Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Adalynn
As soon as the engine died in the rest area, the abrupt silence became more deafening than the highway's roar.
Exhausted by the terror of the past few hours, my siblings were out cold within moments, completely dead to the world.
Yet my own mind refused to rest. Sleeping was a risk I couldn't take—I was the only shield standing between them and the people who had shattered our lives.
The sedan feels like a trap, growing tighter as the miles drag on.
The dashboard light casts a sickly green glow over Noah and Amelia.
I press my forehead against the cold glass to steady myself.
I swallow hard to keep the bile down because I can’t break now.
Every creak outside is a threat. A distant engine roaring on the highway sounds like a hunter closing the gap.
I lock my fingers around the door handle until my hands cramp from the pressure.
The wind hitting the roof sounds like boots searching the pavement for our trail.
Eventually, my guard slips. My body gives out, dragging me into a nightmare where the tires screech and the door frame snaps under the weight of the men who killed our parents. I wake up gasping, my breath shallow and erratic, trapped in a car that feels like it’s shrinking around us.
Sunlight slices through the windshield, dragging me awake before I’m ready.
Carter looks just as wrecked as I feel. Glancing over my shoulder at the back seat where Amelia and Noah are still out cold, the air in the car feels heavy and sour with stale sweat.
We can’t stay here and be exposed. To any passerby, we’re just a crew of kids in a clunker, but every stare feels ominous, like we’re being targeted.
I scan the lot, watching truckers and transients start their day.
Any wanderer cruising this lot likely sees us as nothing more than a pile of rusted metal, but I feel like I'm glowing in the dark, as though each glance our way shines a spotlight on us, our situation blaring in neon.
It's a cold reminder that I can't keep these three hidden from the people hunting us.
I check the cracked clock on the dash and see it’s already eleven. The sun is high now, turning our car into an oven. We should have been miles down the highway hours ago, but fatigue won that fight. My chest feels tight, like the air in here has already been used up.
The kids start to shift, blinking away the last remnants of sleep.
The brutal reality of our situation slams back into me.
A vice grip tightens around my lungs. I have to force myself to focus.
We’re sitting ducks in this rusted clunker, and every second we linger is a gift to the people hunting us.
I can’t let them see me crack. I shove the panic deep down, locking it away where it belongs, and force a steady, calm expression onto my face.
“Time to wake up,” I whisper, my voice rough from disuse. “Come on, move it. We’ve got to get out of here.”
I turn around, checking the backseat to make sure they are actually coming too.
I need them sharp and ready to move the second we get back on the road.
Carter lets out a sudden huff, leaning his head back against the cracked seat.
He shoots me that cynical look that makes him seem years older than fourteen.
“You really think we’re going to make it, Adalynn?” He waves a hand toward the empty parking lot. “We’re just kidding ourselves. Living out of a bag and jumping at every car engine isn't living. Trying to vanish is just a nice way of saying we’re waiting for those assholes to find us.”
His words hit home, tapping into every fear I’ve tried to bury since we crossed into Oklahoma. I swallow hard and mask my hesitation. I can’t break now. If I start to crumble, the safety I’ve scraped together for the three of them is gone.
Gripping the door handle, the metal biting into my palm but it keeps me grounded.
“We'll make it work,” I counter, keeping my voice steady.
“Come on, get them moving. We need to hit the road before traffic picks up.
Every mile we put between us and that house is a step toward freedom.
We'll have to stop for gas soon, though, so we can get deeper into the state.”
“How far can we go on a full tank?” Carter asks, walking behind me as his sneakers grind into the gravel.
The Oklahoma heat is a punch in the gut after the Colorado cold.
His voice is deeper now, trying to mask the fear, but I can still hear the kid underneath.
He's grieving the life we lost and he's terrified.
I pop the latch, and the trunk groans open to reveal our few bags. My hands shake while I dig for our stuff. I’m doing the math again, calculating how much gas we’ve really got left.
“We can make four hundred miles if we're careful,” I tell Carter. “Maybe further if I can coast. But it isn't just about the miles. It's about the time. Every minute we waste here is another minute they’ve got to find our trail.”
