Turning back toward the house, my heartbeat thudding in my ears. In the kitchen window, a black silhouette stands behind the blind, his hand raised to his ear. I flick my gaze to a gate in the fence, one that will give us an escape without passing back through the house. I use the crowbar to hook Garrett’s wrist and slowly start tugging him out of the garage and back into the night.
“Where is Meg?” I demand now, done with these games. We’ve been outsmarted, and we need to get out of here. Another dry chuckle echoes through the loud speaker.
“You can have the bitch for the right price.” My feet freeze in place, and Garrett bumps into my side. So this is a ransom? Could it really be that easy? I barely manage to withhold the laughter that wants to bubble out of me. At long last, this is something I can do. I’m not so helpless after all. “Keep this phone with you. I’ll text with a time and place.”
“I’ll be there,” I say with certainty, nodding to the silhouette as if he can see him. His breath saws through the receiver.
“Not you. After the bullshit I’ve been put through, I’ll only be dealing with Avery Hughes directly from here on out. Any sign of your little gang or the cops, and the girl dies instantly.”
“See, that’s where we’re going to have a problem—” The line goes dead. Garrett swears under his breath, rubbing his nape as his eyes stare endlessly at the ground.
“Well. That’s not great,” he mutters unhelpfully.
“No, it fucking isn’t.” I tug Gare the rest of the way to the gate, taking our escape while it’s being permitted. I briefly pause by the car, vaguely wondering if it’s been tampered with, but the device in my hand is my insurance. A dead man’s phone, which has made me a messenger between this unknown foe and Avery. At least I have several hours of traveling ahead of me to decide exactly what message I’m going to deliver.
Chapter Forty One
“Ironic, isn’t it?” Axel rasps, propped up beside me against the headboard. I raise a brow lazily. “The woman who was supposed to be my mom is dead and I’ve never felt more free, whilst trapped in this shithole room and crying over a dickmunch who left us behind.” He huffs a laugh but there’s no humor in it. I merely nod, looking around the peeling wallpaper with a fresh wave of disgust.
I was hoping, with time, the motel room might appear more sufficient in the daylight or that we’d grow accustomed to the stench of mold creeping into the walls. I was wrong on both counts. Either way, we don’t leave, and not only because we have nowhere to go.
Axel’s sobbing has done a number on his lungs, as Dr. Marcus informed us during yesterday morning’s check-in. Just before he left for good, declaring his disgust at his new surroundings, the Doc put Axel on strict bed rest, which involves cuddling into me while Dax reads us fanfics from his phone—anything to distract us from those who are missing.
Huxley has been stomping in and out, apparently ‘running errands.’ He located food, the greasiest pizza I’ve ever seen or tasted, leered over Thiago’s laptop for hours whilst intimidating the man using it, and ran a few laps around the motel at various times of the day. He says he’s getting a lay of the land and checking for anyone suspicious, but Ireckon he doesn’t know what to do with his pent-up frustration. I feel the same, but another body milling around won’t help.
At lunchtime, a pair of uniformed officers pounded on the door. My heart dropped to my feet, the fear that Wyatt and Garrett weren’t coming back slicing through me, but they only wanted to talk about Sharon. Huxley’s SUV, which has now been impounded, had been left at the mansion, and somehow they’d tracked us here. Richard spun a lovely tale of Sharon’s hospitality, looking after her only son in his time of need whilst we terrorized their staff and took over their home. Meanwhile, Axel had to pretend that her death was news to him, and we were subjected to their questions. Our surroundings are incredibly suspicious, but they left within an hour, threatening to be in touch.
Another exhausting day of restless emotion as our lies and secrets catch up with us. Night falls, and Axel nestles down, his head resting on my chest. I stroke his shaved head, becoming lulled by the gentle sound of his breathing. While he was awake, I felt the need to suppress everything I was feeling. Pushing it all down until I wasn’t even sure what it was. Hate, fury, regret.
Now that he’s asleep, I could let it rise to the surface and actually deal with it all. But that sounds exhausting, so I just lie here, stroking his head and focusing on those in this room. Those who need me not to crumble. Dax passes by to kiss my cheek and whispers in my ear that he’s going to attempt a shower. I manage a weak smile, and the mattress at my feet dips where Hux takes over as watchdog.
