Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
The next ten seconds feel like an eon as the guard moves behind the desk and takes a seat in his chair.
"I don't know. I can call Elena at home to ask."
My body turns cold as we wait. The tips of my ears first, then my face, the center of my chest. The chill creeps down my legs, making the skin goosebump.
“ Un momento .”
My heart hammers against my ribs as he picks up an ancient-looking phone and dials on gigantic plastic buttons.
The conversation unfolds in rapid Spanish, too fast for my limited grasp of the language to follow. All I can do is watch his face for clues.
Truck's hand finds the small of my back, a silent reassurance that I'm not alone in this.
The warm pressure grounds me when everything else feels like it's spinning out of control.
“I can understand him,” he reminds me in a low whisper.
That’s right.
Truck speaks Spanish.
I almost sag with relief. But there’s no reason to feel relaxed. Chaos is creeping closer.
My father is in Vandemora. I can feel it. Like there’s some kind of sick tether to a man I don’t really even know.
He said he was my biological father all of these years. My whole life. And he’s not.
The guard hangs up and turns to us with a nod. "She says yes, older man. Very... how you say... importante ? Like someone with power. White hair, nice watch. He had another man with him. Younger. Military looking."
My stomach drops even more. Clinging to Truck’s arm, I whisper, "It's him. My father."
He's here. Looking for me.
And now Axle is missing.
"Thank you," Truck tells the guard, who looks increasingly uncomfortable with the tension filling his small office.
" De nada ," he mumbles. "I hope you find your brother."
As we step back into the hallway, Justice keeps pace with Truck. "New twist."
I'm already three steps ahead, mind racing through scenarios.
If I didn’t have the guys with me, I’d be in full freakout mode. Whatever’s happening with him is getting more and more dangerous.
After the encounter with Thomas and his tactical team, I don’t know what extremes my father will go to. But I know enough to help make a strategy, even if I don’t have the brawn.
"My father won’t go anywhere too grungy, don’t worry. It shouldn't be too hard to avoid him if we remember that."
I'm surprised by the steadiness in my voice, given the tremor in my hands.
Part of me wants to curl into a ball and hide, but that's not an option. Not anymore. Not with Rosalie possibly in danger because of me. Not with Axle missing.
Truck stays close, his expression grim but determined. "We need to play our next move well."
I reach for his hand without thinking. The contact centers me.
Twenty-four hours ago, I was alone, fighting shadows. Now I have allies. But I also have more to lose.
As we walk toward the exit, my mind keeps circling back to a single, terrifying thought: my father found us. Somehow, he knew I'd be here.
"How did he know?" I whisper, more to myself than to the men flanking me.
Justice steps in front of me toward the door. “We should get rid of your things in case they have a tracking device.”
I come to a stop so fast, I almost trip over my own feet. “You mean someone could have put a tracking device in my clothing or my boots and they’d still be working after all the swimming? I thought that was in the movies.”
“It’s a real thing.” Truck glances around from his imposing height. “Hold on. I’ll be back. Justice, guard my girl.”
Justice takes up a protective position as Truck strides away.
“Where do you think he went?”
“The laundry if I had to guess.”
A minute later, he’s back with a piece of cloth gripped in one hand, pushing a wheelchair with a pair of boots on the seat with the other hand. “You’re not going to like this.”
“Please tell me that’s not a hospital gown.”
“Call it a dress.”
I groan. “Not funny. Where did you get the boots?”
“The staff locker room. I think they’ll fit you.”
“Great,” I mutter.
He guides me to a restroom in the lobby. After locking us inside, and positioning Justice outside, he practically tears my clothing off of me.
“Oh, lord!”
I shiver when the cool air conditioning hits my skin— all of my skin.
After stuffing my clothing and my boots into the trash, he shakes out the gown and holds an arm hole up.
“I can’t believe this.”
“It’s only until we get to the farm.”
The walk of shame just got so much worse and superseded by the fact that we are now in shooting distance of my father. Not that he’d shoot me… I think.
I hope.
“Do I have to walk out of here and all the way to the truck, won’t that seem weird?”
“Not when I push you in that wheelchair and you lean over your knees like you’re dying.”
Brilliant man. “I see you have this all thought out.”
He gives a little satisfied chuckle. “I am an expert operative.”
“Thank god, but we still need to talk about the whole stolen boat thing. I’m not finished.”
He steals a kiss as he puts my other arm in the useless piece of fabric.
I snatch the edge out of his hands and wrap the thin cotton around me.
With a glimmer of amusement in his gaze, he looks down at me. “At least it’s not open in the back.”
“Because I wrapped it around me, if I let it go, it will be.”
Now he growls. “You better hold onto the fabric then, because I don’t want Justice seeing what’s mine.”
What’s his?
Ugh. Why does that feel so right?
That possessive tone makes my lower tummy flutter, stars swim in my head and a little voice inside the back of my mind whispers, You’re not the kind of girl who wins the man.
Before the voice wins, I clear my throat. “Just get me home. Or to your headquarters, or whatever. I know you’re just trying to keep me safe. I’ll finish dying of embarrassment later, and you can make it up to me by kissing me from head to toe.”
I reach for the door, knowing I got him at least for now. He looks utterly hungry.
“Come on, big guy.”
With that, he scoops me into his arms. “Look sick.”
I loll my head against his chest and groan. “How’s that?”
“Maybe whimper.”
When I do, his whole body tenses. “Not that kind of whimper.”
“Oh, sorry. Did I sound too…”
“You’re just fucking with me. Now unlock the door. We got shit to do so we can get in a real bed.”
I’m down with that plan. The more he makes my body feel, the less my head gets in the way. And that’s what it wants to do. Always.
Justice swivels his head toward us, but that’s all I can make out through my lashes as Truck lowers me into the wheelchair.
He pushes me forward until I’m slumped over my knees, moaning for effect.
Then we’re moving. Their boots striking the ground with purpose. The wheelchair squeaking. Me moaning.
The double doors open before we get there, letting a rush of humid air inside.
“Oh, fuck. Not now.”
Stiffing, bent over, I hold my breath. When Justice says that it makes me double worried.
“Stay down,” Truck puts a hand on my back, keeping me folded in half. Then he mutters, “You know how to hotwire a car?”