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God fucking damn it.
She’s safe, I remind myself as I pull out behind her and follow the van closely on the road.
She’s safe, and now that we’re escaping, we can keep it that way.
My gut knots, knowing how close we might’ve come to never escaping at all.
Junie might think she knows what she’s doing, but when it comes to the underworld, she’s horribly naïve. Hell, even I’m lacking. It’s been about a solid decade since I last saw combat.
Once she was inside the laundromat, she forgot to keep an eye on what was happening outside. She didn’t notice the way I was watching her through the window. Didn’t notice when I came in, when I walked through the doors, when I grabbed her.
She wouldn’t have noticed a gun in my hand or the chloroform-soaked rag destined to make her another missing person before it even went over her mouth.
There’s no honor in death or abductions.
Every damn time I close my eyes, I canseeit playing out in my head.
They would’ve stuck a gun in her back and forced her to get in their car, maybe. They would take her to a secure location and extract every bit of information they could.
Then they’d kill her or worse—how many women in the wrong place at the wrong time wind up being trafficked?
Too many.
And fuck me, it would be my fault.
I introduced her to Forrest Haute. I dragged her into a fake engagement. I made her lie like the king of all assholes I am.
Junie could havediedand I’d have no one to blame but myself.
I’ve never been shaken like this before, viscerally afraid for her.
It’s like falling off a cliff, only you can’t see the ground.
I’m just spinning, going down, waiting for the impact, and it’s that waiting, that hellish uncertainty, thatunknownthat’s driving me insane.
Also, she’s driving too slow in this traffic.
I squeeze the steering wheel, reminding myself that nothing says guilt like speeding, like running, like relying on gut instinct.
But I imagine her in the car alone.
Is she crying now?
Is she in shock?
Is she driving at a crawl because she’s still trying to process everything that’s happened thanks to me?
My knuckles are about to pop out of my skin.
Snarling, I relax my hands, taking a deep breath. I’ve been checking the rearview mirror every three seconds.
We’re still safe.
For now.
I punch the button on my app as we approach my house and the gates swing open. I close them behind us immediately.
Overdramatic, maybe, but I’m not risking anyone else coming in.
