by Hamel, B. B.
“I get it,” I said slowly. “But you haven’t figured it out yet. There is no arguing or discussing right now, because a gang of violent drug dealers wants to murder us all. Me and Trip are your only way out.”
“Okay,” Mom said suddenly. “Okay, we’ll go with him.”
Everyone was quiet for a second, and the tension suddenly seemed to drain from the moment.
“Are you sure?” Jeff asked her.
“I don’t know why Camden is involved with these people, but he saved us earlier. I trust him.”
“Thank you, Mom,” I said softly.
She walked up to me and hugged me tightly. “Promise we’ll see you in a few days.”
“I promise.” I returned the hug, feeling a mess of emotions.
She let go and stepped back, gave me a quick smile, and then ducked into the car. Jeff frowned at me for a second and then followed her.
“Better go before they change their minds,” I said to Trip.
“See you in Juneau, brother.”
We clasped hands, and then he climbed into the car. I walked to the back of the car and patted the trunk. He popped it, and I smiled ear to ear. Trip was one prepared motherfucker.
I grabbed one of the two duffel bags and shut the trunk. Trip gave me a thumbs-up and then pulled out toward the on-ramp.
I watched them disappear onto the highway before turning back to Lacey. She was staring at me with this strange look on her face.
“Guess it’s just us now,” I said.
“You realize we’re stranded here?”
I laughed. “I guess we are.”
“Seriously, we don’t have a car.”
I looked around the parking lot. “Plenty of cars around here.”
“Camden.”
“It’s okay,” I said, grinning. I felt excited for the first time in a long time as Lacey stared at me. I took her body in, running my eyes up and down her figure, and then reached into the duffel to pull out a small stack of cash.
“We’ll pay for whatever we take,” I said, laughing loudly.
Chapter Seven: Lacey
I’d never seen someone steal a car before.
Camden made quick work of it though as my heart hammered in my chest. It wasn’t the worst thing that was happening at the moment, I figured, but it was definitely pretty bad.
“We’re stranding someone else here,” I said to him as he popped open the lock with a long black tool slipped between the window and the doorframe.
“I’m aware of that.”
“And that’s okay?”
He looked at me and shook his head, not responding. He climbed into the front seat and began to take off the bottom panel near the ignition.
“Seriously, Camden, after everything today, we’re just stealing a car?”
“We’re in a hurry,” he said, concentrating on his task. “Now stop talking and make sure nobody is coming.”
I scowled at him for a second. I had to admit, it was pretty impressive how quickly he got the door open and was inside. He looked competent and serious as he began to fiddle with some wires, a screwdriver-like tool shoved into the ignition.
But he was stealing a car. Even back in the day, when I knew he was trouble, he kept that part of him away from me. At least, he didn’t let me see it directly. I was a good person, or at least I always thought I was. I’d never stolen anything in my entire life, let alone some crappy sedan from the parking lot of a rest stop. Even though I knew we needed it, knew that not getting a car could mean something way worse than whatever was going to happen to the owner of the car, I still felt bad.
“Fuck yeah,” he said as the engine suddenly turned over and the car came to life.
I looked in at him. “Proud of yourself?”
“Always.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
“Whoever owns this car isn’t being chased by violent criminals.” He grinned at me. “Hurry up and get in. We have a lot of ground to cover.”
I walked around to the passenger side and climbed in with a huff. I watched as he put his tools back into the duffle and began to count out the bills, all of them hundreds. He rolled them into a tight ball and wrapped a rubber band around their bulk.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Like I said, paying for it.”
He reached out of the car and dropped the wad of bills on the ground.
“How do you know the real owner of this car is going to get that money?”
“I don’t. But the universe tends to right itself sometimes.”
“That’s crazy.”
He shrugged, putting the car into gear. “We picked a car parked relatively far away from the others on the opposite side of the building. I’m guessing that the person who owns this car also works here and that this spot doesn’t get much traffic. I’m confident he’ll find it.”
“This is insane,” I mumbled for the hundredth time that hour as Camden laughed and pulled out into traffic.
We were back on the road, keeping up with traffic but not driving too fast, heading west toward the coast. I crossed my arms and leaned back in my seat, pointedly not talking to Camden.
My mind drifted as the sun set and the miles added up. I thought about my Dad and Lynn, about what they had seen that upset them so much. I knew Camden had killed someone, but I hadn’t actually witnessed it. The idea of Camden shooting a Mexican gangster was so absurd and fake that I really wasn’t treating it like it had happened.
But it was real, it was all real. I’d been convinced of that, as much as I hated it. We were in the thick of something that I didn’t understand, all because of him, that cocky bastard.
For some reason, as we hit the third hour of our drive and I began to feel tired, a memory came rushing back. It was early on in our relationship, right around when we finally decided we’d give in to what we wanted and try being together.
I looked around the party, completely lost for words.
