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“Lift it before you turn it,” he finishes.
“Yeah.”
“Good. Go straight there. Don’t stop anywhere, you hear me?”
“I won’t.”
“And Tatum?” His voice drops, serious in a way I haven’t heard in years. “If anyone’s following you—anyone—you don’t lead them there.”
My stomach twists. “I know.”
“I mean it.”
“I know,” I snap, sharper than I meant to. Then softer, “I won’t bring anyone there. I swear.”
Another pause.
“…Okay.”
Even after I disappeared without a word three years ago, he’s still ready to swoop in and protect me. Which makes me feel worse.
“I’ll be there in forty,” I say, glancing up at the exit signs.
“I’ll beat you,” he replies. “Text me when you’re close.”
“Can’t, but I’ll see you there.”
The line goes dead, and I pull my phone out of my pocket, flinging it as hard as I can into the road. Better to be safe than sorry so that I’m not tracked. I watch in the rearview mirror as the phone tumbles end over end before disappearing into the empty road behind me.
Gone, just like me.
A few minutes later, the road curves toward the highway that leads north. The city I once thought we could rule together disappears behind me faster than I expected. Or maybe, I’m just not looking back, because I know it’s not home anymore.
Streetlights thin out, replaced by long stretches of darkness broken only by my headlights cutting a narrow path forward. The world feels smaller out here. Quieter. Safer, even.
But I know better.
Safe doesn’t exist anymore. Not for me—not until I figure out what to do. My name isn’t attached to anything. I was smart. If the DEA shows anyone anything, it all leads back to Eric, our club's intel officer, every single piece of evidence is attached to his work. On top of that, his old lady just recently got out after their divorce. It all looks like an escape for him.
I know Nicholas, and if he looks into everything the way I think he will, then I’m safe. The thought should bring me some comfort, but instead, it fills me with unease. Knowing where I am going, if he comes looking for me…He has never taken someone leaving him well, and there will be hell to pay.
My mind keeps replaying it—the sound of gunfire, the agent’s voice, the way Nicholas’s arm felt heavy across my waist like some kind of ownership instead of love.
Owned.
My chest tightens.
When he wakes up and realizes I’m not there—that I left him—
No. That can’t matter right now. I have to assume he will think I am already in a van and taken away.
I push the thought away, leaning forward over the bike, urging it faster. The engine responds with a low growl as the speed climbs.
I just have to make it to Lennox.
One mile at a time.
By the time the “Welcome to Portland” sign flashes past, my fingers are numb, and my shoulders ache from the tension I can’t seem to shake. Every pair of headlights in the distance makes my pulse spike. Every car that lingers too long behind me feels like a threat, making me check my mirrors more than I watch the road.
