That’s unlikely. I’ll just be glad to be free.
He checks his watch, then angles his face to the side before tapping his chin. “Seven minutes, let’s go. Now the hard bit. Make it hurt.”
I pull back my fist like my father taught me and hammer it into Anthony’s jaw. He sways. “Fuck me, girl, you got a mean left hook.”
I smile. “Damn right.”
I’m out of the rear door and disappearing into the streets of New York. The rain falls on my face as I dart left toward the subway station. My gaze flicks up and my heart climbs into my throat when I see Mike storming toward me, carrying two takeaway cups.Shit, shit, shit.Do I cross over? I angle my head down and jostle my rucksack higher on my shoulder. He breezes past, not suspecting for a second his charge has evaded him. I let out the long breath and force myself to keep moving.
Change hurts. It’s scary, terrifying, even. There’s no turning back now. Gideon will break me if he finds me. I have to run faster and be smarter than the lion stalking me.Eyes on the prize, Honor, I will dance in the rain once again.
CHAPTER 8
HONOR
Treat others as you wish to be treated.
The heart is a remarkable piece of engineering. Give a tennis ball a firm squeeze. That is approximately the same amount of force it uses to pump your life-giving blood around your body. At an average heart rate, it beats about 100,000 times a day, and 35 million times a year, meaning your heart will contract 2.5 billion times during your lifetime. My worry is, if we are born with a finite number of heartbeats, and my current heart rate is double what it should be—am I working my way to an early grave? Because it has not stopped racing, not since I slipped into the station and caught the first subway train to Times Square. I eyeball the crowd pressing in around me. I’m waiting for Gideon to spring out of the sea of faces and drag me back home.
A big guy stands behind me with his grocery bag on the floor between his feet while he chats to another guy. He smiles at me, and a pang of guilt tugs at my chest.Sorry, dude.I crouch like I’m retying my shoelace. My throat tightens as I slide mypersonal phone from my pocket and drop it between his bananas and rice. The train stops and I climb off. I spin to check he didn’t follow me. He didn’t.
My breath puffs out. No time for relief. I move quickly, without running, like I have somewhere to be, and not like I’m being chased by the devil coming for my damned soul. I’m out into Times Square and speed walking to Penn Station. Half a mile, that’s all it is.
Nobody stops me. I burst into the station and join the small line of people waiting to retrieve their luggage. My fists clench as I force myself not to fidget. A guy no older than twenty greets me with zero inflection in his voice.
“I need to see your confirmation.”
I fumble in my rucksack for the phone Anthony placed in there. A brief panic freezes my chest as I wonder what the passcode is. Fuck. I swipe up, and my shoulders sag. No passcode. I pull up the confirmation and wave it at the guy.
He squints at it, before disappearing into the room behind him. He shuffles back out with a black duffel bag before sliding it to me.
“Thanks,” I mumble before spinning and disappearing into the crowd once more. I glance around at the signs hanging from the ceiling. General Information, Ticket Desk, no, no, wait—yes. I follow the universal sign for the restroom, dive inside the cold tiled room, and into a tiny cubicle. I hook the duffle bag onto the back of the door, bury my face in my hands and silently scream into my palm. Once my freak out is over, I unzip the new bag to find a different outfit inside. Black V-neck sweater, black jeans, and kick-ass black boots. A white wooly hat completes the outfit. I take the phone Anthony gave me, drop it in the yellow water, and flush it. It floats on the top, but the screen goes black. Good enough. Green contact lensescome next to combat my unusual eyes that people take notice of.
I grab the small cross-body purse and stuff the new phone and a few hundred dollars inside. Then I drop the rucksack and my discarded clothing back into the duffle and zip it up.Stick to the plan. Go south, then west. Get out of the city.
I emerge from the restroom and keep my head down. Everywhere has CCTV, and with Gideon’s deep pockets, a little facial recognition is nothing. So I have to keep my face hidden, but not look suspicious—a fine balancing act. I make it to the ticket desk and purchase a one-way ticket to Newark Airport. I weave my way onto the platform and hop on the train at one end before moving through the carriages. I swap my hat for my cap and shrug on my coat before exiting the train at the other end, the whistle blows and the doors lock.
Next, I exit the station and make the short walk to the Port Authority Bus Terminal before eyeballing the buses due to leave. Washington D.C., I think, which will stop in Philadelphia for a break where I’ll get off and move in a different direction. I’m trying to leave false trails for every move I make. That way, if he’s tracking me, he will have to split his resources into so many directions it will spread them thin, and I’m more likely to lose them. I climb onto the bus and take a seat in the middle. My foot taps against the floor as I watch everyone who passes for signs they are searching for me. No alarm bells, and when the bus pulls away, I lean my head back in my seat and let myself feel.
I’m free. Sadness washes over me for the marriage I spent an entire year trying to make work. I mourn the loss of the girl I was before Gideon fucked with my psyche. I could have stayed, lied down, and accepted my fate at the hands of a monster. It might have even been the easier route.
A woman in the seat across from mine waves a packet of M&M’s between us. “You want one?”
I lift my gaze to examine her. Tanned, mid-fifties, laughter lines around her green eyes as she smiles like she’s never met evil. My hand falls to my constricted torso. I have to eat something. Fainting will halt my escape before I’ve even begun. I hold my hand out and she tips some into my palm.
“I’m Mel,” she says as she quirks an eyebrow.
“Joanna.” My first name change. “Thank you.”
I eyeball the chocolate. When was the last time I ate something sweet? I frown. I can’t even remember. How sad.
I pop one of the treats in my mouth and let the sugary coating melt on my tongue. I stifle a groan. Damn, that’s good. “I have plenty. No need to eat them like it’s your last meal.”
The kindness of this complete stranger overwhelms me. My eyes sting and tears fall unbidden. Mel mutters a curse, as she shoves a pack of tissues onto my lap. She tries to take the M&M’s out of my palm. I close my fist tight.Sorry, lady, these are now mine.I slide a tissue from the pack and swipe at my cheeks.
“Thank you,” I whisper as I wrestle my emotions back under control.
“Where are you headed?”
