Toward Knox.
Dave touches my shoulder.
“You’re doing the right thing,” he says softly.
My stomach twists.
I climb into the SUV.
The door shuts with a heavy, final sound.
Dave rounds the hood, gets into the driver’s seat, and pulls away from the curb like we were never there.
I stare out the window as the boutique disappears behind us.
My chest aches.
And I tell myself I’m choosing survival.
Even if it feels like I’m tearing myself in half to do it.
Chapter 10
Sierra
TheSUVcutsoutonto a stretch of road that turns narrow and quiet, the kind of Texas backroad that looks harmless until you realize how easy it would be to disappear out here.
Fences that go on forever. No streetlights. No neighbors peeking through curtains.
My mouth tastes like pennies.
Dave drives like he knows exactly where he’s going. One hand on the wheel, the other steady. Like he’s counting minutes in his head.
I sit in the passenger seat with my hands clenched in my lap, my shoulder bag hugged tight against my ribs like it can keep me anchored, the shopping bag resting at my feet. I try not to picture Knox outside the boutique, turning around and realizing I’m gone. Try not to picture what happens when he does.
“Dave,” I say, and my voice comes out thin. “Where are we going?”
He doesn’t look at me. “Somewhere safe.”
My stomach lurches at the word. I don’t even know whatsafemeans anymore.
The road bends and opens into a long private drive lined with live oaks. The house at the end is big. Not mansion-big, but expensive-big. Clean lines. Wide porch. A place that looks like it belongs on a magazine spread about “rustic luxury.”
And there are men.
Two at the gate. Two on the porch. Another shape moving near the side of the house. All of them armed in that casual way that says they’ve held guns long enough to stop treating them like a big deal.
The SUV slows. The gate swings open without Dave stopping.
My throat closes.
Dave parks in front of the house like he’s returning home.
He turns to me. “How you feeling, kiddo?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I don’t… I don’t like this.”
“I know,” he says, gentle. “But you’re okay. You’re here. That’s what matters.”
