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He shrugs. “We’ve got about forty-five hours before we reach the border and another seventy, if we’re lucky, until we reach New Orleans.” He winks. “You’re stuck with me for a while. You voted against the private plane, so I figure we take turns driving so the other can sleep.”
I nod, glancing at my phone when a message lights up from Derick asking if I’m making any progress. I couldn’t risk the fucker scanning a flight list and seeing my name and Sal’s. I grit my teeth and scan the text. I need an update, Paxton. And your son looked sad sitting outside your house waiting for his mommy to return.
The blood drains from my face and I feel sick to my stomach.
“You okay?” Sal asks, looking at the phone I’m clutching in my hand.
Without warning he hits the brakes and parks the truck at the side of the road.
“What the hell?” I swear, almost slamming headfirst against the dashboard.
He turns in his seat. “Who were you texting?”
“No one.”
“Bullshit,” he huffs, muttering in Italian as he takes out his own phone and looks at the screen. His eyes go coal black, and the muscle in his jaw ticks. “What the hell is the fucker texting you?”
“How do you—” I begin.
He tries to cut me off by slamming his fist on the wheel and pointing his finger in my face to intimidate me with his caveman attitude.
“You cloned my phone?” I shriek, taking off my seat belt ready to bolt if he makes one wrong move.
He does the same and turns in his seat. “What does he want Paxton?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Fuck that.” He lunches across the seat and grabs my throat pressing me against the window.
I don’t struggle, the asshole has over a hundred pounds on me.
“Tell me, damn you, woman. What the hell does he want?” he screams in my face, his accent thick.
Tears spring to my eyes. He lets me go, his eyes flick to my lips. “What does he want, baby?”
“Me, okay, he wants me.”
“Why? Tell me the whole truth or so help me God.”
I cover my eyes with my shaking hands. “Okay, okay. I met him in Paris,” I tell him while he sits back and listens to me. “In a café. He said all the right things, and somehow he figured out I was on the run from you, so he offered to get me protection. He was working at Interpol, and I trusted him. Turns out he was another son of a bitch who only wanted one thing from me.”
“Did you fuck him?” his voice hard and cold.
I shoot him down with one look. “Is that the only thing you’re thinking about? I needed to protect Iggy, our son, who you threatened to kill.”
“I didn’t, I would never hurt him or you, babe.”
“But I didn’t know it at the time, Sal.”
“What is he threatening you with now?” He asks, grabbing the steering wheel, his scarred knuckles turning white.
“Isn’t it obvious. If I don’t bring your head on a fucking plate, he threatened to hurt Iggy and take him away from me.” I cry, tears barreling down my cheeks.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“When? Between you watching me get myself off, screwing with my mind, or us almost fucking in the bathroom? What we have is crazy, fucked up, don’t you get that?”
He mutters in Italian, puts the car in drive, and we are on the road again. After a while he says, “You are not crazy, I am. What we are is no one’s God damn business.” We lock eyes for a second. “What we do is ours,” he repeats, focusing on the road again.
