by Jane Henry
"Two bottles of water, please," I order, when I hear a little gasp behind me. I turn to see the man's got his hand on her hair. The fucking bastard is touching her.
I push everyone out of my way and lunge at him, grab him by the shirt and yank him off her.
"Hey!" he screams. He reeks of alcohol and body odor, stumbling when I let him go.
"Don't fucking touch her," I tell him. "Get away from her!"
"Nicolai, stop!" Marissa pleads. Shit, she used my name out loud. God.
I ignore her when he gets to his feet and gets in my face. "I just told her she had pretty hair," he protests, his face red with anger. "And you can't tell me—"
I sure as fuck can tell him. The bastard reaches for her again, and without thinking, I hit him so hard I hear bone snap. Blood spurts down his nose and he howls in pain. I lift him by the shirt and punch him again, and again, until he's writhing in pain and screaming for help. I don't even register anyone else around us until I feel Marissa grabbing my arm, pulling me off of him. I blink, realizing I just beat the shit out of a man at a tiny coffee shop, and cops could be here any second.
Fuck.
I grab her by the arm and haul her out with me.
"Get in the fucking car," I order, yanking the door to the car open and shoving her in.
That was a stupid fucking move, drawing attention to us like that. A few people have come out of the shop after us. I peel out into the street, leaving them all behind. Praying we didn't just get the attention of the police.
When we're on the highway hidden among streams of other cars, I exhale.
"You're dripping blood everywhere," she murmurs. I look down at my hands in surprise. I didn't even fucking realize his blood painted my knuckles on my right hand.
She reaches for the hand closest to her and wipes a napkin with the donut shop logo over it, her own hand shaking when the napkin turns red.
"Son of a bitch," I mutter. "You should've been next to me."
"How was I to know some drunk jerk would do that?"
"You weren't," I respond. "But you should've fucking been next to me."
I want to punish her for her stupidity.
"You didn't have to nearly kill the guy." But it seems there’s a note of pride in her voice.
I don't respond. I'm not in the mood for her lecture. We both know it was stupid for me to lose my shit like that, but I can't change that now.
We drive in silence for another hour. The food is gone, but she lied, it did nothing to help her mood at all. She's still sullen and irritable, tapping her foot and sighing. I ignore her.
The sun's now risen, letting loose the full heat of its rays. Richmond in May is gorgeous, the weather temperate, flowers blooming, the sky a vibrant, nearly-cloudless blue that looks as if it were painted. She lets out a sigh, and I cast a glance at her. Her eyes are wistful, her lip caught between her teeth. I want to know what's going on in that mind of hers. What troubles her. I want to listen to her, to every fear and hope and dream she holds onto. She's on the cusp of being an adult, and I—
Shit.
She isn't on the cusp of adulthood. I reach for the invoice from this morning and glance at the date.
It's her birthday.
I could smack myself for being such an idiot. I toss the invoice back on the dash, but don't say anything to her. I will have to make it up to her somehow. I don't let on that I know, but think about the ways I can tell her that I haven't completely forgotten.
"Can I turn some music on?" she asks.
I nod, a little surprised when she settles on older rock music I grew up listening to.
"This isn't what you listen to," I say. "Put on something you like."
"It's what you listen to, and I like it just fine," she says, but her cheeks color and she looks away. "My generation doesn't listen to just one type of music."
"Oh, really?"
"We're known for having eclectic tastes."
"Eclectic tastes my ass." I snort, remembering the kind of music her boyfriend used to listen to when he took her out on dates. My fingers grip the steering wheel tighter at the very thought of him.
But I like the music she plays, and it preoccupies me for a little while.
"I always wanted to go to Raleigh," she says wistfully, when we pass the Welcome to Raleigh road sign.
"Why? What's in Raleigh?"
"Oh, the Sunflower Fields," she says. "The Warehouse District and all the little shops there. The Amphitheater and shopping on Fayetteville Street. It sounds amazing."
