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I know he’s right. That MC member—Dog—might have bought our story, but it won’t take long for suspicion to fester or for him to meet up with other MC members and know our story is a lie.
“Can’t risk being traced.” JD’s hands tighten on the wheel, knuckles white in the dashboard lights.
“Next town, then,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “We find something there.”
The next town is a blur of neon signs and shadowed alleyways. We pull into a dimly lit side street, far enough from the main drag to be invisible, close enough to hear the distant thrum of life.
“Stay here,” JD orders, his scar a pale line in the darkness as he steps out of the car. “Keep your eyes peeled.”
I nod, watching him disappear around the corner. The silence is suffocating, every passing second stretching out like taffy. I run through scenarios in my head, each more far-fetched than the last, but survival hinges on our ability to think outside the box.
When JD returns, there’s a glint in his eye that tells me he’s got a plan. “There’s a used car lot, two blocks over. Guy lives in the apartment above. We wake him up, make an offer he can’t refuse.”
“Stolen car’s too risky?”
“Money talks, Cheree. And we’ve got enough to make a decent argument. Besides we don’t want to get caught by the law, this is the easiest, safest way.”
We move quickly, abandoning the SUV with the silent agreement that it’s served its purpose. At the used car lot, JD bangs on the door of the apartment until a bleary-eyed man in a robe appears, annoyance etched across his features.
“Want to buy a car,” JD states, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“Office opens at eight,” the man grumbles, but JD is already pulling out a wad of cash, the bills crisp and green.
“Need it now,” he insists. “This should cover the inconvenience.”
The man’s eyes flicker to the money, and I can see the moment he weighs his options. Greed wins out.
“Fine,” he sighs, leading us downstairs. We walk along the rows of vehicles, JD’s hand resting lightly on the small of my back—a gesture that is comforting but feels possessive.
“Something fast, but inconspicuous,” I whisper, and JD nods.
We settle on a two door older sedan, it’s red and will hopefully throw off anyone who might be looking.
“New York,” I say quietly as JD peels out of the lot, the first hints of dawn painting the sky a bruised purple. “We’ll get there, right?”
JD’s hand finds mine, his grip firm and reassuring. “Trust me, Cheree,” he says. “I’m gonna get you there.”
As we merge onto the highway, leaving the sleepy town behind, I let myself believe him. For now, our new ride is anonymity on four wheels, and every mile is a step away from the life I’m desperate to leave behind.
***
My muscles ache from hours hunched in the same position, and I can’t shake the feeling that the Defiant Men MC’s shadow hangs over us like an omen.
“Another detour,” JD mutters, his voice gravelly with fatigue as we approach a barricade of flashing lights and neon orange signs.
He downshifts, and the sedan crawls to a stop, idling.
“Seems like the universe is hell-bent on making this hard for us,” I say, trying to ignore the twisting in my gut.
JD’s hand leaves the wheel, finding mine in the dim glow of the dashboard lights. “It doesn’t matter what the universe wants. I’ll get us through this.”
We reroute, the GPS recalculating with a cold, mechanical indifference that grates against my nerves. Each new turn feels like a gamble, every mile an eternity. Our supplies dwindle—water bottles crumpled and tossed in the back, snack wrappers rustling like dry leaves at our feet.
“Should’ve hit another store,” I admit, my stomach growling its agreement.
“Next town,” JD assures me, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that wasn’t there before.
Night falls, and with it comes a storm, rain hammering on the roof and windows until it feels like we’re driving through a waterfall. The wipers battle valiantly, but visibility is a joke. We’re blind and vulnerable, and I hate it.
