by N. S. Moore
“I’m not going to get stopped for speeding.” As if in proof, his speed levels out at just two miles per hour over the speed mile.
“Okay then. Then what you were getting all pissy about me being a nag?”
“I wasn’t getting pissy. I don’t even think this cheap-ass car can go over the speed limit without falling apart anyway.”
“Now who’s being a snob? You’re really complaining about not having an expensive car? You’re the one robbing banks, you know.”
“You think guys who rob banks drive cheap cars?” His voice is wry again, and he slants me an almost teasing smile.
I really like that smile. Damn, I have to pull myself together and not getting all swoony over my hostage-taker. “So why did you get into a life of crime?”
“I already told you.”
“You told me a bunch of vague shit about how you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. But people don’t get roped into robbing banks for no reason. So how did it happen?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. I see him glance over at me a few times, as if he’s trying to decide what or how much to tell me.
I’m torn as I wait to see what he’ll say. I really want him to answer honestly—since I want to know more about him, understand how he’s gotten to this point. But, if he doesn’t answer, then I can start putting up my mental barriers again so he can’t get into my mind any more than he already has.
I’m really not sure which I hope will happen.
“I’ve been trying to get away from who I used to be for a long time,” he says at last, almost stiltingly. He’s staring at the road and not at me. “So I did a lot of stupid things to be someone different.”
I’m sure he’s telling me the truth. I can see it in the tension on his face. “What kind of stupid things?”
“I do a lot of odd jobs, and sometimes they’re not for the right people.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Odd jobs? Like putting up bookshelves and fixing leaks?” I make sure it’s clear from the sarcasm in my tone that I know that’s not what he’s talking about.
“I’ve done muscle-work and gun-for-hire work and shit like that. You get in this spiral, though, where the stakes get higher and the payoffs get higher and then you start to take risks you wouldn’t otherwise. I did one job with Deke and his crew, and then it was hard to get out.”
“But you want out?”
“Didn’t I already say that? Why the hell do you think I’m heading to Mexico?”
“I mean, do you want out because you’re in trouble now, or do you want out because you don’t like the guy you’ve turned into.”
I have no idea where I’ve gotten the courage to ask such a question. I just suddenly feel like I know him—really know him—and I want to know even more.
He turns his head and meets my eyes. His expression is utterly sober for just a few seconds. “Maybe both.”
I give a little nod and break the gaze because it’s just too disturbing. None of this matters anyway. He’s going to take off in Laredo, and I’ll never see him again. That’s a good thing. It doesn’t matter whether I know and understand him or not.
When I take a deep breath and turn back toward him, I see he’s focused on the road. He’s frowning, and I find out why when I look forward at all the brake lights lit up on the road in front of us.
“Is there any accident or something?” I ask, trying to look behind the double line of slowing cars. “Or road construction?”
“I don’t know.” He sounds worried, and my heart starts to speed up too in response.
The traffic is still moving for another mile, but it grows increasingly slow.
Code is in the left lane, and he edges over onto the shoulder so he can see farther in front of us.
“Do you see what it is?” I ask, unsuccessfully trying to peer around the car in front of us.
“Looks like a lot of police. Maybe a road block. They might be looking for you.”
My skin suddenly grows clammy. “We just passed an exit, so there won’t be another one until we reach it.”
“We couldn’t get over there anyway without making a scene and looking suspicious.” He’s cool and totally in control—not like he’s nervous at all—but I’m sure he’s primed and ready for a crisis. I can just feel it in the vibes coming off him. “When we get up there, we’ll act like we’re just coming home after a long night partying. Got it?”
“Got it.”
If a cop stuck his head through the window, it will be easy enough for me to scream that I’ve been kidnapped. Then this whole thing would be over.
But Code has a gun, and I don’t think he’ll go quietly. He hasn’t threatened me, but who knows what he’d do if I act like I’m going to turn him in.
Plus, we’re only a few hours from Laredo. It will be so much easier and smoother if things just go as planned.
It is a road-block. They’re checking all the cars. We have no proof what they’re looking for, but it might be me.
They might recognize me, if they look closely.
When we pull up to a waiting police office, he leans over and asks for Code’s license and registration. Code hands him the fake ID, and I wait, twisting my hands together to keep them from shaking.
I don’t know why I’m nervous. It’s not like I want Code to get out of this all right. I don’t care if they catch him.
Do I?
Code is as cool as a cucumber, waiting as the police officer checks his license. Then the cop hands it back to him and glances over at me. “What have you all been doing?”
“We hit the clubs in Austin,” I say. “Now my feet are killing me, and I have a raging headache, and we have to sit in all this traffic.”
The cop gives me a half-smile. “Sorry to hold you up. Y’all can go on through. Be safe.”
And so we just drive through the road block.
“Shit,” Code breathes, after rolling up his window. “Shit, shit.”
“I can’t believe we just got through that. Your friend must have done a good job with the fake ID.”