"It sounds boring as fuck. Sunflowers and little shops? What do they do at the amphitheater?"
"Plays," she says, rolling her eyes at me.
"I'm only interested in amphitheaters if they're holding gladiator matches."
"That's barbaric!"
"I'd choose barbaric over boring."
She huffs out a breath. "You would."
She has no idea.
And then a second thought hits me so hard, I nearly crash into a guard rail.
Today, she's an adult.
Eighteen years old. Legal. Still fucking off-limits, but she isn't a child anymore.
It's stupid to think that one day advances someone into real adulthood. She has years and years to form her adulthood, to learn who she is and what she wants, to solidify her values and relationships.
If I have anything to do with it, she'll do just that.
She's fucking legal.
My throat tightens with the thought. With the temptation that now sits beside me.
It was hard enough not to touch her when I knew she was off limits.
Now that she isn't...
"I'm assuming we're not stopping again anytime soon?" she asks.
"We'll stop eventually, but not for a while."
She freezes suddenly, her hands tightening on her knees, and when she speaks her voice is strained.
"Nicolai?"
"Mmm?"
"That truck... the one with the frozen food delivery?"
"Yes?"
"The driver… I know him.”
I grip the wheel tighter. "How?”
I glance in the rearview mirror, but the solar glare makes it impossible to see the driver.
"I can't see from where I am. What does he look like?"
"I don't know..." Her voice trails off. "It's weird, but I swear I've seen him over at Eric's house. That isn't possible, is it?"
Could Laina have gotten the facts wrong? She said she overheard Myron, but what if... what if it was Eric who was responsible for her planned abduction? What if he was working directly with Myron?
"It is possible," I tell her. "Not very probable, but still something we can't ignore. Though why anyone would chase us in a semi that big..." I shake my head. Maybe it's part of his cover. "Alright, Marissa. Hold on tight. We're getting off the highway."
I flick on my turn signal seconds before I careen off the exit at a breakneck speed and son of a bitch the truck is coming after us. I can see him making a hard turn in my rearview mirror. I curse under my breath and accelerate under a bridge.
"Oh, God," Marissa moans. "Oh God oh God oh God!"
"Make sure your seatbelt is fastened."
I drive sixty miles an hour onto an off ramp, then take a left so hard the tires squeal on the pavement. I turn down an underpass until the road lies in front of me, and look in the rearview mirror as the truck is stopped between two other semis. He's an idiot, though, because he doesn't slow down at all. Instead, he plows after us so hard and fast, he knocks into three smaller trucks on either side of him, glass shattering and metal rends into pieces, smoke billows in the sky. Horns beep and soon, sirens sound in the distance.
Fuck.
I duck through another tunnel and hit the gas, driving as fast as I can away from here before we get caught. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, and I don't realize I'm driving nearly a hundred miles an hour until I notice Marissa bracing herself and whimpering.
"Nicolai," she whisper
s.
The truck fades into the background. I still can't see the driver. I'm breathing heavily, but she's the one I'm concerned with. I reach my hand to her knee and squeeze gently. "You're alright," I tell her. "You're safe." I don't tell her that I'm packing a handgun in the waistband of my pants, and the glove compartment is jammed with similar weapons.
"Take my phone," I tell her. "Look up that truck online. See if you see anything out of the ordinary."
She obeys, opens up the phone, and types something into the search bar. A few minutes later, she gasps.
"Nicolai!"
"Yeah."
"That truck was high-jacked this morning! Somewhere south of us!"
"Son of a bitch. So he was in on this. You said you saw him at Eric's house?"
"I... I think so," she says. "But I can't be sure."
I pick up my phone and dial Raf. I fill him in, giving him a description Marissa gives me, then hang up the phone. We've lost whoever was tracking us for now, but I wonder who he's in communication with. Does he know where we're going? She doesn't know I ditched her phone by flushing it down the toilet in the hotel room this morning. Has someone tracked us? How would they know where we are or where we're going?
