“Of why you killed that shithead?”
I blink twice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, you do,” Netty chuckles dryly. “You wanted to be like your old man. It never got him far, Noah. It never did. The son of bitch was so loyal, it killed him. You got that same blood in you. Sometimes loyalty is a disease.”
I glance back at the car, where she’s waiting.
And immediately know he’s right.
8
RUE
“You look better,”I say the moment Noah slides into the passenger seat and situates a black duffel bag on his lap. “He fixed your arm?”
“Yep,” Noah answers, his eyes watching the rearview as the overhead door rolls upward. “Let’s get moving.”
“I think that should be your new mantra,” I mumble, pursing my lips together as I put the car in reverse. “Are we ever going totalk?”
“We are talking,” Noah shakes his head at me. “We need to head north, then west.” He shifts his body toward me. “Where do you bank at?”
I blink as I shift the car from reverse into drive. “What?”
“We need to liquidate everything into cash. It’s going to be the cleanest way to go if, for some reason, they catch on. They’ll track your card transactions. We’re ahead right now.”
“Okay,” I let out a breath. “Well… I don’t have much.”
“How much?”
I narrow my eyes at him, feeling my embarrassment shift to defense. “It was expensive living in California.”
Noah lets out a heavy, obviously annoyed sigh. “Anything is better than nothing.”
“Okay,” I mumble, as we reach the end of the driveway. I take a left instead of a right, choosing not to backtrack closer to Moccasin Cove. The sun is going to break over the horizon at any moment, and we need to be as far from it as we possibly can.
“I have less than a thousand in there right now.”
“Perfect,” he grunts, his tone completely opposite of the word. f
I make my way back to the highway, coming out a mile north of where we turned. I glance down at the gas gauge and nod to myself.I can be out of state before I fill up.
“Let me see your phone,” Noah extends his hand, meeting my eye.
I furrow my brow and pick it up, handing it over. “It died before we ever made it to that shop.”
He nods, then rolls down the window and tosses it out. “No phones.”
“Great.” Swallowing hard, I suck in a breath. “We can probably get burners—like the prepaid ones.”
“Nope,” Noah deadpans. “No phones.” He glances at the car’s radio screen. “What year model is this?”
“2024.”
“We’ll probably have to ditch this, too.”
“Why?”
“Too many ways to track us.”
