The voice repeating reassurances is a far cry from Gael’s rich, accented boom. Instead, it emanates from the man beside me in what appears to be a back seat. I’m not in my room.
This is a moving car.
I’m… free.
“That’s it,” the voice assures. “Look at me.”
The soft words come from a blonde-haired mountain sitting next to me. His neck is bent at an odd angle, allowing him to cram his huge height in the car.
Hyland hasn’t changed much since we briefly met. Perhaps there are a few more stress-induced lines around his mouth and seemingly endless, olive-toned eyes.
The earthy hue is stark against his tanned skin and flowing, long hair. It’s a shame he’s known to be a grumpy asshole, despite being blessed with a body and complexion like that.
“Wh-Where am I?”
“Highway,” he offers in a deep voice, reminiscent of deafening ocean waves. “Searching for somewhere to stop. Our ride won’t be here for a day or so.”
Blinking rapidly, it takes time for the greyscale memories of the estate to vanish from my vision. More so than a nightmare, I think my mind was convinced I would wake up back in that prison.
I’ve startled awake from dreams of home enough times to be confronted by my bleak reality. Each time I endured that horrifying realisation, another piece of my soul splintered.
Only now, the bare walls and twenty-four-hour surveillance of my prison aren’t the reality that’s taunting me. Freedom is. And somehow, that feels even more terrifying to me.
“Our ride?” I clear my dry throat.
“Sabre’s private jet,” Axel explains from up front.
Hyland shifts in his seat. “We’re waiting for evac.”
“And getting the fuck out of here! Whoop!”
Slim body twisted in his seat, the newest addition to Warner’s team balances his laptop on his lap as he smiles. Axel was incessantly wisecracking and babbling before I passed out.
With his purple hair, slicked up in unmoving spikes, and symmetrical, boyish features that complement his unusual honey eyes, he seems to radiate an intoxicating kind of energy.
It’s a bizarre contrast to the countless inches of visible skin that he’s wrapped in black tattoos. Arms. Hands. Throat. Even his fingers are tattooed. The ink fits well with his quirky style.
“This delay is ridiculous.” Hyland scratches the light blonde scruff that smothers his jaw and cheeks. “We should just take a commercial flight.”
“You know as well as I do that it isn’t safe.” The back of Warner’s salt-and-pepper head shakes in the driver’s seat as he speaks.
“Holing up in a shit motel isn’t safe either,” Hyland groans.
“It’s the best option we have, and that’s final,” Warner deadpans. “We’ll rest up in the meantime.”
“Fine.”
The power dynamic behind their terse exchange reveals a few things. When I was taken, Warner was a part of the Anaconda Team. Now he seems to be the one leading it.
“I hate this.” Wincing, Hyland rubs his awkwardly bent neck. “Tell HQ to hurry up.”
Axel concentrates on the map that fills his laptop screen. “Stop complaining.”
“Fuck off, pup.”
“Believe me… If I could, I would.”
Flipping the bird over his shoulder, Axel studies the two-lane road we’re driving along, searching for stopping points. We must’ve been travelling for a few hours if dawn broke while I was out of it.
