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Diana stops, pointing to the concrete floor before she drops down onto all fours and crawls between the giant wheels, under the rumbling machine.
Pulse dancing with nerves, I follow.
After only a beat, my eyes adjust to the dim light to see Diana pulling a large spare tire from a wide metal shelf on the left side of the vehicle. “Get up. In there,” she says, motioning me into the space left behind as she pushes the tire into the space between the two back wheels. She dashes out from under the truck again, disappearing just long enough to make my heart start to slam against my ribs in panic before she reappears and crawls across the concrete to hop up onto the shelf beside me.
“Won’t they notice the wheel lying on the ground?” I ask, just loud enough to be heard over the rumble of the engine.
“It’s too dark down here,” Diana says. “And they have no reason to be looking behind them as they pull out.”
I bite my lip and nod, but it feels like an unnecessary risk.
I’m about to suggest we go ahead and jump in with the garbage while we still have the chance—I’d rather be injured by crushed glass and random sharp trash than imprisoned by her brother—when the truck lurches forward. Diana and I both fall onto our sides, but by the time the truck starts to gain speed up the ramp leading to the outside world, we’ve tucked ourselves into the corner of the shelf and found some dingy yellow straps to hold onto.
Up, up, up we circle, the air thick with exhaust fumes and the pungent funk of the trash in the giant bin above us.
And then, suddenly, the air cools dramatically and the din of car horns and screeching tires fills the air as the trucks barrel out into the early morning traffic.
It’s rush hour and what I can see of the street outside from our perch is bumper-to-bumper. But the garbage truck drivers are aggressive. They muscle their way into the flow before cutting across four lanes and taking their share out of the biker’s path before turning left on a main thoroughfare leading to the west side.
We’re on our way.
We made it out from under Maxim’s thumb.
I exhale a shaky breath, and Diana reaches over to squeeze my hand. “I told you. We can do this, Willow. No doubt in my mind.”
I nod, forcing a smile, though I’m not so sure.
I’ve never met Diana’s boyfriend, Jacob. I don’t know if we can trust him to help us get out of New York. I don’t know if the fake passports Diana paid an insane amount of money for last night will grant us passage across the border to Canada or if we’ll be able to survive on our own in the human world.
And no matter how relieved I am to be leaving the man who betrayed me last night behind, I can’t help feeling that we may have jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire…