“That was too close. I’m not sure we should stick the interstate.” Code is accelerating again, and I can see he hasn’t yet come down from his earlier crisis-mode. “I can’t believe you didn’t try to rat me out.”
“We have a deal,” I say, flushing and feeling strangely self-conscious.
The truth is, I’m not sure why I didn’t say anything. I could be with the good guys now, on my way back home, and not in a car with the bad guy.
The bad guy who I’d jerked off this morning because I was feeling so soft about him.
Fuck, I sure hope I didn’t make the worst mistake of my life back there by not saying anything.
“I know we have a deal, but I still thought you’d throw it out the window for a chance to get away from me.”
I stare down at my hands. “I’ll be rid of you in Laredo. It’s just a few hours away.”
He reaches over and lifts my chin with his hand, holding my eyes with an intense look that takes my breath away. “Yeah, but don’t you want me to be thrown in jail for what I’ve done to you?”
I can’t look away from him, and I also can’t speak.
I definitely can’t tell him the truth, although I have to finally admit it to myself.
I don’t want Code thrown in jail. I don’t think he’s as bad a guy as he seems.
If there’s a way for him to get through this safely, then that’s what I want to happen.
Maybe it’s Stockholm Syndrome, but it feels like something else.
It feels like I know him, and he’s the first person in my entire life who has really known me.
Twenty-Four
Code
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Like it isn’t enough that we just got through that road block without a hitch but then I go and remind Wren that she could have me thrown in jail for what I’ve done to her? Who does that? Clearly some asshole whose brain is in his dick.
Or up his ass. Take your pick.
Wren’s looking at me right now like she’s never looked at me before. Not even after all that we’ve done has she looked at me this intently. It’s a little unnerving.
I’ve got two choices here—I can push her for an answer about whether or not she’s going to press charges against me and have me thrown in jail, if she gets the chance, or I can get back to the reality of what’s going on here and what we’re going to do now.
I don’t feel right about staying on the interstate, but I also don’t have a fucking GPS to navigate the back roads, and I don’t want to drag this road trip out any longer than I have to. I’m so fucking close to freedom that I can taste it.
There’s that fucking song again about freedom, echoing in my head.
But all the times I’ve been chasing freedom before in my life, I’ve never actually found it. I’m not sure why crossing the border this time will be different, but there’s a hope I can’t seem to deny. I doubt there will be another road block, but I can’t be sure. I look over at Wren. “I think we need to get off this road.”
She looks at me, a little confused. “Why? We’ve already gone through the road block. We should be good to go.”
I shake my head. “We still don’t know who or what exactly they were looking for back there or if this is the only block they’ve got set up.” My heart is racing, and I begin to sweat. Panic. I don’t normally panic easily, but something about this whole situation is suddenly freaking me the fuck out.
“Code, I really don’t think that it’s a problem. Besides, I don’t know the back roads around here. Do you?”
“No.” My mind is racing. “Do you have a phone?”
Wren rolls her eyes at me. “Uh, yeah. I’ve got a phone that I’ve had with me the entire time and didn’t call the police or my father. Are you for real?”
Okay. Stupid question.
“Don’t you have a phone?”
“I do but it’s a throwaway deal that just calls and texts. No maps or GPS. I wasn’t expecting to be on this road trip from hell.”
“Look, it is not my fault that you didn’t plan well for your run for the border. So don’t go getting all bent out of shape at me.”
I kind of like this side of her. She’s not so much playing the victim card, and yet she’s not being defiant in a ‘fuck you’ kind of way. Right now, it’s almost like we’re in this together, and she’s just as frustrated as I am.
Maybe more.
“Okay, so what other options are there?”
Wren twists in her seat, and I can tell that she’s really thinking about it. Go figure. “I guess we could stop at a gas station and get a state map. It may not list all of the side roads, but it would give us at least a little bit of help with staying on the right course.”
It makes sense, but I’m not particularly ready to stop again yet. It’s too light out, and I’m too edgy. I don’t want to draw attention to us. Unfortunately, I think that she’s right.
“Sounds like a plan. Thanks,” I say and smile at her. She practically beams back at me for the attempt at praise.
That makes me wonder if she ever actually gets any praise. Who’s in her life that tells her ‘good job’ or ‘thank you’? It’s none of my business, but when you’re essentially trapped in a car with someone—or on the run with your life at stake with someone—you start to wonder about them and what they’re like when you’re not, you know, on the fucking run.
I pull over at the next exit, and it doesn’t take long to find a gas station. “Stay put,” I tell her. Sure she’s got the pink hair and the stripper clothes going on, but that’s not to say that someone’s not going to recognize her.
Five minutes later I’m back in the car, and I hand her a bag.
“That’s a pretty heavy map,” she says, taking the bag from me.
“All you had was coffee this morning. I figured you’d be hungry.” I don’t even look at her because I can’t. I can feel her staring at me—like she’s surprised that I would be considerate. I guess if I was in her place I would be surprised too. After all, I’m just the prick who kidnapped her, fucked her, and took her on the run with me.
