Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Texas combed through the aisles of second-hand clothes, searching for plain, non-descript items. He wasn’t trying to grab everything he needed at once, just a few pieces here and there.
If you don’t want to get caught, you spread purchases across multiple stores, multiple towns.
Luckily, the small towns along his route to Sudbury made that easy.
He pulled a pair of dark jeans and a long-sleeved shirt from the rack and headed toward the counter.
“Is that all, sir?” the young woman behind the register asked.
Texas glanced around, scanning the ceiling corners for cameras. None were visible. It was the kind of small town where people still believed nothing bad would ever happen here.
“That’s all I need today,” he replied, trying to sound casual.
Then, the cashier’s voice lowered to a teasing giggle. “Are you Jack Reacher?”
Texas froze for a second. The question caught him off guard.
“No,” he said, arching a brow. “Do I look like someone named Jack Reacher?”
“I was kidding,” the girl said, rolling her eyes. “It’s from a movie where the character only buys one change of clothes at a time from a second hand store.”
“Why?” Texas asked, curious how far she’d take it.
She stared at him like he was dense. “He travels light,” she said, clearly annoyed.
Texas chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m working on my Halloween costume,” he said smoothly, not missing a beat.
The cashier folded the jeans and shirt, stuffing them into a plastic bag. “Oh yeah? What are you going as?”
“A killer,” Texas smiled, catching her eye as she rolled hers again.
“That’s so last year’s costume,” she shot back, scanning the tags.
“Okay, then. I’m going as SWAT.”
“Swat what?” she asked, tilting her head as he pulled out his wallet.
“SWAT. Special Weapons and Tactics. A cop,” he said, his patience thinning. He regretted getting tangled in this back and forth.
“Fifteen dollars,” the cashier said, eyes on the register, bored. “You’re weird.”
“And you’re not?” Texas shot back, handing over the cash.
Grabbing the bag, he nodded. “Have a nice day.”
Her quick retort followed as he walked off, “Jerk.”
Walking back to his bike, Texas’s phone rang. He answered quickly, seeing it was Monday.
“Sunday called?” he asked without hesitation.
“Yeah. I’m about to text you where she’s staying. But she has to be out by ten in the morning.”
“Send me the info. I’ll be there.”
“Anything you want me to tell her?”
“I’ll text you. Find out if there’s a diner nearby, just in case I’m late.”
“I’ll send everything as soon as I get it.”
“Sounds good. And Monday?”
“I know. Don’t worry.”
“Yeah.” Hanging up, Texas shoved the plastic bag into the waterproof luggage strapped to his bitch bar and swung a leg over the bike. His timeline was set now. With night already settling in, he’d have to pick up the rest of his supplies once he got to Sudbury.
Firing up the engine, he lingered just long enough to send a quick message to Lynx. He’d need a safe place to stash Sunday while he dealt with her ex.
Pocketing the phone, Texas put the bike in gear and rolled out, leaving another small town fading into the dark behind him.
On the outskirts of town, Texas pulled up to a dusty gas station to top off his fuel tank.
While there, he grabbed a new pair of shades and a trucker hat from the convenience store shelf.
Shoving them into his jacket pocket, he finished fueling up, slid back onto his bike, and headed toward the border.
The club had a guy on the payroll who worked the border crossings.
To get into Canada with his guns, Texas would be running through Buffalo, New York.
He hoped it wouldn’t slow him down, but there was no way he was giving up his guns—or his blades.
Still, he might have to wait until the guy was on duty. Crap.
Two hours later, Texas pulled off the highway to refuel again.
As he reached for his phone, he noticed a couple of texts waiting.
One was from Monday, giving him the name of the motel where Sunday was staying and letting know there was a diner just across the highway where she’d meet him.
That eased some of the tension knotting his gut.
What caught his attention more was the detail that the room was booked under someone else’s name. Smart girl, he thought, a small smile flickering across his face.
The next text confirmed what he’d been dreading. The guy wouldn’t be on duty until four a.m., coming back after his three-day stretch off. That meant Texas would be late getting to Sunday, not by much, but late, nonetheless.
Glancing at his watch, he figured he’d hit Buffalo around eleven that night. He’d have to kill time somehow. He either needed to find a rest stop or grab a hotel for a few hours. Fuck it. He’d find an all-night diner and just sit, keep his eyes open.
And he’d still have to finish his shopping once he got there. It wouldn’t be ideal, but it would have to do.
Texas was about to pull back onto the road when his phone rang again. Seeing it was one of his brothers, he answered immediately, “What’s wrong?”
“Dude, why do you always assume something’s wrong when we call you?” Roan shot back.
“I don’t know, man. Maybe because something’s always wrong when you call. What’s going on? It’s late.”
“Late? You don’t sleep unless you’ve been up for days straight.”
When Texas stayed silent, Roan kept going. “Dad’s checkup went well. Doc said he can get back to work.”
Texas liked hearing that. His dad had recently had two stents put in, and they’d all been worried he wouldn’t bounce back quickly. Which, knowing his dad, would’ve meant plenty of misery for them listening to him grumble about not being dead yet.
“That’s great news,” Texas said, a smirk creeping into his voice. “Now he can get out of Mom’s hair.”
“And back in ours,” Roan laughed, thinking about their poor mom. “When are you coming home?”
Texas weighed what to tell them. “I have to make a detour to North Bay, but I’ll be home in a week.”
“Just in time to start working on cider.”
“Yay, me.”
“Screw you, Ange … you like it.”
Texas laughed. “Yeah, I do. Especially when you get to help clean the vats.”
Ignoring his brother’s jab, Roan was ready to hang up as his wife’s car pulled into the driveway.
“Well, the wife just got back from her Pokeno night, and you know what that means.”
“A drunk Shelley.”
“A fun Shelley.”
“Night, bro.”
Texas hung up, the quiet settling around him. He realized how much he missed his family.
Looking out over the night skyline, he thought about Monday—missing her sister, scared for her. If he wanted to get home to his, he had to get Sunday to her first.