I didn’t recognize a single person there, and I felt totally out of place. Where everyone else was dressed in dark colors, mostly black, and had at least one tattoo, I was in my usual cardigan and sweater and jeans combo, my hair up in a tight bun.
I walked across the party, stepping over broken bottles as the voices of the people echoed off the old bridge’s stone walls. I moved farther into the tunnel, feeling more and more awkward as I went.
I wasn’t boring, but I hadn’t been to any crazy parties, either. As far as parties in Hammond went, the bashes thrown down near the river under the old shipping bridge were about as crazy as it got. I’d never considered going before, or at least not until Camden had invited me.
“Hey, girl,” someone called out. I ignored the voice and kept moving. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”
I looked over and saw a guy on the shorter side, his hair buzzed short and faded up from his ears, his baggy jeans sagging off his hips and his basketball jersey probably two sizes two big. He was pale white and grinned this awful smile.
“Me?” I asked tentatively.
“Ain’t nobody else around, girl,” he said, stopping in front of me. “What’s your name?”
“Lacey. I’m looking for someone.”
“You found him. I’m your new someone.”
“Um, no, sorry. I’m looking for Camden.”
“This is Indiana, girl. Camden is all the way over in Jersey.” He laughed loudly at his own joke and I began to inch away.
“I have to go,” I said, turning away.
“Hold up, don’t be rude. That joke was mad funny.”
I began to walk away, but I suddenly felt him grab my arm, pulling me back. I gasped, fear jolting through me.
“I said, stay.”
“Get off me, creep.”
“There a problem?”
I looked up, and relief washed over me as Camden appeared, his arms crossed, anger etched on his face.
The guy let me go. “Yo, Cam. What up, man?”
“Why are you
touching her, Slim?” he asked. I took a few quick steps away, standing beside Camden.
“Camden, it’s fine,” I said to him.
Slim’s eyes widened. “Shit, you’re Camden? I didn’t know your full name, man. I mean, I would never fuck with your bitch.”
Camden’s fist moved faster than I thought possible, striking out and taking Slim directly in the nose. Slim stumbled back, gasping and holding his face as Camden came on, hitting him again and again in the face until Slim fell to the ground. Blood was running from a gash over Slim’s eye and from his clearly broken nose.
“Camden!” I yelled, horrified.
“Don’t talk to her like that again,” he said, standing over Slim.
The party didn’t seem even slightly bothered by the event. People were staring, but most of them were smiling or laughing at what had happened.
Slim nodded. “Is cool, mahn,” he said through his hands. His voice was nasally and strange, probably because his nose was broken.
I couldn’t watch anymore. I walked as fast as I could back toward the cars, needing to get out of there. I’d never seen someone get so violent so suddenly. Frankly, it was terrifying, not at all the Camden I thought I knew.
“Lace, wait.”
Camden caught up with me and matched my stride.
“Why would you bring me here?” I said quietly.
“What are you talking about?”
“And why would you start a fight?”
“That wasn’t a fight. He couldn’t talk to you like that.”
As we reached the edge of the party, I whirled on him. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“Go ahead, explain.”
“I don’t know anybody here. I stand out like a lighthouse. And you’re nowhere to be seen.”
“I found you. I took care of that asshole.”
“It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have put me in that position in the first place.”
“These are my people,” he said simply.
I stalked off again, and he followed me back toward the cars.
I didn’t know why I remembered that one particular fight. I couldn’t even remember what happened after that or how we ended up making up. It probably involved his hands cupping my ass while he pressed his hard dick against my body.
But it was such typical Camden. He meant well, wanted me to fit into his dangerous and strange life, but I just simply didn’t. He wanted to fix everything his way, regardless of what anyone else wanted, and was so stubborn and pig-headed that he didn’t see how it affected me.
But he was also kind and protective and strong. He took no shit from anyone.
I stifled a yawn and glanced down at the clock. The car ride had been mostly silent, punctuated by Camden changing the radio station. The clock said it was eleven thirty.
“When are we stopping?” I asked him.
“Soon,” he grunted.
“I’m tired. And you’ve been driving for hours.”
“I’m fine.” I knew that was a lie, though. I could see the stress and the exhaustion in his eyes.
“Let’s stop soon. We’ll start up early tomorrow.”
He glanced at me, frowning. “Now you’re playing along?”
“I don’t have much choice.”
“No,” he said, looking back at the road. “You really don’t.”
We were quiet for some time as the miles slipped past. My stomach growled and I had to pee, but he didn’t seem like he was in any mood to stop driving. Finally, right around midnight, he turned on his turn signal and exited the highway, driving toward some small town.
“Where are we?” I asked him.
“Not sure. Somewhere in Illinois.”
We drove for another ten minutes until a string of ratty motels appeared. He chose the one in the middle, slowly pulling into the parking lot.
“Not exactly a Hilton,” I mumbled.
He looked at me. “We’re going to be staying in shit holes and worse until we get there. Places that take cash and a fake name and don’t ask questions.”
“I get it.”
“Do you get it? Have you figured out what’s happening?”