Why bother candy-coating it. I’m basically a douche.
But I have my moments when my conscience kicks in.
I hear her rustling through the bag as I pull the car around to the side of the parking lot and start looking at the map.
“Oh my god, I love these!” Wren says from beside me and I look over and see her with the pack of chocolate chip cookies that I grabbed. And then she let out a giggle when she saw that I got milk to go with them. She looked over at me, and this time I couldn’t help but look back.
“You can’t have cookies without milk,” I say with a shrug and go back to looking at the map. “It looks like if we follow this road out front here, we can…”
Wren kisses me on the cheek.
It’s a simple gesture. I’m not even sure she realized that she did it or who she was doing it to, but for whatever it’s worth, that was her way of saying thank you. For fucking cookies and milk.
I really am a douche.
I clear my throat and go back to planning the route that we’re going to try. “It’s a little bit out of the way—maybe add another hour or two to the drive—but I think we can deal with that, right?”
She nods while eating a cookie.
I pull back out on to the road, and I feel better—more relaxed. We drive for about fifteen minutes in complete silence. I’m good with it for the most part. I need to stay focused. I want to put as much distance as I can between us and the interstate.
There’s nothing out here. It’s like no-man’s land. There’s an occasional house, but other than that, it’s pretty desolate.
Next to me, Wren lets out a little moan of pleasure—and I know it’s pleasure because I’ve made her make that sound—and I can’t believe that a cookie can be all that.
“Can I have a bite?”
The look she gives me is almost comical, and for a minute, I almost believe that she’s going to say no. She eventually holds out her hand to feed the damn thing to me. My eyes lock with hers as I take a bite and damn if it’s not fucking good.
“It’s good, right?” she asks, a happy and relaxed look on her face.
“You taste better.” She blushes as my words. “And there’s nothing I’d like more than to have you for a snack.”
“Code…” Her skin is flushed and I know what my words do to her. If I reached out right now, I’d find her panties to be wet.
My fingers almost twitch with the need to find out.
The car jerks and sounds like it backfires. “What the fuck?” I look at the dashboard and all of the gages look fine but the car starts to sputter and hesitate.
“What’s going on?”
“I have no fucking clue.” The car makes it—barely—for another five miles and then it just stops. Smoke is pouring out from under the hood, and I know that we are totally screwed.
Twenty-Five
Wren
“Damn it,” Code grits out, after the car jerks to a stop on the side of the road. “Fucking piece of junk.”
I sigh and lean my head back against the headrest of the seat. I’m confused and exhausted and emotional about everything, and I have no fucking idea in the world what I want to happen from this mess.
I just want to be at peace—find that pathway of light between the billows—but I don’t think I’ve ever really felt that way. The closest I’ve had was that shaky stability where I make everyone happy and so my life remains uneventful.
That isn’t peace, though. I’m not sure what peace is. It sure as hell isn’t being stranded on the side of the road in the middle of Texas with a would-be kidnapper that you seem to be developing feelings for.
“I guess your friend didn’t want to spare a better car than this.” I wipe perspiration off my forehead. It’s mid-morning, and it’s already really hot out. It’s going to be hot a
s hell here soon, with no air conditioning and no working car.
“Ass.” Code is obviously thinking, and he’s covered his eyes with his hand, as if to block out distractions.
Maybe I’m a distraction. Maybe he’s trying to block me out. The thought kind of hurts, but I push it away because it’s ridiculous and hardly something I should be thinking about right now.
I think for a minute about what we can do. “There was a gas station several miles back, but it would take us forever to walk back there. I guess maybe we could call information and see if we can find a garage with a tow truck.”
“Yeah. We’ll do that if we have to, but I don’t want to risk being recognized.”
“I’m not sure what else we can do. We can sit here and hope someone drives by who can help us, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone on this road much, and there would still be the possibility of being recognized.”
“Yeah.” He exhales and straightens up, looking over at me. His face softens a little, and he reaches out to cup my cheek. “I guess you’re really impressed by my mind-blowing escape plan here, aren’t you?”
Ridiculously, I can’t hold back a little laugh. “It really is very impressive. Dingy basements. Cheap hotels. Cheap-ass cars that can’t make it even a hundred miles. Not to mention a pink-haired hostage.”
“I’m okay with the pink-haired hostage,” he murmurs, dropping his hand and looking away from me kind of quickly. “But everything else is like a fucking dark comedy.”
I feel another one of those swells of emotion, like my heart is suddenly too big for my chest. I try to push that feeling away too, since it’s inappropriate, but it doesn’t want to go away.
“I don’t guess you have any other friends you could call for help,” I say, trying to focus back on the matter at hand. “Like Jamie, but maybe closer to around here. Where are we anyway? Close to San Antonio?”
“Not too far.” He sounds more business-like now too. “But I don’t have any friends around here. Definitely no one I can trust enough to put ourselves in their hands. I guess we’ll have to try for a tow truck and hope for the best.” He pulls out of his phone.