Page 3 of Make Them Pay

“I know. We’ll handle it. Right now we move.”

She pulls back. Blood lingers at the corner of her mouth and the bruise looks even worse up close. I fight the urge to march back and make extra sure those bodies stay down for good.

“Can you walk?” I ask.

“Yeah. I think.” She takes a step, wobbles, and nearly drops again.

There’s no time for nearly.

I scoop her up, one arm under her knees and the other behind her back. She’s lighter than she should be. They didn’t feed her. That fact burns into me for later.

“Put me down,” she says, her voice gaining strength. That familiar fire sparks in her eyes, the one I’ve always been a little too fond of. “I can walk, Render.”

“You can walk when we’re in the car.”

“That isn’t your call.”

“Tonight it is.”

She makes a sound that’s half annoyance and half something warmer. She stops fighting and wraps her arms around my neck. She holds on because it’s smart, not because she wants to. But her breath against my collarbone cracks something open inside me anyway, sending warmth spreading through my chest.

We get out fast. Outside the air feels cleaner and the wet pavement reflects the streetlight in silvery streaks. The sedan waits two blocks south, black with clean plates and the engine already warm. I set her down by the passenger door. She grabs the roof to steady herself while her legs slowly come back. Good.

I open the door. She glances at me, then the car, then the dark street, clearly calculating whether this ride beats the chair.

“Get in,” I say. “Please.”

The please slips out raw. She hears it and slides inside.

I close her door, circle around, and drop into the driver’s seat. The engine purrs to life. I check the mirrors and pull out with no headlights for the first four blocks. We glide through the streets like a shadow that’s lost its owner.

I keep my eyes forward. If I look at her I’ll see the bruise and the split lip and the raw wrists, and I’ll want to turn the car around.

Five blocks pass. Then six. We hit the highway ramp and I finally flip the lights on. The city fades behind us in neon smears.

Enley stays still. I hear her breathing, controlled and deliberate, while her hands flex in her lap as circulation returns.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“Safehouse. Ten miles out. One nobody knows about.”

She remains quiet for another minute. “How did you find me?”

“Serafina’s crew sucks at cameras. I grabbed the heat feed they left wide open and matched it to the van’s path. It wasn’t too hard once I knew where to look.”

“Wasn’t hard,” she repeats flatly, testing the words.

“I’ve been watching her feeds for three weeks, since before they grabbed Poe.” I keep my eyes on the road. “Knight asked me to stay off the books as backup. If things went bad, I was the unknown.”

“Knight asked you.”

“Yeah.”

“So he saw this coming.”

“Possible. None of them thought it was likely.” The highway curves and I keep the speed steady. “Serafina’s smarter than they figured.”

She turns and stares at me. I feel the weight of her gaze like a touch. She’s assessing me now, nothing like those teasing diner looks she used to toss my way when she thought I wasn’t watching.