James grinned and lowered his voice. “Buy something new to wear for our date tonight,” he breathed against Kit’s ear. “Your choice. Whether it’s a new t-shirt, a cute little mini skirt, a lacy thong, or something boring like socks. Whatever. Just something I know you’re wearing for me.”
Kit licked his lips to cover his insides melting at the possessive tone. He lifted his chin and tried to sound unaffected. “Great. I needed new socks anyway.”
James laughed, stole another kiss, then left him at the mall.
It was a typical Southern California outdoor mall, sprawling and multileveled enough that Kit had to check one of the maps to orient himself.
The first thing he did was buy a smoothie. Peanut butter banana. The icy plastic cup threatened to numb his fingers as he brought it outside to a bench. Right next to a fountain, only thefountain was turned off to save water, so Kit just leaned back against the bench and watched all the people around instead.
Being out around people was strange without a serial killer hovering attentively over his shoulder. Kit couldn’t remember the last time he just sat out in public. A perfect, blue sky morning.
Nobody paid any attention to Kit.
Now would be a good time to escape, if he was going to. It wouldn’t be easy, not with James controlling half the security cameras in San Corvo and the rest of the region. But if Kit withdrew a few hundred in cash, he could ditch the phone and debit card, maybe change his appearance enough in a dressing room to fool any watchers for a bit, and catch a bus out of town.
He could.
He didn’t want to, which was odd.
Would James even come after him if he ran? That uncertainty more than anything kept Kit rooted to the bench, sipping his sweet smoothie. Kit wasn’t a prisoner anymore. Maybe.
Taking another sip, Kit texted James.
Kit:what flavor smoothie did i get?
The reply was way too quick.
Sexy:The flavor doesn’t show up on the credit statement.
Sexy:Come to the office, let me taste your lips to check.
Kit:lol
Unsurprised, Kit put his phone away. James was watching his receipts, and he might be tracking Kit’s location too. That was fine. Kit just needed to be careful.
He’d had too much time to think over the past few days. All that sleeping and wandering around the big empty mansion was making him anxious, which was bad. And comfortable, which was far worse. Kit couldn’t afford to be complacent. He needed to check.
He got the rest of his shopping out of the way first. New clothes. Spare phone charger. A mini tablet, which he could either use or sell later if he wanted. A bag of weed gummies. It was weird buying from a hipster dispensary instead of bumming them off weirdos at house parties.
Kit hesitated outside a lingerie store, eyes catching on all the silk and lace inside. Barely-there wisps of black and red. James’s casual mention of a lacy thong echoed—but in the end, flushed, Kit went to another store to fulfill James’s request.
An hour later, chores done, Kit was in the library a block away. He signed up for a new library card under the name Matthew James, using Bishop’s address. James’s zip code might be too conspicuous. Probably overkill on the caution front, but Kit felt like everyone was watching him. Like everyone from the librarian to the other patrons knew what Kit was here to do.
Keeping his head down, like he wasn’t jumping at shadows, Kit picked a book at random from the new fantasy shelf. Then he snagged an open computer and logged in with his new patron credentials.
His fingers shook through typing the familiar URL. California’s inmate locator site stared back at him, with its familiar disclaimers and accessibility pop-ups.
Kit clicked through to the screen he wanted. Took a deep breath that failed to slow the blizzard circling his lungs. Entered a name.
The results were clear in black and white, the same as ever. Nothing had changed. Everything was fine.
Dad was still rotting in prison where he belonged.
Kit’s shoulders unlocked, tension leaving with a soft exhale. The rest of the library filtered back in around him, replacing a buzzing quiet he hadn’t even noticed creeping up on him. He wasn’t sure what had driven the intense need to check the fucker’s location. He hadn’t had to check in months—not since his first days back in California, when crossing the border drove his anxiety to a peak.
Maybe James and Bishop were to blame. Kit hadn’t felt as numb as usual since he met them. Too much terror and anger and sexual tension. That was bad, probably. Feeling was dangerous.
Or it was good. The numbness had kept Kit stagnant for too long. How many weeks had he spent telling himself he was about to move out of Uncle Ed’s place, any day now, before Bishop and James made that decision for him?
