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“Can’t see a damn thing,” JD growls, easing off the gas as lightning splits the sky.
“Maybe we should stop,” I suggest, though every fiber of my being screams to keep moving.
“And sit like ducks? No.” His jaw clenches, resolve written in the set of his shoulders, the grip on the steering wheel.
I nod, swallowing the lump of fear in my throat. “Okay.” Raising a hand at the passenger window, I gesture at the rain. “You’re going to get us killed.” JD glances at me, a scowl on his face. “Let’s pull off at the next exit. We’ll find a place to pull over. There has to be a place where no one will be able to see the car from the road.”
He nods and at the next exit JD pulls off. We drive into a town, and he parks the car behind a Walmart. It’s late and no one can see us from the road. The only person who might see us is a security guard but, in this weather, I’m betting they are done for the night.
JD turns off the car and looks at me. “Sleep.”
“You too?”
JD scrubs a hand over his face. “Not yet.”
“You’re exhausted.”
He studies me for a moment then nods. “Yeah. So much for a straight through run to New York.”
“I’m sorry.”
Tilting his head to the side he smiles. “Don’t be. It’s been a long time since I’ve spent this much time with a beautiful woman.”
He moves the seat back and lowers the back and closes his eyes. Within moments he’s asleep. The man is a conundrum. JD gives me compliments but never wants anything in return. He offers protection but doesn’t try to make me pay for it. I know he said Grim is paying him but for me it’s odd that a man wouldn’t want more out of the deal. I lean my chair back a little and curl into a ball with my hands under my head, staring at JD. I want so badly to ask about his scar, to ask how he kept out of the MC when Grim is the president. As all these questions flicker through my mind, I eventually fall asleep.
***
Hours bleed into each other, indistinguishable and relentless. My mind plays tricks on me, shadows morphing into phantom bikers on our tail, the hum of the engine, a growling beast waiting to pounce.
“JD...” My voice is a whisper, as we encounter another roadblock. “Will we ever make it to New York?”
He doesn’t answer right away, the silence stretching until it’s almost unbearable. Then, he reaches over, fingers brushing my cheek so lightly it might have been the wind.
“Cheree,” he says, his tone leaving no room for doubt, “I will get you there. Even if I have to carry you on my back, we’re getting out of this. You have my word.”
“Okay, JD. Okay,” I breathe, letting his conviction bolster my own wavering hope.
The world is a different kind of dark when you’re on the run. It’s thicker somehow, like moving through molasses with eyes wide open but seeing nothing. We’ve been on the road for what feels like an eternity, every mile stretching longer than the last, every hour blurring into a relentless march of time.
“Cheree, we’ll hole up here for the night,” JD rumbles from beside me.
I glance out the window to see a cabin, its single light a beacon in the encroaching dusk. Relief floods through me, mingled with weariness so deep it’s bone-aching. We’d been alternating between driving non-stop and catching fragmented sleep our seats, our bodies twisted into shapes that have left us sore and exhausted.
As JD kills the engine, I push the door open and step out, my legs protesting with stiff resistance. The scent of pine and earth fills my nostrils.
“Got a friend who uses this place as a hunting cabin,” JD explains while he retrieves a duffel bag from the trunk. “Said I could crash whenever.”
Inside, the cabin is Spartan but clean. A wood stove takes center stage, promising warmth. It’s a welcome change from the cramped confines of the car.
“Make yourself comfortable,” JD says, tossing me a bottle of water from a small stockpile on the kitchenette counter.
“Thanks,” I whisper, taking a long gulp.
My hand trembles slightly, betraying the nerves I keep trying to bury. JD notices, as he seems to notice everything, and his hand wraps over mine, steadying it.
“Rest, Cheree. I got first watch.” His words are simple, but they carry the weight of an unspoken oath.
“JD,” I start, but he shakes his head, cutting me off.
