If we’re going to move, we need to move now.
While we have the advantage of darkness.
Now, before everyone else starts to get their wives and kids out of here in their trucks.
“Let’s go.” I grab Wren’s hand and tug them towards the rear of the building.
“Wait, my laptop,” Wren says as we pass my room.
“I’ll grab it. Start running out the back. Jump the fence. We’ll run across the field to the ranch house. They won’t see us in the darkness. I’ll catch up with you.”
It hurts to see Wren go without me, but I know I can outrun just about anyone. Throwing the door open, I scan the surfaces and see their laptop on the table. I grab it, along with two of the jackets I have hanging on the wall.
There’s yelling and shouting coming from the bar, accompanied by the chaotic thud of footsteps. I hear the roar of trucks in the lot as people start to leave.
Jackal appears out of nowhere with Shade. “We’ll cover this exit so they can’t follow you easily.”
My gut says they know why this matters so much to me. “Thank you, brothers.”
I charge after Wren, down the last of the hallway and out the door into the rear lot of the club. The area is lit, and I see Wren’s footsteps in the snow. Shit, the FBI’s going to know some people left this way.
But Jackal and Shade will buy us time.
And Grudge, and now Lucy, as our lawyer, will hold them off at the gate for as long as possible. I glance out into the darkness. This is what King was worried about. If they raid us from the front, there’s a possibility they’ll also attack us from the rear.
I can’t worry about that now, because I have the bones of an escape plan that I’ve been considering for the last couple of hours. Earlier, I loaded the truck up with supplies in case we ever needed to run. Just never imagined it would be so soon. I should have thought ahead and brought the truck with me, instead of suggesting we walk to the clubhouse so I could drink as much as I wanted.
And I’m hoping that King and Grudge will understand my reasons. Because it’s based on the theory that the fewer peoplewho know where Wren is, the better Wren’s chances of surviving this and staying free.
Climbing the fence is a little trickier with so much shit in my arms, but when I see Wren running in that black tank top that skimmed their body like sin as the windchill blows well below freezing, I’m glad I grabbed what I did.
When I catch up to them, I hand them my thickest shearling leather jacket. “Here, put this on.”
“Thank God.” Wren takes it from me, and they stumble trying to slide their arms into it as they jog.
I reach out my hand to steady them, and once they have their coat on, we sprint.
Wren’s right, it’s fucking freezing. There’s a collision between the frigid air and my shirt-clad chest that leaves me a little breathless.
My…Wren… can run.
Fuck.
It’s so easy to claim Wren as mine.
“Here,” Wren says, grabbing the laptop from me. “Put your coat on before you freeze.”
I take the opportunity to shove my hands into the sleeves.
It takes a few more minutes under the advantage of darkness to make it to the ranch house.
“Do you trust me, Wren?” I ask as we hit the porch, and I tug out the keys.
The pause feels like it’s days long. “More than I trust anyone else.”
I hate that their life experience has led to them not being able to trust anyone. I take Wren’s hand, kiss the back of it. “Two minutes. That’s all I can give you to pack up anything you need. But don’t put any lights on.”
We stomp into the house, dragging snow with us. And there’s a second where Wren is torn. I can see it in the way their headshifts from the direction of the bedroom to the living room. Clothes or electronics.
