“Absolutely not.” Her jaw sets in that stubborn line I know too well. “I’m not staying anywhere without Yasmin.”
“Eliana—”
“Add it to the list of non-negotiables, Bastian.” She turns toward me, and even though her eyes can’t see much of me, the force of her glare is unmistakable. “She’s been with me through all of this. She gave up everything to run with me. I’m not abandoning her now because it’s inconvenient for your timeline.”
I exhale through my teeth. “Fine. We’ll get Yasmin first.”
“Good. Get off the highway at the next exit.”
I follow Eliana’s instructions for a few miles until we pull up outside a dingy restaurant. TheOPENsign flickers uncertainly, like it’s considering giving up entirely. Through the smudged windows, I can make out the shapes of customers hunched over their plates and tired waitresses weaving between tables.
Eliana reaches for the door handle. “I’ll go get her.”
“I’ll come?—”
“No!” she blurts. “No, you stay in the car. If Yasmin sees you before I can explain, she’ll either call the cops or try to shank you. Possibly both, and probably not in that order.”
I settle back. “Fine. But hurry. We don’t have much time.”
She rolls her eyes and gets out. I watch her navigate the parking lot with her walking stick. It fucking kills me to sit here while she steps hesitantly through a dangerous world without anyone there to help her.
It should bemecarrying her over uneven ground, holding doors, pointing out obstacles, all that shit.
Not some fuckingstick.
I watch the clock irritably as minutes pass. Then, just when I’m getting ready to say fuck this and go charging in, the diner’s back door bangs open.
Yasmin emerges in a grease-stained uniform. Her hair is escaping its ponytail in sweaty wisps, and there’s a ketchup stain on her apron that looks like a Rorschach blot.
The second she slides into the backseat and realizes who’s driving, any hint of kindness in her eyes is snuffed out.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t start screaming bloody murder right now.”
I should’ve known she wouldn’t make this easy.
I meet her eyes in the rearview mirror. “There isn’t one. I’m a piece of shit who doesn’t deserve either of you in my car. I killed a man in front of the woman I love. I faked my own death andlet her mourn me. I’ve done things in the last two months that would make you vomit if I described them.”
Yasmin doesn’t soften. If anything, she hardens further.
“But my little brother is sixteen years old, paralyzed, and being held hostage by a psychopath who unfortunately shares my DNA,” I continue. “So I’m asking anyway. Not because I deserve help. Becausehedoes.”
A car pulls into the lot behind us. Headlights sweep across the rearview mirror, filling the car with light until it passes and darkness plunges back over all of us. I catalogue it automatically—00s model Honda, single occupant, not a threat—before returning my attention to Yasmin.
“If you hurt Elly again,” Yasmin finally says, “I will personally ensure they never find your body.”
“Understood.”
“I mean it.” She reaches out between the seats and claws my forearm. “Unlike you, Bastian Hale, I mean it when I say things. I will kill you without a second’s hesitation. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.”
Yasmin sits back. “Good. Now, someone tell me what happens next.”
Eliana fills in Yasmin on everything that’s happened as I start the drive back to Chicago. I get lost in my thoughts. The highway stretches ahead, an undulating ribbon of black concrete in the darkening evening.
Yasmin takes in the whole complicated story with an expressionless face. “So let me get this straight,” she summarizeswhen Eliana finishes. “Your psycho mob boss brother is holding your other brother hostage in some shithole apartment building under armed guard, and we have two days to break him out before they move him to God-knows-where?”
“That’s the condensed version, yeah.”
