Chapter 31 Sly
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
SLY
Gripping the steering wheel tight, I try to act casual as a police cruiser drives past in the opposite direction.
Nothing to see here, just four escaped convicts and the woman who stole their hearts.
When it’s long gone out of the rearview mirror, I let out a measured breath.
We’d switched into a champagne-colored minivan.
It was hideous, the kind of thing I’d normally despise.
But anonymity mattered more than taste. A soccer-mom van with tinted windows was the best way for the five of us to disappear.
We left the cell phone wedged deep into the back seat of the SUV, hoping it wouldn't get found for a while. If someone was tracking us through either the vehicle or the phone, that should keep them off our backs, at least for now.
“Can we stop for a bathroom break soon?” Wren asks from the seat behind me.
“I think there was a sign for a rest stop coming up in about fifteen minutes. Can you wait that long?”
“Yeah, that’s fine, thanks, Sly.” She reaches forward and gives my shoulder a squeeze of thanks.
I didn’t expect us to be heading back to Arizona so soon. If it were entirely up to me, I’d drive us up into the Canadian wilderness to hide out in a remote cabin off the grid. Not that I had any idea how to live like that, but I’m sure we could figure it out.
But Wren wanted justice for her and for us. And I would not be the one to deny her. Justice was what we did; we’d grown practiced at it. Robert was a higher-profile mark than any we’d faced, but, oddly, we’d been edging toward him for years without quite knowing why.
I still can’t comprehend how she’s been living with one of the biggest mafia heads in the US her entire life and never knew it. Although he’s clearly done a real number on her mind. I still don't believe we even know the full extent of what he’s done to her yet.
He’s been meticulous in the way he raised her, so methodical that much of it could be rationalized to an outsider as protective care rather than cruelty.
We’re only beginning to see the true shape of it.
The psychological games he played, kind words that were lies, passive jabs that tethered her to him, were all instruments of control.
The knowledge of it makes my blood hum with cold anger.
It’s why I’ve been holding myself back with her, taking my time. I don’t want her to think we are love bombing her just to bed her. Not that she’d even know what that means.
My cock is pretty much in a constant state of agony when I’m around her, especially when I get to sleep with her in my arms. I’ve never been one to cuddle before; I've never even slept in a bed with a woman before. Usually, I’m gone the moment the act is over.
But with Wren… I want to hold her close all night. She’s turning me into a fucking teddy bear. The worst part? I don’t hate it.
Seeing the rest stop ahead, I pull into the exit lane as I assess our options… or lack thereof. There is just a single large building, complete with a gas station, convenience store, and burger shop.
“Are you guys hungry? I could do with some grub,” Pete says as he jumps out of the parked van and offers Wren a hand down.
“Bathroom, nourishment, and fuel.” I nod, moving to join them all beside the van as I stretch out my sides from being stuck behind the wheel all morning.
Jagger nudges my shoulder, then points to himself and mimics driving.
“You want to drive next?” He nods, and I nod back in thanks. Maybe having extra hands around wasn’t all bad.
“I’ll get the food with Pete and Wren, if you guys want to get the gas?” Dex asks.
I raise my eyebrow in disbelief. “You expect me to leave you two alone with her?”
“Are you saying I can’t protect my girl?” Dex asks, stepping in front of me, his chest puffed out as if to prove how big he is.
“I’m saying you two are the most likely to get in trouble together. We should split you up.”
“Good thing you’re not the boss of us then,” Pete says, grabbing Wren’s hand and pulling her with him toward the building. “Come on, Dex! I need to take a piss too and need someone to watch her.”
Dex smirks at me before winking and jogging after them, grabbing her other hand. I narrow my eyes in frustration. At least Pete knows not to leave her alone.
It isn’t that I don't trust them, because I actually do, with my life. They just weren’t very good at going unnoticed. They speak loudly and laugh even louder. And since we are wanted fugitives, heading back to the state where we were incarcerated, being inconspicuous is of extreme importance.
Jagger and I enter the building twenty seconds behind them and find Dex waiting outside the women’s bathroom on alert, his eyes continually scanning his surroundings. I nod to him, thankful he was taking the job of guarding her seriously.
When Jagger and I are done, we find them in line at the burger shop, so we go outside to fill up on gas.
“It’s so quiet without those three,” I say to Jagger as we lean against the van, waiting for the gas pump to finish fueling it up.
