Page 85 of Sterling Clay

I can’t remember but I’m leaning toward the possibility I did not when the driver’s side door opens.

A man with a weathered face and dark, shoulder-length hair stares back at me. The scent of cigarettes, worn leather, and cheap cologne conflicts with the freshness of new falling snow.

I scream before finding my voice which comes out raspy and stressed. “Darren.”

“Scar,” he reminds me.

Instantly, I shift in my seat glancing at Dutton strapped into the back. I quickly turn toward Darren. Scar. Fear fills me.

“Looks like you’re in a pickle, Mavis.” He bitterly chuckles. “And I realize I’m not exactly your knight in shining armor.”

“I’ve called 911.” I lie, unwilling to admit I don’t have my phone and have no way to call for help.

“I have a better idea. Why don’t you come with me for a while?”

“Darren,” I plead. “We’ve just been in an accident. Dutton might need medical assistance.” I don’t want Darren looking at Dutton. Don’t want him anywhere near the boy, but I’m also hoping he might find a pinch of pity in his measly heart.

Compassion for the child he deserted.

“I’ll take you to an urgent care.”

This small town doesn’t have one nearby. “The hospital would be better.” Soon, I’ll be considered missing from work and entering the emergency room is our best hope of getting away from Darren.

The man gives me a long hard look. The scar on his face accentuated by the ruddiness of his skin in the cold temperature. He’s a long way from Florida or wherever he’s been hiding.

“I’ll take care of you.”

I could argue, questioning if his version of care was like how he took care of my sister, a woman he claimed to love? But arguing with him would not be in my best interest, or Dutton’s.

When he clutches my arm, I know better than to fight him. A struggle will only make him grip harder, and I don’t want to frighten Dutton. I need to be with Dutton at all times. I need to be cognizant for him.

I awkwardly slip out of the Jetta, discovering my legs are trembling like the rest of me. Shock on two levels is kicking in—the slip into the ditch and Darren’s presence.

He leaves me beside the open driver’s door, knowing I won’t run. I won’t leave Dutton, and I follow behind Darren, not wanting his hands on Dutton. He easily opens the rear passenger door, and picks up my son, tucking him into his chest. Dutton doesn’t struggle, but his eyes remain on me.

“It’s okay, buddy. He’s going to take us to the hospital.” I don’t address who Darren is. Dutton has no recollection of a father in his life. He didn’t have a father. Darren was simply a sperm donor.

When Darren places his hand protectively on Dutton’s back, the gesture startles me. Carrying Dutton, he slips once in the wetness of the ditch wall before finishing the climb to the road. He doesn’t have the proper boost seat for a child, and I want to suggest we should just wait for the 911 call I didn’t make to dispatch emergency vehicles. But it’s cold this morning, and as the call is a lie, I don’t have time to waste hoping someone else will pass our location. I’m surprised no one noticed us slide into the ditch.

“Hate these cages,” Darren mutters about his pickup truck, setting Dutton inside the cab. I practically push Darren out of the way, ensuring I enter the truck as well, and Darren doesn’t shove me out of the way, then drive off with Dutton.

Being paranoid, I’m overly cautious for good reason. You don’t grow up in a motorcycle club with potential kidnapping survival training for nothing.

As Darren circles around the hood of the truck, I glance around the cab for anything that can be used as a weapon or protection. Then Darren hops easily into the driver’s seat and I tug Dutton to my side and buckle us together in one seatbelt.

If I thought Darren honestly meant he was taking us to the hospital, that he had a momentary lapse into being a good man, I was a fool. And as we drive out of town, away from both Sterling Falls and the direction of the hospital, I know Dutton and I are in trouble.

Chapter 30

[Clay]

“I have news,” Stone tells me through the speaker phone in the morning as I tip back in my office chair, staring mindlessly at my computer screen.

“The authorities found Wesley.”

I jerk forward, causing the chair to almost hop, and pick up the handset, holding it to my ear as if I can hear him better.

“Where?”