You Won't Know I'm Gone
Page 25
As we pull away from the infrequent, dim lights of the river town, we’re swallowed back into darkness. I push my foot against the gas pedal, picking up speed, racing toward so many unknowns. My eyes glance sideways at Luke. He sits, stone-faced, his jaw tight and eyes staring straight ahead, his hands wrapped around the gun on his lap.
“I didn’t have a choice, Luke,” I say, my voice more forceful than I meant for it to be. I want him to look at me. But when I glance at him again, he’s still staring straight ahead.
“There’s always a choice, Reagan,” he finally replies, his voice strained, like he’s trying to control an underlying fury. “There’s always another way. But your mind was made up over a year ago. There’s nothing anyone could have done to change it … to change you.”
We drive in silence for the next mile and a half. With one bullet, I’ve shattered my life forever. But as I look over at Luke, I realize I’ve shattered his too. Despite his pleading. And without his permission.
“Are you angry with me?” I ask, my voice wobbly, struggling to get out each syllable.
“I don’t know what I am right now,” Luke says with a long, low breath. “All I know is I’m not nearly as angry as the other voice that will soon be in our heads.”
I glance over as Luke points to his earpiece. And he’s absolutely right. Not more than thirty seconds later, I hear the voice of my father.
“Reagan Elizabeth Hillis,” his voice booms into my ear. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was thinking about killing the man who destroyed our family,” I answer back, trying to find some defiance, but afraid I sound more like a willful teenager being berated for sneaking out after curfew.
“We were on him!” my father screams. “We were monitoring the situation back here.”
“Nothing was happening! He’s killed or injured at least half a dozen Black Angels all because he wanted me,” I answer, gripping the steering wheel. “I had to go after him, Dad. Even if it meant I died, maybe then the violence would have ended. I couldn’t let him target any more Black Angels. I couldn’t live with myself if someone else ended up dead.”
I leave out the fact that Torres somehow knew the names of everyone in my life who mattered. His promise to destroy us all, even after he was gone.
He was lying. He was lying. He was lying.
I rock my body back and forth in my seat as my mind whispers these words over and over again. But they do little to untie the noose wrapped around my chest. Because what if his threat wasn’t the last desperate manipulation of a psychopath? What if every word he said was true?
“There are procedures for a reason, Reagan.” My father’s voice soars in my ears. “Now you’ve got one of the most dangerous men on the planet heading right for you.”
“Reagan, listen to me for a second.” Sam’s voice comes through my earpiece and I can almost see her pushing my father away from the microphone. “Torres’s brother and second in command, Fernando, was in that second car. I’m sure all they did was take a quick look at the security cameras on their vehicles to find out it was you and Luke. We have the pilot up and at the airport now. He’s fueling the plane and will be ready to go when you get there. The airport is still ten miles away. You better speed up or you’re not going to make it. Fernando will find a way to catch up with you.”
“I can do it,” I answer and step on the gas, watching the needle rise from 100 miles per hour to 125 miles per hour.
“Okay, good,” Sam answers, her voice calming my rattling nerves. “Now, do you remember where the airport is?”
“Yes, it’s down that hidden dirt road on the right-hand side,” I answer as I dig through my memory. “Right after the billboard for some type of beer. Bali Hai, I think.”
“That’s right,” Sam says into my ear.
“Sam, where are we going?” I ask, pushing the earpiece farther into my ear. “Once we get on the plane, where are we going?”
My question is answered with a few seconds of silence. I assume Sam is checking with the rest of CORE before relaying the information to me. “I can’t tell you that, Reagan,” she finally says after several beats. “We just need to get you guys out of the country. Get you somewhere safe.”
“When can we come back home?” I ask, my voice squeaking on the very last word.
Several more seconds of silence follows and I can feel Luke’s body tense next to me. “I don’t know,” she finally answers, her voice soft. “I don’t know when you can come back.”
Out of my peripheral vision, I can see Luke’s head fall, hit by the reality of what’s being taken away from him. What I’ve single-handedly done to him.
That ember that flamed at my stomach is gone. Snuffed out, just like I knew it would be, the moment I saw the blood fall from the hole in Torres’s skull. But what’s replaced it is something far worse. A bubbling acid ripples against my aching stomach lining, causing sores and rips and tears; a toxic mixture of guilt and fear and something I didn’t expect: remorse. Sam was right. My body feels like it’s been burned from the inside out. I move my tongue around the inside of my mouth, expecting it to be filled with ash.
