all intents and purposes, I’m being kidnapped—not that my kidnapper seems particularly concerned with stealth.
I could always scream. Cause a scene. Wouldn’t that make for an interesting headline?Frances Heywood, Rescued Mid-Kidnapping.
Another potential headline comes to mind next, one far more morbid.Frances Heywood—Missing, Never Found.
“Hey!” I jump as the stranger snaps his fingers again, directly under my nose. “I said, what do you want? And keep in mind that you owe me for this.”
Thisbeing whatever he plans to get from a roadside coffee truck we’re standing in front of. I didn’t even notice we stopped. The whole structure is battered, painted in camo, and a mural displays a stylized version of a Harley motorcycle and the words “Motorway Coffee” in block lettering.
“Let me do the talking,” the stranger warns as he approaches the counter. His posture is relaxed, his tone cordial. “I’ll take two regulars. Just add it to my tab, Ben. You know I’m good for it.”
The man, Ben, nods. “You got it, D. When the hell did you get back in town? I thought you were cutting out for good…”
He trails off, his eyes on my face. My cheeks flame, and I’m suddenly self-conscious. Does he recognize me? With Father’s campaign in full swing, who knows.
Though it’s been weeks since I’ve shown up for his speeches or political events to play the role of dutiful daughter—not for lack of trying on Colton’s part.A dutiful woman honors her father above all,he likes to say.
“Ah… Let’s say I changed my mind.” The stranger laughs, raking a hand through the tangle of hair that fell out of its ponytail.
“Well, you look like shit,” Ben declares, crossing his arms. He’s tall in such a small space, towering against the ceiling of the truck. His battered leather jacket hangs open, revealing the black shirt beneath and ample muscle straining the cotton. “I hope your presence here doesn’t mean you’ve stuck your nose into more trouble.”
Long dark hair enhances his piercing brown eyes that again fixate in my direction. “Who’s your friend?”
The man beside me releases my arm and shrugs. “No one. You ready with those coffees?”
“In a minute.”
While pouring two cups of coffee, Ben turns his attention to my companion. His jaw is clenched, enhancing the intimidation cast by his appearance as a whole. While not as dirty, he’s every bit as disarming as the blond man. His neck even sports a similar tattoo, obscured by the collar of his T-shirt and leather jacket. “If you plan to stick around, I hope it’s for good this time. To reconnect. With the boys—”
“Me, play well with others?” The stranger flashes a grin that makes me suck in a breath. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh really?” Ben sets the coffee pot aside and leans over the counter. “I think you should reconsider. Maybe your newfriend—” He cuts his gaze to me, this time homing in on my face. “Will make you realize what I’ve been trying to tell you from the goddamn start. Weneedyou. That crazy fucker’s going to get us all killed—”
“Just the coffee today, Ben,” the stranger says over him. He flashes another grin, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. “No jokes, just the joe. Please.”
“Whatever you say, D. Here—” Ben slams two steaming cups on the counter.
“About damn time.” The stranger, D, shoves one cup at me. Then he places his hand on my lower back and hastens me along the street.
