2. Harley #2
My eyes are watering—from the sunlight, I’m sure. Has to be that. Definitely not because something inside me feels like it’s being peeled apart one bloody strip at a time.
I rub hard at my face and nearly gouge an eye out with the keys as I stumble toward the driver’s side door.
“Fuck it. Fuck everything.” My voice sounds thin and breathless.
The key fob slips in my sweaty hand before I finally hit the button. The locks pop loudly in the morning stillness and I jerk so hard my shoulder slams against the truck.
Jesus Christ.
I suck in a breath and instantly regret it.
The outside air smells different from inside the compound. Sharper. Colder. Pine trees and dirt and dust warming beneath sunlight. But underneath all of it there’s still wolf. It’s everywhere out here too. Embedded into the fucking ground.
My pulse spikes harder.
I throw the duffle into the passenger seat and climb in after it. The truck smells faintly like leather, coffee, and something masculine I don’t want to think about too hard because my brain immediately decides it probably belongs to Val.
Which is ridiculous. I barely saw the guy.
One glimpse of broad shoulders under hospital sheets, tubes shoved into his arms, skin too pale against white pillows. That should not matter to me. None of these people should matter to me.
And yet the second I slam the door shut, panic crashes through me so hard my vision tunnels.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t—
My fingers miss the ignition twice before I manage to jam the key in. My whole hand is shaking. Not trembling. Full-on shaking like my bones are vibrating under my skin.
Get out. Get out now.
The truck starts with a rough growl that makes me flinch.
Nobody stops me and that should help. It doesn’t. The pressure in my chest gets worse instead.
I throw the truck into gear and floor the gas pedal too hard. Dirt and rocks spray behind me as the tires spin. The truck fishtails violently and terror slices through me when the back end slides sideways toward a tree.
“Oh fuck—”
I wrench the wheel hard enough my shoulder screams. The truck bucks before straightening out. My breathing turns ragged and the compound gates blur past.
Still nobody stops me. There are no wolves chasing after me. No guards blocking the road. No Marcus ordering me dragged back inside. No Nathan standing in front of the truck looking hurt and disappointed.
They’re really letting me leave.
The realization should feel good. Instead something hot twists under my ribs.
I grip the wheel harder.
The road stretches ahead in a long dusty ribbon cutting through the trees. Every shadow makes my stomach jump. Every movement in the brush turns into imagined wolves pacing me through the forest.
Because they could. Jesus, they really could.
My imagination supplies vivid flashes anyway. Massive grey bodies keeping pace with the truck. Yellow eyes in the trees. Teeth glinting between branches.
I know some of it is irrational. But not all of it. My skin crawls and the farther I get from the compound, the worse it becomes.
This panic doesn’t make sense. Leaving should feel safer. So why does my body react like I’m driving away from the only protected place left on earth?
Because you’re losing your fucking mind.
That has to be it.
Joshua broke something fundamental inside me. My survival instincts are scrambled now. Up is down, danger is safety, monsters are protectors. Maybe trauma rewires people into idiots.
I laugh once. The sound comes out ugly and cracked and then a memory blindsides me without warning. Joshua smiling that sick smile. Blood on tile. A scream choking off into wet gargling silence.
I slam on the brakes so hard the truck skids sideways on gravel.
My forehead nearly hits the steering wheel.
“No. No, no, no.”
I suck air through my nose in short painful bursts while my hands lock around the wheel.
The world tilts strangely for a second. Everything becomes too bright, too sharp.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath in and out trying to calm my racing heart and stop the sick feeling passing like waves through my tired body.
Fuck! Closing my eyes was a bad idea. Immediately I see claws. Teeth. Joshua leaning close enough for me to smell blood on his breath while he tells me nobody is ever going to find me.
I jerk my eyes open again with a gasp. The truck sits crooked across the road, engine idling rough beneath me.
Silence presses in. Something feels absent, missing. The realization terrifies me more than anything else has all morning.
My fingers dig into the steering wheel until they ache. I should keep driving. I should put hundreds of miles between myself and the compound. I should disappear somewhere no shifter can ever find me again. Instead, I sit there shaking while my brain screams at me to turn around.
Not because I trust them or want to be around them. Because some broken part of me thinks going back means safety. How fucked is that?
Tears sting my eyes again.
“Jesus Christ,” I whisper hoarsely. “What did they do to me?”
But deep down I know the answer. Because it wasn’t them, it was Joshua. Joshua did this. He took my head apart piece by piece until I don’t know what normal feels like anymore.
I scrub both hands hard over my face again. Then I put the truck back in gear before I can do something truly insane. This time I don’t slam on the gas and drive.
I keep expecting someone to follow me anyway. A black SUV in the mirror. Wolves pacing through the trees. Nathan’s voice in my head somehow, because at this point who the fuck knows what shifters can do?
The rearview mirror catches my attention.
For one horrible second I almost look back toward the compound.
My chest tightens violently.
No. I grip the wheel harder and keep my eyes forward. I’m not looking back.
If I do, I’m afraid I won’t keep driving.