No, I didn’t deserve this. This wasn’t fair. After how much I’d said no to Cole…
“Why are you doing this?” I said. “Fine, you don’t hate me even though I’m a Sartor. But I just refused you sex.”
“And that’s reason to hate you?” Cole said.
He didn’t say anything else. I bit my lip, slumped a bit, and leaned my head against his shoulder.
“We should get ready,” he said. “It’ll take us at least half an hour to get to Union Station, and that’s assuming no traffic, which is laughable. So actually, we should probably leave now.”
“Just like that?”
“I’m not risking another day here,” he said. “Already a miracle that you managed to get this far without getting caught.”
I hated the truthfulness of that statement. Really, I hated the whole situation.
But what did I value more—freedom in three hours, with the chance to find love in the future in Albuquerque, or “love” and maybe sex in the next twelve hours, with freedom at some point down the line?
Unfortunately, the answer was pretty obvious.
I put my clothes back on, realizing only now how at ease I had felt being topless and leaning against him. Maybe I wasn’t as fearful of sex as I had thought, but it was too late now. I packed all of my belongings, making sure I did not leave anything behind. Cole had thrown on his Gray Reapers cut and printed out the train ticket, but otherwise, he didn’t need to do anything.
“Ready?” he said.
I nodded. I walked to the door, grabbed the handle, and opened it.
And right as I did, a taller, lankier man with dark eyebrows, well-groomed hair, a biker’s cut, and a confused scowl that quickly turned to anger stood about four feet away.
“The fuck?” he said.
“Cole?” I said.
“Shit,” he mumbled.
I turned to Cole—he was not reaching for a gun or a weapon or even readying himself. I turned back to the man. He had “President” written on a patch on his chest.
“That’s my brother.”
