Chapter 40 Willow #2
“No, but it was close, I think. It came out so patchy, and the color was definitely wrong. It was more like a carrot-y orange than red, and that was in between the patches of blonde. And whatever was in it fried the hell out of my hair, so it was a dry, frizzy mess for weeks.”
“Oof,” Ransom says, trying to hold back his laughter. “At least you managed to fix it eventually. Your hair is beautiful now.”
That makes my cheeks flush, even though it’s far from the first compliment I’ve gotten from him. “It bounced back eventually. With a lot of conditioner.”
“Did you steal that too?” he asks.
“Yeah, from Misty.”
“You little rebel. I wish we’d known you back then. I bet it would have been fun.”
I smile, a little wistful at the thought. “Yeah, me too.”
Ransom steps back and takes the gloves off, tossing them in the trash. “Okay, you’re done. Now we just have to let it process for half an hour or so.”
Before I can reply, low, angry voices from the other room catch our attention. The two of us exchange glances and then step out quickly to see what’s going on.
Vic is sitting in front of his computer at the little kitchenette counter, Malice standing at his shoulder, and there’s a message pulled up on the screen. My stomach drops, because I can already guess who it’s from.
“Olivia. What does she want now?” I ask, almost afraid to find out.
“She knows Malice was almost arrested in Oklahoma City, which means she knows we were there,” Vic tells me, his voice tight. “She says we’re not covering our tracks well enough, and that it’s only a matter of time before we make a mistake. So she’s offering us a deal.”
“What deal?” My gaze flicks from Vic to Malice, who’s gripping the back of his twin’s chair hard enough that I’m worried he’ll break it.
“She offered us ten million dollars to bring you back to her,” Malice growls, sounding furious and disgusted.
“What?” My eyes widen, and I step closer to read over Vic’s shoulder.
Sure enough, there it is. My stomach sours as I read the text, reminded of the way Olivia offered to sweeten the deal when she was trying to negotiate with me—offering me something I wanted instead of threatening me with something I didn’t.
“She’s so fucking manipulative,” I whisper.
“We’re not taking it,” Ransom says immediately, and Malice grunts, as if that’s obvious.
“Of course we’re not.”
I swallow hard, trying to be comforted by how quickly the men rejected her offer, instead of horrified by the fact that my grandmother is trying to buy me back.
And is that ten million dollars part of the money she would get from offering me up for marriage to some other family like Troy’s after the brothers returned me to her? Or is she really so rich that she has that much wealth to spare?
I suppose it’s possible that she doesn’t have it at all and is just trying to bluff her way into getting the guys to bring me back.
But either way, the light, comfortable mood from before is gone now, snuffed out like a candle flame.
Tension fills the cramped RV, and Vic taps his fingers against the table, a relentless rhythm that shows how agitated he is.
“Should we tell her to fuck off?” Ransom asks.
Malice shakes his head, still glaring at the screen. If that laptop wasn’t so precious to Vic, I have a feeling he’d be tempted to snap it in half. “No. That message doesn’t deserve a goddamned response. I’m done talking to that bitch.”
“He’s right,” Vic agrees. “There’s no point in replying. For now, we just need to keep our heads down and get the rest of the way across the border. We stick to our plan.”
Olivia’s message kicks the guys into action, and they start to prep for the last leg of this trip while I wait for my hair to be ready to rinse. Once it is, I go back into the bathroom and get in the shower, stepping under the pitiful lukewarm trickle.
Dark brown water runs down my body to swirl down the drain as I wash the dye out of my hair, and I keep going until it runs clear. Then I wash myself up quickly and step out, clearing steam off the mirror with the towel in my hand.
As I catch a sight of my reflection, I have to stare for a second.
It’s me, but it sure as hell doesn’t look like me.
Something about my blonde hair made me look…
softer, more innocent, I guess. The new dark color highlights my rough edges more—or maybe that’s just from everything I’ve been through these last few weeks.
I can see it in my eyes too. A new hardness, something sharper and less delicate than what was there before.
I shake my head, breaking myself out of my musing. After towel drying my hair, I rub a little lotion onto my new tattoo and then get dressed before stepping out into the other room.
“All done?” Malice asks, looking me over.
“Yup.” I fluff out my still damp hair. “What do you think of the new me?”
He smirks, lifting a dark brow. “It’s the same you, Solnyshka. Just with different hair.”
That makes me smile, and I join them as we leave the RV. “So, it’s fake ID time?” I ask, and Malice nods.
My body protests a bit as we pile back into the car, but at least it’s just going to be for a short trip this time.
