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“What is it?” I demanded.
“I don't know that Cain would be willing to let go of you. I’m not sure he’s…” he paused, searching for the words. “I’m not sure he’s able.”
Obviously, Cain’s obsession with me burned bright as my obsession with him. Maybe his obsession with me burned a little brighter because the truth was, I was drawn to each of these damaged, intense men. I couldn’t imagine having just one of them.
But they weren’t exactly good for me.
“That's why it'd be an escape.” I couldn't stand to see Stellan anymore. What was between us was raw in a way my relationship would never be with any other man. I was drawn to him, but it also hurt. I used to think that Stellan was a bruise I couldn’t stop pressing. Now I realized he was a whole goddamn stab wound.
“Cain won’t like the idea of you out there on your own. And neither do I.”
“You don't get to feel protective after you shot me with illicit drugs. I'm not doing this,” I said. I looked at him over the hood of the car. “Are you driving or do you want me to drive?”
He tossed the keys in his hand like he had every intention of driving, but asked, “Do you know the way home?”
“I've never had a home, Stellan, but I can find my way back to your old house. Get into the car.”
“I’ll drive.” He flashed me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, as if he didn’t trust me not to do something crazy, like stop suddenly and send him flying out the window or bash his side of the car into a jersey barrier. It was like he knew me.
We were a dozen more miles down the road when he cursed as if he’d forgotten something back at the society house. His soul, probably.
“What's wrong?” I asked. “Besides your head.”
“Tracking device.” He'd gone slightly pale, but he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, lost in thought and trying to problem solve. He’d been a musician in high school, playing the guitars and drumming, as well as playing soccer. I used to think there was nothing Stellan couldn’t do.
“Remington will use his tracker to find you.”
“I would assume they could just show up at your old house.”
His lips twisted. “Those guys and I've been through several circles of hell together. But we don't exactly get personal. We've never been to my mom's house for Thanksgiving. I'm sure they'll figure it out eventually. But that will take time.”
I nodded. “Pull over.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll take the tracker out.”
“Aurora, it's embedded in your body.”
“I am aware. If you’re concerned about it, you probably should have mentioned that when Remington chipped me like a fucking dog after biting me. You all are depraved by the way.”
“And you fit right in,” Stellan said.
He pulled off the highway onto a quiet country road, then pulled into a copse of trees that hit us from the road. When he cut the engine and the headlights died, it felt like the trees around us might be haunted.
I opened the door and stepped out. “I don't want to get any more blood on your upholstery.”
I needed to know what had happened to Sophia. I needed it as badly as Stellan did, although unlike him, it hadn’t turned me crazy.
Cain would drag us back to the house. Stellan had lost his damn mind, but I didn’t doubt he had a reason for running from his friends.
I ran my fingertips over my throat, looking for the healed-over bite mark. It was still slightly tender and throbbing, as if the foreign material inside hurt. What a sick fucker Remington was–devious and possessive and dangerous. He might be able to keep up with me.
I probed my skin, but I couldn’t feel the chip yet. Ugh. That was going to make this difficult–I didn’t like the idea of poking inside the bleeding wound for the chip. But I’d do it. For Sophia.
I flipped open my knife and pressed the point against my skin, choosing carefully to find the right spot.
“Aurora.” Stellan took a sudden step forward. “You don't have to do this.”
