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“I can fix it. No problem. I can fix it,” she says hurriedly as I pull her out of the cabin.
“You’re going to do more than just fix it,” I reply, though I’m not really sure what else would help. If we’ve already strayed too far off course, no amount of messing with our route is going to replenish the fuel we’ve wasted.
But maybe that’s what Lola wants, to be found by the Italians so that she can dutifully turn me over to them.
I don’t want it to be true, but if she’s with the Italians, it would absolve me of the responsibility of fatherhood, something I’m not prepared for. How can I raise a child in such a wicked world? I’m not sure how Nikolai manages it, but then again, his wife doesn’t try to get him killed by rival mafia groups like Lola does.
I yank the door open to the control room, placing Lola in front of the mess of switches and levers so that she can fix the mess she’s put us in. “Get us to Texas. I’ll be watching my GPS very closely from now on.”
Silently, she slides into her seat and starts working the controls, pausing a few times, but ultimately coming up with something she believes will work. “We’ll go through the old tracks,” she says, turning in her seat to look at me. “We can roll it downhill most of the way, but we’ll have to slow down at the bend, or we risk flying right off the tracks. From there, we should be able to cut back into the route to Texas without running into anyone.”
“Like the Italians?” I ask, putting my hand on the back of her chair and squeezing it hard. “You’re with them, aren’t you?”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” she replies, her eyes sparkling with innocence.
I grit my teeth. “Tell the truth.”
“I am,” she replies defensively, pulling her head back. “I haven’t lied to you at all.”
“You did when you steered us the wrong way,” I retort.
“Yes, but I was honest about the baby.”
“We’ll see…”
“I have proof,” she says, her eyes suddenly lighting up. She jumps up from her seat. “It’s on my phone. I hope you still have it.”
I pull it out of my back pocket and dangle it in front of her. “This little thing?”
She grabs at it, but I pull it away. “No, no, sugartits. You’re not fooling me twice.”
“You can open it yourself. The code is 1-2-3-4,” she says, standing on her toes.
“Not very secure,” I reply, though I admit my phone’s password isn’t much better: All fours, my lucky number.
“Just open the phone and look at my pictures from a month ago. I took a picture of my pregnancy test. Go ahead. Look.”
Looking through her phone would quickly reveal if anything she’s told me over the past hour and half has been true, so I feel compelled to go along with her idea. On the other hand, proving without a doubt that she’s pregnant would mean that there’s at least a chance that the baby is mine, and I’m not sure I’m prepared to know the truth yet.
“Alright,” I say, putting the phone back into my pocket. “Let’s go back to the cabin and we’ll see if you’re telling the truth.”
She shrinks back, pulling the coat I gave her tightly around her body. “Do we have to? It’s warmer in here.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want you messing with the controls if you’re caught in a lie again.”
“I’m not going to do that. I promise,” she insists.
Alarms have been going off in my head ever since I laid eyes on this woman again, and yet I find myself bending to her will. If it were anyone else, I’d never dream of complying with their requests.
But Lola’s discomfort might as well be my own. Seeing her cold and miserable gives me no pleasure, and if she does end up being the mother of my child, I’m bound by the laws of honor to treat her well.
Even if she makes me want to rip my hair out.
8
Lola
Jasha pretends to look doubtful as he punches the code into my phone, but I know he believes me. He just doesn’t want to face the reality of being a father. He’s clearly not prepared for it. A life of violence and meaningless sex doesn’t typically prepare a man to raise children.
