“Sasha?” I whisper. “I’m going to find her.”
“Then you won’t need me,” she says softly, avoiding my eyes.
“I will. Who else is going to make sure you have your snacks?”
“You’ll let me stay?”
“You’re not getting rid of me. We’re travelling the world, remember?”
“Yeah.” She smiles, pulling a clean t-shirt out of her backpack to wrap my arm up. “Me, you, and Delilah travelling the world.” She looks around before asking, “Where’s your arm? I can try to put it back.”
“I gave it away.”
The little psycho carefully folds over me and hugs me. “It’s okay, Kane. We’ll take one from the next number.”
My head is swimming with the drugs numbing the physical pain, but I sob on her shoulder like a fucking child as she hugs me. Her knees brush my bicep, yet I can’t feel anything with the overwhelming emotions rising in me. Not when she sits me up or cuts the tail end of the belt off. Or when she gently pulls a hoodie over my head. She’s even gentler with my half-arm as she leaves it out, tucking the empty cuff into the pocket. There’s a strange look in her eyes as she pulls the hood over my head, whispering, “There. You’ll be safe now.”
Gripping the shelving beneath the pulpit, I manage to my knees. My left arm moves like my hand is still attached to help me balance myself, but Sasha holds my ribs to help me up.Tucking herself into my right side, she wraps her arm around my waist and grabs her bag with her free hand.
I don’t even think about how she got here until we step outside into the cold air where a car sits with the engine running. We don’t have transport since The Three require we move from job to job. She’s shit at stealing them, but the keys are in the ignition when she sits me in the passenger seat.
With her hood pulled up, she doesn’t look like she’s wearing a mask as she gets in the driver’s seat. But she can barely see over the steering wheel and sits on the edge of the seat to reach the pedals. I lean over her to move the seat, forgetting I only have one fucking hand.
She doesn’t draw attention to it as she grips the steering wheel to pull herself while I push the lever down. “Oh, that’s better.”
“Yeah, you can see. Put your seat belt on,” I force out between my labored breaths.
“We kill people,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “But I have to wear a stupid seat belt.”
“There should be a button or handle at the side to push your seat up.” I get another eye roll as cranking fills the car. “Good. Now check your mirrors, crazy pants.”
“Kane,” she whines, punching the steering wheel with the side of her fist.
“Do it,” I say sternly as I relax into my seat without a belt, waiting for Sasha to adjust the mirrors so she can see clearly then guide her through how to drive without overrevving or stalling.
Once she’s got the hang of it, my laugh starts slow, breathless and full of disbelief. “I found her.” My eyes close as I grip the card tighter. “Three years and…I FUCKING FOUND HER!”
Sasha joins in, laughing with me but I keep my eyes closed to stop the tears flowing. One week. I have one week to figure out how to navigate the world with one arm.
“Do you have a mask for me?” I ask, checking the fuel gauge.
Sasha looks away from the road as she opens her bag. “Yeah, it’s in here.”
“Look at the road.” I try to grab the wheel but there’s only my limp sleeve brushing the leather as the residual ache the drugs can’t numb throbs through my entire arm.
“Okay, you don’t have to shout.”
“We have to go somewhere. Ready to say goodbye to The Three?” I ask, smiling for the first time with genuine fucking lightness. The blood loss and adrenaline are making it all hazy, but I can’t stop the thought of seeing Delilah again. Holding her, seeing her face, just fucking being near her without anyone else’s influence.
The captives areat home like they always are when we pull up in front of the dense woodland opposite their gated house with Sasha slurping her drink. The carton is nearly bigger than her, but she was too excited when she saw a fast-food place. She deserves a treat for helping me. She’s done everything for me on the drive, from feeding me, making sure I didn’t die when I passed out, administering the drugs to prevent me feeling any pain, and now as she pulls my mask on for me.
Taking my phone, she asks, “What do you want me to say?”
“Tell him it’s not over.” I squeeze my eyes shut, gritting my teeth to get through the pain attempting to drag my consciousness away.
She taps away, hyper-focused on the keys as she types the three words. I watch the external lights turn on one by one then take my phone from Sasha since she types slowly unless she’s communicating the status of her stomach. The screen is blurry, but I manage to type them out as blood smears across the glass.
Me:
