Must have been an animal because I don’t see a person. Or people. Zero movement. Nor do I have a bullet in me. So, for now, I’m still good to go. But I stay on panic alert. It’s too dark to see much with only the moonlight filtering in through the canopy of trees. I keep my knife at the ready as I pick my way through the forest, heading toward the road. It’s easy to get turned around, but that won’t happen because I lived here before Gomorrah owned this area. Thomas, Roger, and I needed a break from the filth and congestion of the city. We spent over a year in this forest, and I know every pine, every river, every wet marsh. We were a happy, makeshift family, living off the land like modern frontier folk until I ruined everything by returning to Orlando.
That’s where I ran into David, and everything went to hell.
And then I see it—Roger’s blue sedan sitting on the side of Highway 42. I let out a choked cry of relief and break into a dead sprint.
He already has the door open when I reach the car. “What took you so long?”
I struggle to catch my breath as I slide off the backpack. “Seriously?”
He slams the car into drive and takes off like a bullet but then slows to blend in with the other cars driving away from Gomorrah. “I was worried.”
I yank on my seat belt. “Did we do it? Is he out?”
Roger nods. “Yeah. But there was a hiccup. Thomas will explain when they get there. Relax, Jamie. He’s safe. They’re on their way.” And then he notices my face. “What the hell?”
I duck my head and glance away. “A parting gift from my wonderful husband.”
Roger rakes a hand through his thick blond hair. “Wraith’s going to be pissed.”
I push the hood off then wipe my sweaty palms on my thighs. “Wraith has worse things to be pissed about, don’t you think? Besides it doesn’t matter. We’re free. By this time tomorrow, we’ll be sleeping under a Mayhem moon.”
Roger rolls his eyes. “Don’t go getting dramatic on me, Jamie.”
“I think I’ve earned the right to wax poetic.” Adrenaline’s a bitch and has me shaking so badly, my teeth are literally chattering. I rub my hands together and focus on the road. “You should be coming with us.”
He rolls his lips and shakes his head. “What sort of man would I be if I walked away when there’s still work to be done?”
“A smart one.”
He reaches over to smooth a hand over my hair. “I’ll be fine, and I’m not going ghost on you. I’ll keep in contact. And Thomas will be in Spring Hill. If anything goes sideways, he has my back, so it’s not like I’ll be alone.”
I swallow hard, but everything’s rushing around inside me. My heart’s pumping too hard. My brain’s buzzing. I’m lightheaded. Like, the last two years are slamming into me all at once. “This is a bad idea. You should both just come to Mayhem.”
He shakes his head, his expression grim. “We’ve been over this. Someone needs to know what’s happening in Gomorrah, and Thomas won’t leave his family. But let’s say he does get them to Mayhem. David will know he had something to do with the escape. He’ll figure out Thomas’s connection to me, and I’ll be in a world of shit.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I just want you both with me.”
“And we will be,” he promises. “When this is over. Whether it’s in Mayhem or somewhere else, we’ll be together like we were before…”
“Before I screwed up and married David,” I finish for him.
“Yep,” he agrees with a laugh. “Before you acted like a normal human being and trusted someone you thought was a decent person who offered you a chance at a good life.”
With a flick of my wrist, I gesture to our situation. “And look where it got us.”
But our conversation abruptly ends because Blessed Souls Crematorium comes into view.
“There.” Roger points to a black utility van parked behind the white building.
The ordinary-looking work vehicle, a rental by its appearance, sits silent sentry, engine off, lights killed, in the building’s otherwise empty parking lot. The driver’s door opens, and out pours an older, taller, muscular, andveryintimidating version of the boy who’d once vowed to be my first kiss.
He wasn’t.
The honor belongs to Wraith the day of my arrest.
I suspect Luke earned the name Jester because from what I remember of him, he was a comedian. Always had everyone laughing with his wicked humor and inappropriate remarks. I see none of that boy now as he stalks toward the sedan. The flop of golden-brown hair does nothing to soften his lethal edge as he closes the distance between us. It takes every ounce of courage not to cower in the seat as over six feet of all-American arrogance yanks open the passenger door and pulls me out of the car.
Jester gives me the once-over, his amber eyes missing nothing. “Look at Jamie Ellis all growed up and pretty as fuck.” But then he grabs my chin and examines my bruised face, his frown terrifying. “What happened?”