Jagger nods, and I’m tempted to grin. I actually really enjoy his silence. It’s such a stark difference from the other two, and I welcome the quiet.
“Do you think we’ll be able to catch him? Robert?” I ask since I have a rare moment alone with the only other serious member of our ragtag team of escapees.
He lifts his hands to sign. Thanks to Wren’s constant lessons, I’m able to catch the gist of what he says. “Maybe. But we have to be careful. We can’t just run in there. We need a plan. Catch him alone and unguarded.”
I nod, liking the idea of that.
“And this place we’re heading to? Do you think it’s safe?” He shrugs. “Yeah, I have no idea either. I hope we’re doing the right thing.”
“We will keep her safe,” He signs, and I nod in agreement.
“Always.”
The pump clicks, and I squeeze the handle, getting to an even hundred dollars, then hand the money to the attendant.
Jagger’s already in the driver’s side when I return, and he pulls forward into a parking spot right outside the building by the burger shop.
I look through the window, and as soon as I lay my eyes on the three of them, I curse.
“I knew I couldn’t leave them alone,” I say in frustration as I open the door and look back at Jagger. “Stay here, we might need to make a quick exit.” He nods as I shut the door and hurry inside.
They’re still standing where I saw them through the window.
Pete has a wide grin on his face as he squares off against a stranger who has at least four inches and fifty pounds on him.
Three men surround the stranger, obviously having his back.
They’re all dressed in expensive, brand-name clothes.
Golf shirts with emblems on their chest and flashy watches on their wrists. They scream wealth.
Wren is partially behind Pete, clinging to his arm as she tries to peek out around his side, but Dex has his arm wrapped around her waist, plastering her to his front.
“Pete, it’s okay, we should leave,” Wren tells him worriedly.
“What’s going on?” I ask as I move to their side, eyeing the strangers.
“This asshole bumped into Wren. I told him to apologize, and he refused.” Pete nudges his chin at the ringleader of the other group, who looks at Pete with disdain. When his eyes flick down to Wren, they turn calculating, and he grins.
I instantly understand why Pete is so worked up.
“Don’t look at her,” I snarl.
His eyebrows raise in surprise, then he and his friends laugh before his eyes find Wren again, making my fists clench in anger.
“Sweetheart, you sure you want to be associated with this caveman trash? There’s a seat free in my Benz outside if you want to come with me instead?
I can show you what it’s like to be treated properly, and not like a piece of meat. ”
He eyes the three of us with the last few words, his lip curling in distaste.
Pete laughs. It’s not the friendly, easygoing laugh he commonly uses around Wren; it’s the kind that makes him sound unhinged, and people instinctively take a step back from.
“Treat her properly?” Pete snorts. “What’re you gonna do, order her a salad and talk about your stocks? She doesn’t want a man who treats her properly. She wants one who knows what to do when someone doesn’t.”
“Pete,” Wren whispers, tugging at his arm. “Don’t—”
Too late.
Pete grabs a half-finished drink from the table beside him and throws it straight into his face. The man chokes, sputtering as the soda drips down his designer shirt.
“Oh, no,” Pete says with a mockingly sympathetic tone. “You got soda on your fancy little shirt. Lemme help you with that.” And before anyone can blink, Pete shoves the guy backward—hard—into his own friends, sending them crashing into a table. Food and trays go flying, and someone screams.
The place erupts into chaos.
One of the rich guys swings at Pete, but he ducks, laughing, and drives his elbow into the guy’s gut. “Come on! If you’re gonna throw a punch, at least make it worth my time!”
Another one charges him, only for Dex to calmly step in front of him and grab the man by the collar.
“Sit down,” he growls, and hurls him into a booth like he weighs nothing.
I grab Wren and pull her into my arms, instinctively protecting her from the onslaught as my eyes dance around looking for threats.
Wren whispers worriedly against my chest, “They’re gonna call the cops.”
Pete swings around to look at her, blond hair falling into his face, eyes wild and bright. When he sees her clinging to me with fear, his grin drops, and he scans the room. His demeanor instantly changing from wild and free to alert and worried.
Finally.
The guy he drenched earlier staggers to his feet, furious and dripping, and Pete doesn’t even hesitate. He grabs a metal napkin dispenser from the table and smashes it down on the table right next to the man’s hand, just hard enough to make him flinch and yelp in fear and surprise.