The anger in his voice surprised me. “Don’t talk to me that way, Camden. None of this is my fault.”
He took a deep breath and visibly composed himself. “You’re right.”
“I know. You think I’m not scared?”
“You’re not acting like you are.”
“What do you want, Camden? Want me to cry hysterically and freak out?”
“Not exactly.”
“I’m trying very hard just to keep it together. I don’t need you making it worse.”
His expression softened. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
We sat in the car for a second quietly. “I’m hungry,” I said finally.
“Me too. Think this place does room service?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Sure. Probably serves lobster and steak.”
“Great. We’re eating well tonight.” He pushed open his door and climbed out. I followed him.
“Seriously, we need food.”
“Let’s get the room first. I’ll grab something once we’re settled.”
I paused. “The room? We’re in separate rooms.”
It was his turn to laugh. “I don’t think so. We need to stay together.”
“No way. I’m not sleeping in the same room as you.”
“Too bad, princess.” He stalked off toward the office and I clenched my jaw, annoyed. Finally, I followed him.
Camden paid in cash and we were given a key to a tiny room on the second floor toward the back of the building. It wasn’t completely disgusting, or at least the bathroom and the sheets looked clean, though I couldn’t imagine it got a good scrubbing. Fortunately, it had two twin beds.
Camden tossed his duffel onto the bed closest to the door and sat down at the end. I used the bathroom, relief flooding through me as I washed my hands and splashed water on my face. He looked up as I came back out into the room.
“What do you want to eat?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m just going to sleep.”
“The guy told me where to find an all-night diner not far. Tell me what you want or you’re getting a surprise.”
“Surprise me then,” I said, climbing into bed still fully clothed. Exhaustion washed over me.
He frowned. “Okay. Also, we’ll get you some clothes tomorrow.”
“And a toothbrush.”
“Sure. Soap and shit like that, too, if you want it.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
He looked at me as I wrapped myself in the sheets. I was pointedly trying not to think about what gross things had happened in the bed before I had gotten into it.
“I know this is fucked up. But we’ll get out of it soon. I promise.”
“Okay, Camden,” I mumbled.
“Don’t leave. Don’t answer the door. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Call the cops if I’m not back in an hour.”
“Got it.”
He stood up and went to leave but paused at the door.
“You don’t have to be strong,” he said.
“I’m tired,” I replied, rolling over.
Without another word, he opened the door and was gone.
Once the room was empty, grief and terror and more washed over me. I began to sob into the pillow, convulsions wracking my body. I didn’t know how I had held it all together over the past few hours, but all that fear and shock was hitting me hard, and I couldn’t stop the tears.
Worst of all, lodged down deep in my stomach, was the truth of how I still felt about Camden. Despite everything he put us through, despite how much I hated him, there was still a voice in the back of my head that got excited every time he looked at me. I still had the stupid urge to reach out and touch his chest and to kiss his lips, even if that urge was usually dominated by the desire to punch him instead.
Slowly, after what felt like an hour, my
sobs calmed down, and I slowly slipped into sleep, dreaming about Camden’s strong arms wrapping themselves around me, pulling me close against his body, making me feel safe and pressing the air out of my lungs.
Chapter Eight: Camden
She was sleeping soundly when I got back that night. I ate fried chicken in bed, fighting off exhaustion, and watched a game show on mute. I left her waffles in the bag on the table.
Finally, once my stomach stopped growling, I managed to pass out to the sound of her steady breathing in the bed beside mine.
I didn’t dream. I hadn’t dreamt in a long time, not since I got involved with the cartel. Not since I did the things I hated doing, all for the “greater good,” or whatever bullshit my handlers were espousing that day.
Cold blackness. One second the weak light from the TV made the room look blue, and the next the sun was streaming in through the windows.
I rolled over, groggy, and froze.
“Lacey?” I called out.
Her bed was empty, the covers thrown back. I was immediately up and pulling my pants back on. I checked my gun and slipped it into my waistband as I checked the bathroom.
“Lacey?” I called out again. The bathroom was empty. I moved back out into the main room, my head spinning.
Two seconds later, something scratched at the door. The lock clicked open, and my gun was out in my hands, aimed directly at the chest of whoever was coming in, my brain spinning.
And then Lacey was there, staring at me.
“Camden?”
I blinked at her. “I couldn’t find you.” I lowered the gun.
“I got us some coffee.” She held up two cups, her eyes wide with fear.
“Fuck, Lacey,” I said, sitting down. “You nearly fucking killed me.”
“Sorry.” She sat down next to me.
“You can’t go somewhere without telling me. Not right now.”
“So I’m a captive and
a fugitive?”
“Yeah, you are.” I stood up and moved away from her. “At least until we get to Alaska.”
“Yeah, about that. What happens in Alaska?”
“Trip knows some people. They’ll set us up with new identities, help us disappear.”
“Disappear where, though?”
“We might come back into the States. But Canada would probably be better.”