“So,” I say, trying to lighten the shadow in my chest, “what I’m hearing is… we’re going on a trip.”
Knight looks at me.
We’re pressed close together in the dark—me, breathless and adrenalined, bat at my side; him, heat and control and barely leashed anger.
“This is your fault,” he says under his breath.
“Technically, this istheirfault,” I counter. “I just refuse to be decor in a parked Altima.”
He leans in, voice dropping. “You understand what this means, right? Once we move now, we don’t stop. We don’t go home. We don’t go back to normal until this is done.”
A thrill runs through me. Fear. Excitement. Something sharp-edged and bright. “Then let’s be done,” I say. “Let’s burn this whole thing down.”
For a second, something raw flickers in his eyes. Then he nods. “Ozzy,” he says, straightening. “Wipe what you can. Reroute the rest. We’re going dark.”
“Copy,” Arrow says.
“Arrow,” Knight continues, “Think Dean can help us out with a new ride and a safe house?”
“Already on that. Dean’s sending coordinates now. He’s got a cabin two hours out of the city,” Arrow says. “They’re stocking the place now. No neighbors, no cameras, no internet.”
“That last part is a hate crime,” I mutter.
Knight’s hand tightens on my wrist. “You wanted in, Birdie,” he says quietly. “You’re in.”
“Oh, and Knight,” Gage says. “Keep her safe.”
“With my life,” Knight answers, which sends another thrill straight through my core.
We slip into the shadows together, leaving the warehouse—and our old lives—in the rearview.
And as we disappear into the night, one thought pulses through my head louder than the alarms behind us:
I finally got what I wanted.
Alone with Knight.
On the run.
Just the two of us against everyone else.
I grin into the dark.
Let them come.
SEVEN
THE PART WHERE WE DON’T TOUCH HER
KNIGHT
The cabin looks like the kind of place serial killers dump bodies.
Which, naturally, means it’s perfect for us.
Tall pines crowd the dirt driveway, branches clawing at the sky. The structure itself is small, dark wood, a deep porch, a metal roof, and absolutely no neighbors. Not a gas station. Not a mailbox. Just trees, crickets, and the low hum of my paranoia.
I kill the headlights and let the engine tick cool in the silence.