“I’m sorry, Sam,” I say weakly, even though I’m not quite sure she hears me. But a moment later, she sighs on the other end. And I know what she’s thinking.
I warned you.
“There’s no time for apologies,” she finally answers. “Just get to that airport, Reagan. We’re monitoring you both on the satellites and Fernando is gaining on you. You’ve got to go faster.”
I push the pedal to the floor, racing toward the shadow of Sumatra’s volcanic mountains, the car shaking against the uneven pavement of the highway. I stare down at my speed and watch the needle push from 125 to 140 miles per hour.
The car hits a big bump and I pray our tire doesn’t go flat. Luke grabs at the armrests to steady himself. But the wheels keep turning, moving closer to the airport.
“Hang on, Luke,” I reply as his hands settle back to the gun on his lap. His body turns around in his seat, his eyes searching out the back window for Fernando’s headlights.
“How far are they now, Sam?” he says into his earpiece.
“They’re still gaining,” she replies, her voice heavy back in DC. I hear the click, click, click of her biting her thumbnail as she checks the satellites. “They are less than a mile from you now.”
“Shit,” I say, staring down at my speed. “I don’t think I can go much faster. How far away are we?”
“Two miles,” Sam answers. “Just keep it steady. You’re almost there.”
“Make sure that pilot is ready to take off the second we get there,” I say, my voice rising as I push the accelerator down as far as it will go.
“He knows,” Sam answers and I can hear her typing on the other end. “He’s fueled up. He’s sitting on the runway. The second you guys get on, he’ll take off.”
“Okay,” I say, taking in a shaky breath as we zip past a lone big-wheeled truck, probably carrying his load to the next, tiny populated town. The car is flying down the highway, but everything around me seems to be happening in slow motion. My movements, my breaths, Luke turning around to watch for Fernando out our back window. It’s like I’m outside my body, watching this all happen to someone else.
“I think I see them,” Luke says and I look up in my rearview mirror to see two tiny headlights, like pinpricks against the black, in the distance.
“Yeah, that’s them,” Sam answers. “They’re just over half a mile behind now. But you’re almost there. Turn coming up, Reagan. Do. Not. Miss. It.”
“Copy,” I say, my eyes spotting the billboard in the distance. Just to the right of the billboard, the faint lights of the tiny private airport.
My foot pushes down on the accelerator as we race closer to our waiting plane, our only escape from certain kidnapping, torture, and death.
“You’ve got this, Reagan,” Luke says quietly next to me, anxiety and adrenaline causing both of
his knees to bounce.
I ease up for a moment on the accelerator as we approach the turn, scared I’ll tip the Jeep over and kill us both. The tires squeal against the road as I make a wild, right turn onto the dirt-covered, rocky street of the airport. The gravel goes flying beneath our tires and a cloud of dust surrounds our Jeep as I race down the bumpy road.
“We’re here,” I say, scanning the airport for the plane. “I don’t see the plane.”
“It’s at the other end of the runway,” Sam answers.
“Damn it,” I spit and look into my rearview mirror for Fernando. “They’ll try to cut us off on the runway.”
“We didn’t exactly have much time to fuel up and get out of here,” Sam yells back. “Just get to the plane.”
I turn left onto the runway and hit the gas, reaching almost 150 miles per hour as I race toward our waiting plane.
We pull the Jeep beside the plane and jump out. Just as my feet hit the pavement, I see headlights pulling off the highway.
“Shit,” I say and race up the plane’s steps with Luke right on my heels.
“Go, go, go!” Luke screams at the pilot as he pulls up the private plane’s steps, locking them into place. “They’re right behind us.”
The pilot pulls down on the throttle and the wheels begin to move, picking up speed with every passing second. Luke and I lean down, looking out the pilot’s window, silently hoping the sight of our plane in motion will slow down Fernando and his team. But it doesn’t.
Luke grabs on to my arm as the SUV races down the bumpy road then turns onto the runway. Just as I feared.
“They’re going to try to cut us off,” I scream at the pilot. “We’ve got to get airborne.”
“I’m trying,” he yells back, pulling down harder on the throttle, the plane racing down the runway as the headlights head directly for us.
“Oh my god,” Luke whispers next to me as both the plane and SUV race toward each other in a deadly game of chicken.
Fifty yards away. Forty yards away. Thirty yards away.
I grab on to Luke’s arm, my mind begging, pleading, screaming. Please God. Please God. Please God.
