Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Trees loom on both sides, darkness surrounding me, and I look behind me, keeping an eye out for the old car with its headlights off from earlier. And for Madoc who might still be out looking for me if Lucas hasn’t texted him to tell him I’m home.
He continues to ascend the hill, disappearing around the corner, and I groan, my muscles on fire. An e-bike was a fantastic idea. Why did I resist it?
The road splits in two, but you can’t go to the left. It’s a one-way exit for the other highway, only for oncoming traffic. I veer right, continuing on, but as I reach the top of the incline, I don’t see him. There are no cars. Nothing on the long stretch ahead.
I look around for turnoffs and then behind me, in case he pulled off, but he’s gone.
Where the hell did he go? There’s nothing for miles.
But I can’t stay out here, and I’m not riding down some dark, lonely, gravel road. I got braver tonight, but not that brave.
Turning around, I head back into town, my head swirling. Where was he going? Who was in that car that he recognized? Who was in that damn car that followed me?
Why don’t I tell him to stay?
So many questions, but as usual, I’m the last to answer them. I’m always the one who knows the least, the one no one trusts to be up for a little fun. Or even better, to lead.
There’s only one thing I want more than Lucas Morrow, and that’s my freedom from him. My freedom from everyone who loves me, in fact. From everyone who thinks they know me.
I park the bike in the alley behind the bakery, take my chain lock, and head inside. Once in the hideout, I climb the spiral staircase, loop my bike lock around the handle and the latch, securing the door tightly from the inside.
One door down, two more to go.
The hideout is mine now.
Lucas
I envy Farrow Kelly and Noah Van der Berg. For their youth. For their proximity to everything I love.
Unease has been chipping away at my mind like a pickax, and talking to Quinn tonight on the phone made it worse.
I want to go home. To Dubai.
I miss the restaurants. I miss the pool at my gym. I miss coming into my office building and hearing the music Isobel has playing because she’s already been there for two hours and loves having the place to herself before everyone arrives in the morning.
My mind calms there.
But I’m dreading every minute that passes too. Every second that takes me closer to my flight leaving. Why?
The time on my phone reads 1:36 a.m.
The party still goes on. Sitting in my car at the curb, blending between two SUVs, I can’t take my eyes off the firehouse about thirty yards down the street.
Green Street. The name of the road, the firehouse, and the people inside. The headquarters of Weston’s racketeering, which according to my research, includes crime that isn’t as petty as I’d hoped it had become in Drew’s absence. Hard drugs, weapons, embezzlement, thievery, prostitution…
Hugo Navarre runs it now, and I guess that’s who’s been trying to call me. It’s a local phone number that I didn’t have saved, and with the car parked outside of my house a couple of days ago, it’s a safe assumption they know I’m back.
Green Street wasn’t always bad, and Weston wasn’t always rundown. The faded red brick firehouse still stands three-stories tall, surrounded by a parking area overrun with grass and weeds, unmanicured trees, and a quiet road, dilapidated from years of neglect. The town is a quarter of what it used to be. Maybe two-thousand people now. There are no police, and barely any businesses to service the community.
This mill town across the river from Shelburne Falls was once an eclectic place, I’m told, with hiking trails, restaurants, and community gatherings like carnivals, car cruises, and bingo nights at the VFW. Always a little poorer than Shelburne Falls, but it had its own character.
Unfortunately, a flood more than twenty years ago instigated a mass evacuation, and most of the citizens never returned. There’s a spot in the forest full of cars that had to be moved off the streets when they were abandoned in traffic because no one could get out, and people needed to find higher ground quickly.
Many houses were destroyed, but the buildings downtown still stand. The massive warehouses, mills, and anything made of brick. The thousand or so windows that once had lives and stories playing out behind them are now just views into rooms of silence.
I glance down at my shoes, the ones I wore to the gym when I tried not to look for her, or wait for her, when I was there earlier. Caked in fresh earth, I shouldn’t have worn them out to the forest tonight. They’ll leave easily identifiable tracks.