“There’s room up here, you know,” I mutter down the bed. Hux glances over his shoulder, peering at where the beds have been pushed together, and shakes his head.
“I’m waiting for Thiago to return. I gave him a dinner break around three hours ago.”
“He’s allowed a rest, Hux. This isn’t his fight.” I get a grunt in response.
Still stroking Axel’s head, I close my eyes, allowing myself to go somewhere else in my mind. At first, the darkness behind my eyelids was just that—darkness. But then, it deepens, taking form as I put all my strength into picturing a beach, a smooth rolling of waves against the shore, and my boys sunbathing in a line of gorgeous bodies. It’s a sweet image, yet so far away from our current state.
Somewhere beyond the haze, I know Huxley is still sitting at the foot of the bed, rigid and restless. I can picture him exactly as he is, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, fingers pressed together like he’s about to pray but doesn’t believe in anything enough to bother. The glow of Thiago’s laptop screen is long gone, and with it the occasional clack of keys. The only thing left is the sound of Axel’s breathing and the creaky sighs of the old motel walls settling around us.
It should feel safe. Instead, it feels like the calm before a storm. I let the feeling wash over me, let my thoughts sink into something soft, somewhere in the space between sleep and waking. It reminds me of when I was little, when I’d press my face into my pillow and pretend the world didn’t exist for just a few minutes longer. Back then, I was always waiting for something. Waiting to be wanted. Waiting to be safe.
Now, I’m waiting for Wyatt and Garrett. I wish I could feel hopeful, that they’re going to find Meg and finally bring her home to me, but everything feels wrong. Once again, Wyatt has led a crusade to fight my battles for me, whilst I sit around imagining the worst. A cold prickle crawls up my spine. The distant hum of Dax’s shower fades, replaced by a rhythmic sound muffled like footsteps on carpet.
A moment later, a damp and delightfully naked Dax rolls into my side. His fingers paint patterns around my arm, mouth pressed against my cheek. He doesn’t leave an inch of space between us, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. The longer I spend with Dax, the more clingy I’m becoming. The infatuation between us isn’t lessening; it’s entwining into something frantic and unhealthy, yet I love it. I lean into his chest, breathing in the smell of cheap shower gel and something uniquely him.
“Dax,” I twist my head to breathe in his ear. For one moment, I crave some privacy for my confession. “You can’t ever leave me behind.” My voice cracks, the admission bursting open the dam I’d shut down over my emotions. Dax dislodges Axel’s head, gently shifting him onto my shoulder so that he can drape himself over my body.
“I wouldn’t even consider it,” he replies breathily. The tears I’ve been holding back start to fall, silent at first but they won’t be wrangled into submission. Huge wracking sobs burn my throat, and I know that my jerking is hurting Axel but I can’t stop. My lungs won’t expand, my chest clamping down on itself. Axel’s arm wraps around my middle tightly whilst Dax holds my face, our foreheads touching. He doesn’t letan inch of space between us, absorbing my misery as his own. Hux still doesn’t move up the bed, but a hand wraps around my ankle.
Suddenly, a knock raps on the door and the dip in the mattress is gone, Huxley rushing forward to whip it open. He’s already cursing out Thiago when he cuts himself off and grows strangely silent. I wipe my cheeks and eyes harshly, irritated with myself for holding everything in for so long, only to burst open like that.
Pushing up onto my elbows, I slowly adjust to the dim light as Garrett steps in first. He moves like he owns the place, like he always does, like the entire world is his to bend and break as he pleases. But I feel like by now, I know him better than that. He’s masking something.
Wyatt follows close behind. His jaw is tight, and his green eyes are sharp in a way that makes my breath catch. He looks wired, his expression completely closed off, and his shoulders stiff. I try not to jolt Axel, but he wakes anyway, groaning as he pushes himself up to sit. I support him as best I can, moving us to lean against the headboard with his arm pressed into mine.
“You fuckers,” Hux slams the door closed. He stands in front of it, his arms crossed as if Wyatt and Garrett might change their minds and run back out of it. Dax shimmies off the bed, shedding the towel around his waist and dragging on some sweatpants.