Carter’s eyes narrow when a dark SUV crawls into the lot. He leans against the rust-eaten fender, scanning the heat waves rising off the Oklahoma asphalt. Beside me, he tenses, his muscles coiled tight, matching the sudden spike of adrenaline in my own blood.
“Four hundred miles puts us deep into the heart of nowhere,” he mutters. “Is nowhere far enough, Adalynn? Or are we just driving until the tank goes dry and they finally catch up?”
I yank the heavy bags out and slam the trunk.
The metal clang echoes in the stifling heat, loud enough to draw every eye in the lot.
I look over at Amelia. She’s staring through the passenger glass, her face pressed against it like a trapped bird.
I force my shoulders to relax and put on a mask of calm.
“We just need to disappear,” I say. “We find a busy town, hunker down, and stop acting like we’re the ones being hunted.”
Carter scoffs. He sounds like a bitter old man, not a kid who should still need a bedtime story.
“Adalynn, get real. We don't even know who’s chasing us or why. Mom worked at a bank, Dad was just an accountant. They weren't criminals. How did we end up on some psycho’s radar? Let's be honest. We’re never going to be safe until the people coming for us are dead.”
His logic hits me in the gut. Not knowing why we’re running is the worst part of this hell. I swallow hard, trying to keep the bile down once again.
“I don’t have the answers,” I admit, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to keep it steady.
“But we can’t stay here. Staying put is a death sentence.
Maybe Dad messed up at work or Mom flagged an account she shouldn’t have.
It doesn’t matter now. They’re gone, but we’re still here. I won’t let them take you too.”
A motorcycle engine roars into the lot, the sound tearing through the quiet.
The vibrations rattle the soles of my shoes, freezing me where I stand.
My heart was finally slowing down, but now it's hammering against my ribs again.
Carter and I lock eyes. We clamp our mouths shut, neither of us daring to speak.
He rides solo, but his presence hits like a wall.
He sits on a massive, blacked-out bike. When he kills the engine, the sudden quiet rings louder than the pipes ever did.
He wears a heavy leather cut. The patches and rockers stitched into the back tell the world exactly who he is and the club he commands.
He blocks our path, a wall of leather and quiet menace that seems to swallow the afternoon light.
I watch him through the matted strands of my hair, my knuckles aching as I grip the strap of our bag until my skin feels like it is going to split.
He isn't looking at us yet, but his presence dominates the entire lot, silencing everything around him. To any stranger, he’s just a biker catching his breath after a long haul.
To me, he is a living, breathing reminder of the brutal world that destroyed our family.
I want to turn and run, to melt into the shadows before he notices us standing here gawking at him, but my feet are rooted in place.
Outlaw justice is the last thing we need while we are desperately trying to disappear, but there is no getting around him.
He is right there in our way, and I know if I make the wrong move, we are done.
He yanks the aviator sunglasses from his face.
His eyes scan the lot, cold and surgical.
He ignores the truckers and tourists, letting his gaze drift until it snaps onto Carter and me.
The weight of his stare hits me like a physical blow, a silent threat that raises the hair on my arms. For a second, the world stops turning and I can't catch my breath.
I grab Carter's arm, my fingers digging into his sleeve.
"Shit," I whisper.
The hum of highway traffic vanishes, swallowed by the frantic trill of my own pulse.
I shove Carter toward the passenger door, urgency clawing at my throat.
Noah stays locked in his seat, his face a mask of silent terror.
He's a statue, unable to even blink. We have to move now.
Every wasted second is another heartbeat closer to the people hunting us finding our trail.
My eyes stay glued to the biker. He might look at our beat-up car and see just another broken family on the run, but every instinct I have is screaming that this isn't some chance encounter. I’m not about to gamble our lives on the hope that he's harmless.
The harsh scrape of his kickstand against the burning asphalt sounds like a judge dropping a gavel.
It's the signal that our luck has finally run out.
Every second we waste standing here is another heartbeat closer to the people hunting us picking up our trail.
We have to leave right now before he decides we're worth his attention.