“Oh god,” I whisper, my grip tightening. “They’re gonna hit us. They’re gonna kill us.”
When we are fifteen yards away from the SUV, I feel the nose of the plane point toward the air and lift off. A second more and we’re completely off the ground. Luke and I fall backward and grab on to the seats behind us. We strap ourselves in and I look out the oval plane window in time to see the SUV stopped on the runway, a group of men illuminated by twin beams of light. They point up to the sky, shouting, and I can only imagine the irate words on their lips, the promise of revenge.
EPILOGUE
Luke stirs in the seat across from me. His eyes are closed but he’s not asleep. His breaths are too deep and angry. Too far under his conscious control. He’s avoiding me. But I’ll take it. I don’t know what to say. How to apologize for ruining his life. Making him a wanted man. Putting a price on his head.
The pilot still won’t tell us where we’re going. Just that we’re being taken to a safe house somewhere outside of Indonesia. We’ve been crossing a dark ocean for an hour, so I can only assume we’re heading west. Toward Europe, perhaps? Africa, maybe? Russia? Either way, we’re not going home. And at this point, I don’t know if we’ll ever go home.
I trace the lines of Luke’s face in the dim light and bite down hard on my lip as the corners of my eyes sting with tears. What have I done to him? He was months away from making the training academy. Months away from fulfilling a lifelong dream of serving his country, helping others. And I stole that from him. I stole him from his family and friends. With one bullet, I took away several lives. Torres’s. Luke’s. My own.
My fingers dig deep into my hip bones until the tears retreat. I don’t deserve to cry. I don’t deserve to cleanse myself in any way. I will always be dirty. There’s no amount of tears, no amount of holy water that can take away my sins. I’ve killed others. But that was because I had to. They were trying to kill me. Kill or be killed. But Torres. I dreamed about it. I planned it. For over a year. I stare down at my hands, hold them up to my face. Torres’s blood freckles my skin. A shiver runs through my body as I realize these are no longer the hands of a Black Angel. They’re the hands of a cold-blooded killer.
I choke down the bile rising up my throat, shove my blood-covered hands under my legs, and press my forehead against the plane window. The sun is rising from a black, bottomless ocean, its light reaching out for me, like a long, accusing finger.
What have you done, Reagan? What will you do?
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To Jean Feiwel, Kat Brzozowski, Lauren Scobell, Kelsey Marrujo, Ashley Woodfolk, Brittany Pearlman, Emily Settle, Holly West, Rich Deas, Starr Baer, Raymond Colón, and the entire rock-star team at Macmillan: You’ve changed my life. My love and gratitude for all of you is boundless. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I am one lucky author.
To Merrilee Heifetz: I couldn’t ask for a more encouraging, compassionate, and loving person to call my agent. I won the lottery with you. To Allie Levick: I will always be grateful. Thank you for believing in my writing and all the stories I want to tell.
To the amazing authors I’m now lucky enough to call friends: I’m so happy to have you on this journey with me. Thank you for the constant love and support. To Kayla Olson: Thank you so much for your friendship and for the daily motivation with this book. To Sara Shepard: Thank you for your kindness, words of wisdom, and guidance.
To my friends: I’m so fortunate to have such special people in my life. Whether you were at signings, sending me enthusiastic messages, or helping me patch plot holes, your endless encouragement means the world.
To my readers: It’s a total dream come true to create stories for you. The privilege to write books you want to read is not lost on me. I’m so grateful for each and every one of you.
To my family: You guys are my biggest cheerleaders. I feel your love and pride in everything I do. Thank you for shaping me into the person I am today.
To Samantha Rose: Sweet girl, you make me so happy. Your smile is the best part of my day. I love you so much.
To Michael: Thank you for being the most supportive husband a girl could ever ask for. There’s no one I’d rather have by my side in life than you. You have given me everything and I’m so grateful. My love for you has no end.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Writing is one of the great loves of Kristen Orlando’s life and she has been lucky enough to make it her living, first as a television producer, then as a marketer and now as a novelist. Kristen graduated with a B.A. in English literature from Kenyon College. She lives in Columbus, Ohio with the other great love of her life, Michael. You Don’t Know My Name is her debut novel. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
&nbs
p; Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 2018 by Kristen Orlando.
A SWOON READS BOOK
An imprint of Feiwel and Friends and Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010
swoonreads.com
All rights reserved.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017944699
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First hardcover edition, 2018
eBook edition, January 2018
eISBN 9781250123626