We’re in the car for maybe twenty minutes, driving into the city and then pulling up outside of what looks like a small, unremarkable storefront.
It could be a convenience store or something like that, and there are signs for various brands of cigarettes and beer in the windows.
The bell over the door chimes when we walk in, and a bored looking girl is behind the counter, barely paying attention. When Malice walks up to the counter, she lifts her head and stares up at him.
“Can I help you?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
“We’re here to see Chuck,” he says. “He missed our poker game last week.”
His words make no sense to me at first, but then I realize it must be some kind of code. The guy who told the brothers about this place must’ve also given them that information.
The girl hesitates for only a second, her gaze flicking over the rest of us as if evaluating whether we’re a threat. Then she jerks her chin. “All the way to the back. Hang a left past the Gatorade.”
Malice grunts his thanks, motioning for us to follow. All three of the brothers are on alert, and I notice that they keep me between them, almost like they’re forming a shield around me with their bodies.
When we make it to the back, the door is locked. Malice knocks hard, three times, and the door inches open a little.
“What?” someone barks.
“Aces wild,” Malice murmurs, which I assume is also code. “We need some documents made.”
“You can pay?” whoever’s inside—presumably Chuck—asks.
Malice pulls out a rolled wad of cash, letting that speak for itself. There’s a moment of silence, and then the door creaks open all the way.
“Come in,” the man says.
He ushers us into a back room, stuffed absolutely full of various equipment.
There are cameras and a massive printer and some other devices I can’t even identify.
Chuck is a tall guy, almost taller than Malice, with tired eyes and twitchy hands.
He’s on the skinny side, except for a slight potbelly that hangs over his belt.
“What are you after?” he asks, adjusting his belt and glancing at Malice, seeming to suss out that he’s the one in charge.
“We need passports made.”
“Four of ’em?”
Malice nods. “And they need to hold up.”
Chuck sniffs. “They always fucking hold up. Don’t worry about it. Payment first.”
He names an amount of money that makes my stomach drop, but Malice doesn’t even blink. He nods and hands over the cash, and Chuck counts it meticulously before nodding. He moves around the small space easily, setting things up.
Then he takes a closer look at each one of us, sizing us up as he rubs his hand over his chin.
His attention lands on me last, and one of his eyebrows slides upward a little, his gaze tracking up and down my body.
I’ve been ogled much worse and much more obviously by guys at the strip club I used to work at, so I barely even register the fact that he’s checking me out—but all three of the Voronin brothers react immediately.
Vic and Ransom move in protectively on either side of me as Malice steps toward Chuck, narrowing his eyes.
“We’re on a tight schedule here,” he snaps. “So move it along.”
“Alright, alright. Jesus. I’m moving.”
Chuck holds up his hands in a gesture of peace, slumping his shoulders a little as if to make it clear he’s not trying to start some shit. He clears his throat and motions to the empty wall where a backdrop has been set up to look exactly like the one at the DMV.
“Whoever’s first, then,” he says, glancing toward us but avoiding looking at me.
It’s a pretty straightforward process, getting the fake passports made.
He takes our pictures and asks us some questions, assigning fake names and ages but using our actual heights and weights.
He does a few things on his computer, muttering to himself under his breath as he works, then we wait while he prints the photos and assembles the little booklets.
He hands me mine, still barely looking at me, and I take it, opening it up and reading the name written next to my picture: Christina Peters.
Once he’s given each of the guys their passports as well, he jerks a nod at Malice and shuffles back over to sit at his computer. Without another word, we leave the little back room and head out through the front of the store, passing by the girl who greeted us.
On the drive back to the RV, I shove my fake ID into my pocket as the guys fall into their usual habit of batting around ideas, strategizing about our next step.
“There’s no point in drawing this out,” Vic is saying. “We need to get out of here, especially now that we know for sure there’s a warrant out on Malice.”
“It’ll take a couple days to get everything we need together,” Ransom chimes in. “Is it safe to stay at the RV park?”
Vic considers that and then nods. “Safe as anything else. I’ll keep an eye on police chatter if I can, and see if I can pick anything up. But at this point, we’re close enough to the border that we just need to make a move.”
“We’ll need a new ride,” Malice grunts. “I’ll see what’s around.”
Ransom’s blue-green eyes light up. He straightens up beside me, the sleeves of his dark t-shirt stretching a little as he rests his arms on the back of the seat. “Oh, about that. I have a great idea.”
Victor and Malice share a loaded look in the front, and I glance between the three of them, confused. “What? What’s your idea?”
Ransom shoots me a look, grinning broadly. “Don’t worry, pretty girl. It’ll be fun. Trust me.”