Vaughn navigates the narrow city roads for ten minutes, heading toward the interstate. Tensilent, tense minutes because I keep my mouth shut, waiting until we clear the ‘danger zone’: his name for the ten-mile radius from our hideout.
His eyes jump between the road and the rearview mirror every couple of seconds, checking if we’re being followed. His face is calm at first glance, focused, but under the cold mask, I spot the telltale signs of nerves.
Vaughn’s not as stoic as he believes himself to be. A muscle feathers his jaw, eyebrows bunch in the middle, knuckles whiten under the pressure. He’s gripping the wheel with all his might. So hard that I get the impression his hands are spasming.
“What did you see?” I ask when he levels the speed, cruising down the interstate a few miles an hour over the limit. Not enough to draw the cop’s attention, but enough to tell me he can’t get out of Kentucky fast enough.
“Three men,” he replies what feels like minutes later. “All dressed in black. Composed, walking down the street, glancing around, checking the cars, windows... I know the type.”
My head hits the backrest. Questions materialize at the tip of my tongue one by one, then dissolve before I can voice them or conjure plausible answers.
“Are you—”
“Yes, I’m fucking sure,” he snaps, his teeth grinding. The anger slides off his features when he glances my way, shame and guilt taking its place. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn’t let my emotions get the better of me, but I’m just... I’m worried about you.” He reaches over, gently squeezing my hand twice. “I’ve been in this game my entire life. I know how to spot foul play from a mile away. They were looking for us.”
I’m not convinced; though, on the other hand, we’ve been in the same place foreighteendays.
That’s unheard of.
Our last hideout kept us safe less than a week before Vaughn spotted ‘unusual activity’ outside and initiated the evacuation protocol.
The man knew what he was doing. On our first night on the run, he drilled the procedure into my head the entire mad drive from Noretto’s to the first safe hiding spot.
He told me about the years he spent working as a cop. He told me about the long list of notorious criminals he’s brought to justice, but even knowing the details of his bright career, there’s something extraordinary about his analytical thinking.
Vaughn’s methodical. Composed. A master at planning quick escape routes. We vacated all our previous quarters in under sixty seconds and never left a single thing behind.
Save for my jacket just now.
I’ve lost count of the survival rules he’s dished out over the past two months, but ‘pack light’ stuck hard. Rule number five, I think. Or maybe it’s seven...
Either way, I listened when we stopped at my tiny, rented apartment in Cleveland on our way to Detroit and only packed the bare minimum.
Our track record of evacuations doesn’t scream in favor of Vaughn’s“I know how to spot foul play,”but I don’t dare sayit aloud. The chill sliding down my spine successfully seals my mouth.
He hates being questioned. He expects my trust... expects I’ll follow him like a devoted puppy. Every minuscule digression, every doubt creeping into my voice sets him off.
He becomes cold, distant, downright rude... and then he apologizes profusely, claiming my safety and well-being are his utmost priority.
“Willard or Noretto?” I ask, hoping he’ll believe I’m buying his half-assed reason for fleeing in the middle of the night.
“Willard would’ve sent his closest team. Broadway, Koby, Ryder... they’d be here. Unless he decided to show up himself, which is doubtful. My bet is Blaze.”
I’m not sure which option is worse. They both want Vaughn dead.
“Where are we going this time?”
“Get some sleep,” he says, his hold on the wheel relaxing a touch. “It’s a long drive to Ohio.”
My head snaps toward him so fast I feel a crack at the back of my neck. “Ohio? Why? Isn’t that where—”
“It’s always darkest under the streetlamp, sweetheart,” he interjects, making no fucking sense whatsoever. “We’ve been hiding in remote locations this whole time and they keep finding us. It’s time we try hiding in plain sight.” There’s a finality in his tone, a silentdon’t you dare question my decisions.
Given that my questioning of his decisions always blows up in my face, I clamp my teeth together, silently stewing. Ohio and Pennsylvania are the two states we should avoid at all costs, in my humble opinion. Illinois, too, considering Willard’s most ruthless associate—Dante Carrow—controls the entire state. At least that’s what Vaughn said.
“Where in Ohio?” I ask.
“Dayton.”
