We’ve never crossed that line before. She was barely seventeen when I saw her last, and I was twenty. I told myself that she was nothing more than a kid sister. But now she’s grown, and she’s fucking gorgeous. Keeping my hands off her has been a challenge, especially in that fucking lake.
Making our way into the home, we quickly start searching it, making sure we’re well and truly alone, and the moment Aria realizes she’s safe, she lets loose like a rabid animal, scrounging her way through the kitchen, scavenging for food.
Not knowing how long the owners have been away, she steers clear of the fridge, heading for the pantry, and fuck me, I’ve never seen anybody inhale food the way she does.
Taking myself deeper into the home, I find the main bedroom and search through the owner’s clothes. It must be an older married couple if the photos on the nightstand are anything to go by. I find a change of clothes. A white shirt and a pair of black pants. Casual. Easy. Forgettable.
They’re not going to fit well, but at least I won’t need to wear a bright orange prison jumpsuit. I’m six-seven and packed with muscle. I already stand out like a fucking warship closing in on enemy shores. People notice me whether I’m trying or not, and the jumpsuit isn’t going to make that any easier.
Knowing Aria isn’t going to go anywhere while busy shoving packaged foods down her throat, I take my chance to shower and clean myself up. I keep it quick. While I’m sure she’s fine in the kitchen, I also don’t fully trust her.
After my shower, I pull my new clothes on. They’re tight, but until I can find something better, they’ll have to do. The fabric ofthe white shirt is straining over my arms, but it sure as fuck beats the jumpsuit I’ve worn for the past seven years.
Stepping out of the bathroom, I run into Aria in the hallway. “You good?”
She pauses, her gaze sailing up and down my body, taking in the way the fabric of my new shirt stretches around my arms. “Tight,” she murmurs, pursing her lips and nodding. “You got enough blood flow heading to that pea-brain of yours?”
I clench my jaw and blow out a breath, trying to calm the frustration burning through my veins. And instead of taking the bait and losing my shit like she knows I so easily could, I simply lean toward her and audibly inhale. “What’s that smell?”
Aria glares at me. “Fuck you,” she spits, shoving past me into the bathroom, only to slam the door closed behind her.
I laugh as I continue down the hallway, making my way into the kitchen and finishing off everything that Aria didn’t touch. The second I’m done, I start figuring out a game plan.
Heading back to the main bedroom, I search through the closet and find an old backpack, and just like I’ve done a million times before, I fill it with shit we need to survive. Riley, my brother, and I have left more than our fair share of temporary homes in the middle of the night, so I start packing on autopilot, knowing exactly what we need. As the oldest, I always felt responsible for Riley and Ash. It was my job to keep them safe, to be the one who made the call on when it was time to leave, to be the one who made sure we survived.
Once Ash was older and fell in with a rough group of friends, we clashed. He didn’t like following my lead, and I didn’t appreciate being questioned. My say was final, until he decided it wasn’t. He was closer to Riley, but he couldn’t care for her the way I could, couldn’t ensure her safety, and he sure as fuck wouldn’t have laid down his life just to see her shine. I would. And deep down, she knew that; she could feel it in her bones.He left, and when Aria refused to go with him, Ash resented me, right up until his final moments.
Searching through the closet, I grab some spare clothes and a jacket for each of us before moving to the linen closet for a few small blankets. Who knows if or when we’ll have to spend another night under the stars. While I don’t mind the way Aria gravitates toward me in her sleep, the idea of her shivering through another night guts me.
With that sorted, I search deeper, putting together the perfect survival kit. A lighter, lighter fluid, a new first aid kit, a couple flashlights, and I even get lucky when I find the owner’s fishing gear and an array of knives. Shoving as much as I can into the backpack, I start searching the kitchen and find a few empty water bottles before filling them to the brim and putting them down next to the overflowing backpack.
Peering out the kitchen window, I notice an old shed out back, and my brow arches.
Bingo.
Making my way to the back laundry room door, I peer out the small window, making sure none of the neighbors are out or happen to have a bird’s-eye view into the yard before unlocking the door. I slip outside, feeling too exposed.
After taking long strides to the shed, I grip the door and pull. Finding it locked, frustration burns through me, but just like the main door, I twist and pull, using all of my strength until I snap the locking mechanism.
Opening the door, I step inside, only to find myself staring at an old 1979 Pontiac Firebird. It looks as though the owner has been fixing her up and is just about done. Apart from a few inconsistencies in the black paint work, she’s absolutely perfect. The question is, where the fuck are the keys, and does the old girl kick over?
Don’t get me wrong, it wouldn’t be the biggest hassle if the car doesn’t run. It’s as easy as slipping into the neighbor’s property, grabbing the keys off the bench or from a handbag, and taking off. But this right here, it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. There’s nothing quite like convenience to make my day.
As for the keys. I’ll take one fucking guess.
Slipping inside the classic Firebird, I settle in, pushing the driver’s seat all the way back. It’s squishy as fuck, but not every car is built for a man like me. Not that I’ve had the pleasure of sitting in one for a while. I’m going to enjoy this. Hell, I’m almost going to feel bad stealing it from the guy. I’ll ditch it in a gutter somewhere once we’re far enough away, and I’m sure at some point, the car will make its way back home. But until then, I’m going to sure as fuck enjoy driving the shit outta this thing.
Reaching up, I pull the sun visor down, and just as expected, a set of keys falls straight into my hand. There’s nothing I love more than a trusting small town, and believe me, Ash, Riley, and I have caused enough chaos in plenty of them.
Flipping the keys around in my hand, I go to push them into the ignition, only to find they don’t fit. “The fuck?” I mutter to myself, giving it a closer look and realizing that while they’re car keys, they’re certainly not meant for this car.
Shit.
Who the fuck puts keys in the visor that don’t belong to that specific car?
I start madly searching, checking the center console and glove compartment before pushing out of the Firebird and checking every nook and cranny this old shed has to offer, coming up blank. I go to make my way back to the house, certain they’ll be there, when movement in my peripheral has my gaze shifting to the small window in the laundry room door.
Aria is there, wearing a pair of long tights and an oversized white button-up, only half the buttons are done up, her black brapeeking through the deep V-neck, and she has the sleeves folded up as though being fashionable is somehow the most important thing while we’re on the run. Gotta give it to her, she pulls it off flawlessly.