Raf knows nothing, and says according to Laina, everyone still believes that Marissa is at her friend's house.
"We'll take a more scenic route to our next stop," I tell her. "We are less likely to draw unwanted attention."
She nods. Her eyes are closed, and I wonder what troubles her. I reach for her hand and take it in mine, ignoring the warning bells that clang in my mind at the knowledge of what I'm about to do next. Time passes until both of us are breathing normally again, though I swear my pulse beats faster holding her hand.
"Tonight, we'll find a place to celebrate your birthday." After I ditch this fucking car and get another one.
Her eyes fly open. "What?" she whispers.
"Your birthday," I repeat. "You're eighteen years old today, and legal. That means we need to celebrate."
"Legal," she repeats.
The word hangs in the air between us as we both lapse into silence.
"I did something I didn’t tell you," she says.
"Oh?"
I give her a sidelong look. I spanked her once but I knew then it wouldn't be enough to keep this feisty, headstrong, beautiful woman in line.
And part of me is glad about that.
"Marissa," I say warningly. "Spill."
"I sent Eric a text and told him I was breaking up with him," she says.
"When?"
"Right before you took my phone."
"Why the fuck would I not like that?" I ask. "I hate the douchebag."
She snorts with laughter, and it takes me by surprise.
"What? I mean it."
But she's laughing so hard tears are streaming down her face now. She's wiping them away but they're coming faster and harder.
"It's not that funny," I mutter.
"It is, though." She sobers a little, but her voice is still colored with laughter when she shakes her head sadly and sighs. "I just didn't know if that tipped him off or made him angry or set any of this into motion. He tried to push me to have sex with him after the party. He was drunk, and he was pressuring me—"
"What?"
She freezes at the deadly tone of my voice. My vision is suddenly blurred, and I clench the steering wheel tighter. I knew I should've beaten that boy's ass when I had the chance. If I could get to him now, I would teach him a lesson he'd never forget. The motherfucking bastard.
Hell, I'll still find him. He'll pay for that.
I keep my voice steady and reassure her. She thinks she is somehow responsible for this. I shake my head and squeeze her hand. "Baby," I say softly, without meaning to, the word coming out of my mouth of its own accord. "None of this is your fault. None of it."
She pulls closer to me and rests her head on my shoulder, and fuck me if right then and there all is right in my world. All is fucking right.
My voice is choked with meaning when I tell her, "Let's make our way to our next stop, Marissa. Someone deserves a birthday cake."
Chapter 6
Marissa
It's the worst and most wonderful day of my life.
I'm on the run on a day that's supposed to be full of love and laughter and celebration, still wearing rumpled clothing, my stomach rumbling with hunger because those measly donuts have been long since forgotten.
But I'm sitting beside Nicolai, the man I've loved since before I even knew what love was. The man I thought hated me, and now... now I hope and pray with everything I’ve got that somehow, some way, we escape the danger we're in. That we get a second chance.
The way we both realized I'm legal now.
Sweet Jesus.
My heart goes all fluttery in my chest at the memory.
We ride in comfortable silence, and I'm not even sure where we're going.
"We need to ditch this car," he says. "Don't be alarmed. I know what I'm doing."
Of course he does. I know I can trust him. I'm with the only person in the world I really can trust.
"Alright," I say, nodding. "Oh, maybe we can get a motorcycle somewhere. Wouldn't that be fun?"
"Fun?" he says, giving my knee a squeeze.
"Think about it," I say. "If anyone else pursues us, we can weave in and out of traffic easily, and they won't be able to catch us. Plus, it's easy to ditch."
He gives me a curious look. "You sound as if you have some experience with this. Something I need to know?" I look away bashfully. I feel weirdly shy when he gets all stern with me like that.
I clear my throat. "I've seen movies," I protest lamely.
"Have you ever seen how easily a semi sends a motorcycle careening to certain death?" he asks, his accent thicker and more pronounced when he's lecturing me.
