Roads were on maps.
But we were hours away from the last real road, lumbering slowly toward whatever lay ahead.
Jude seemed confident that he was going the right way, but I was convinced that, at any moment, he’d drive us right over a cliff.
My stomach lurched as the truck slammed into a pothole.
“Fuckin’ groundhogs,” Jude muttered as he eased out of it.
I let out a slow breath as flashes of heat wrapped around my forehead and neck. “I’m gonna be sick.”
Jude arched an eyebrow. “Don’t.”
Bile launched up my throat, but I choked it down, focusing on the sting of stomach acid rather than the roller coaster ride from hell. “I don’t think that’s a choice I can make.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Do you always get carsick?”
“Not usually.”
He glared at me.
I huffed. “Sometimes. If I’m not driving. More after I’ve been drugged, apparently.”
“You should have told me.”
An involuntary scoff slipped free. “I should have told you I get carsick? You know—beforeyou kidnapped me?”
“Proactively re?—”
“I know, I know.Proactively relocated,” I finished for him, throwing my hands up.
Jude swung around a tree, the tires eating up fallen branches as we drove on toward . . . more goddamn trees.
“Jesus Christ,” I whispered as I closed my eyes and tried to pretend like I was on a roller coaster ride.
Nope. Not seeing what was coming didn’t help. I glanced at Jude, who looked completely unfazed as he careened and swerved around rocks, holes, and trees that were barely far enough apart for him to squeeze the truck through. “You’re the world’s worst driver.”
Jude just smiled.
“Do you even know what direction you’re going?” I pressed as I looked around. We were completely engulfed in the forest. With all the turns he had taken, using rocks and trees as landmarks, I didn’t know which direction the actual road was. There was no way to find it, even if I tried. “You’re bringing me out here to kill me, aren’t you?”
“Killing you would be the easy way out.” Jude’s expression tightened as he glanced at the time on the dash. “They’ve probably started looking for me.”
I whipped around and stared at him, but Jude just kept driving on. “What are you talking about?”
He flicked his eyes toward me, arching an eyebrow, then turned his attention back to the trees ahead. “John Valentine doesn’t tolerate dissent or deserters. He especially doesn’t tolerate people living who are supposed to be dead.”
Prickles of fear danced through my bones. I had spent the last few hours of the drive pretending to sleep while I contemplated how to escape again.
But not once did I think about the fact that Jude was running too.
The comment about not taking the easy way out stuck with me. If he had killed me, he probably would’ve been rewarded. But he didn’t, which meant he was in danger too.
He had put himself in danger . . . for me.
My stomach sank, but the uneasiness wasn’t from nausea—it was from the fact that the only person who’d ever gone out of their way for me was a man who was supposed to take my life.
Before I could respond, Jude spoke up again. “We’re here.”