"Oh, ouch," I say with a grimace.
"Yeah. And anyway, you let me worry about a replacement. You worry about what you want for dinner."
"At this point, I would eat microwaved mac and cheese, or one of those nasty burritos you find at a truck stop."
He chuckles at that, and a shiver of delight glides through me. I made him chuckle.
"We can do better than that," he says. "But first, let's get some distance between us and the people who were following us... after we get a new set of wheels."
He pulls off the highway and into a rest stop, parking as deeply in the middle of the huge, crowded parking lot as he can. I don't think we have anything to take with us, but he quietly takes out several guns and rounds of ammunition, tucking them into a duffel bag he's stored under the front seat. It's a stark reminder that we aren't normal, this is hardly a road trip for fun, and not only are we being pursued, he says I'm in danger. If he's with me, that means both of us are.
"Nicolai," I say in awe, looking at the pile of weapons and ammunition he's loaded into the black bag, zipped, and slung across his chest.
He only looks at me. Holds my gaze for long seconds, and I stare back into the depths of his eyes, before he reaches a hand to the side of my face and draws his thumb down the side of my cheek. Something shifts in me then, seeing the real man behind the mask. The one who's risked everything to protect me.
"Trust me," he says into my ear.
It's a physical act, I think, trusting someone. It's more than letting go of a mental road block. It's releasing a burden you carry, giving the weight to someone else. And when I make that decision... when I tell him I trust him... I feel somehow a little lighter.
We go into the rest area together, and he buys snacks from the vending machine. I freshen up in the bathroom, then we head back to the main lot. He fiddles on his phone and finally points to a car. "There," he says, pointing to a car that's way up in the front of the lot.
"Why that one?"
"It's parked up front. Belongs to an employee who works here, who won't realize it's gone until his shift is up, which is in..." he checks his phone again. "
Eight more hours. Locks are easy to disengage, and the windows are tinted."
"How'd you know all that?" I ask in awe.
"Narcissistic social media makes it easy," he mutters, but say nothing else. I shrug, then follow him.
He keeps his head down and I follow him, all casual, like we're not about to steal a car and run for our lives. Like I'm not the daughter of one of America's most wanted, and he's not my bodyguard carrying a bag of weapons fit for a small army. Like this is all just normal.
And for one brief moment, I wish it was. God, how I wish it was.
"Passenger side door," he orders low, while he pulls something out of his pocket. Gliding it into the window, the lock pops up effortlessly. He shoots me a wink that goes straight to my panties, opens the door, and hits the auto-lock. "In," he says. "Now."
I obey, sliding into the seat and fastening my seatbelt while he takes his seat, then reaches under the steering wheel and yanks some wires out. I look out the window, and suddenly my pulse begins to race. He's about to steal a car, we just ditched one, and someone tried to run us off the road.
Is anyone else after us? God, of course they are.
He guns the engine to life, adjusts the seat for his large frame, and puts the car in drive. I look out the window, expecting someone to chase after us waving a fist or something, but no one notices. No one cares.
We drive for a while in silence, and I begin to think of what he's said to me. It's my birthday. He's getting me something to eat. And I'm legal now.
But what happens after today? Where are we going? How will we hide?
"Nicolai? Where are we going?"
"Boston," he says shortly, his jaw tensing.
I don't know anything about Boston. I've never visited, and I'm not sure why that's a safe place for us to go.
"All I know about Boston is the tea party thing," I tell him. "What else is there?"
He gives me a short look, his lips tight. "There's another branch of the Bratva there that could help."
"Are you guys everywhere?"
"Just about."
We drive for a little while longer, and talk easily to one another. He tells me about his home in Russia. I've never seen him look like this, when he speaks of Russia. His eyes are bright and vivid with memory, the one hand that doesn't hold the steering wheel animated as he tells me stories. Though his father, the pakhan of our American outfit, lives in America now, he grew up in Russia. Nicolai served in the Russian special forces after high school.