Chapter 46
RUE
The abrupt absence of the wind is what finally pulls me out of my trance. I haven’t let my mind move. Or my body, for that matter.
The bone-rattling vibration of the Harley slows to a heavy rumble, and my ears immediately start ringing in the sudden quiet. I blink, my eyes stinging and dry even with the helmet, as Noah steers us beneath the flickering fluorescent canopy of an isolated, run-down gas station.
My mind fills with the image of what happened the last time we tried to get gas, freezing me right on the spot.
“You can let go, Rue,” Noah’s rough voice barely pierces through the ringing in my ears. “We’re gonna be fine here. I’m not gonna take off my helmet. We’re just going to get gas and get right back on the road.”
Even with the prompt, it takes my brain a full ten seconds to send the signal to my arms. My muscles are completely locked. When I finally unlace my numb fingers from his stomach, my arms drop to my sides like dead weight.
I swing my leg over the seat, but the second my sneakers hit the oil-stained concrete, my knees completely buckle.
Noah’s good arm shoots out, catching me by the waist before I hit the ground. He holds me flush against his side, his body radiating a furnace of heat against my freezing, trembling frame.
“Easy, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his chest heaving as he helps me take off the helmet. “Just breathe and shake them out for a minute.”
I nod, swallowing the sandpaper dryness in my throat. I step back, forcing my jelly-like legs to support my own weight. “How long did we go for?”
“I don’t know,” Noah answers, his voice flat. “We don’t have a way to tell that anymore.”
I nod, my brain functioning on a bizarre, detached autopilot. We need gas. That means I need to pay for gas.
I stumble toward the old pump, reaching into the pocket of my backpack. My fingers brush against the familiar, worn leather of my wallet. I pull it out, sliding my credit card from the slot. I step up to the payment screen, my numb fingers moving to push the plastic into the reader.
A large, strong hand clamps down hard over my wrist.
I flinch, a sudden gasp ripping from my throat as I look up. Noah is staring down at me, his pale blue eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and sheer panic.
“What are you doing?” he hisses, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly sharp whisper.
“I’m... I’m paying for the gas,” I stutter, looking down at the card in my hand like it’s an alien object.
“Rue,” Noah says, his grip tightening just enough to ground me.
“We don’t know what happens if you swipe that card.
For all we know, every marshal within a five-hundred-mile radius will know exactly where we are in sixty seconds.
You can’t use your name. You can’t use your money.
We can’t exist anymore. Do you understand me? ”
The fog in my brain suddenly lifts, replaced by a sharp, sickening wave of reality.
Oh my god. I just shot a man. I killed a man in cold blood and left his body bleeding on a hardwood floor, and I was about to casually buy twenty dollars’ worth of premium gas with my Visa.
Get it together, Rue.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my hand trembling to the point I drop the credit card onto the concrete. I scramble to pick it up, shoving it back into my wallet. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”
Noah’s expression softens instantly. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled wad of Bill’s cash.
He presses a fifty-dollar bill into my trembling palm, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.
“It’s okay,” he says gently. “Go inside. Pay the cashier. Get yourself something to drink, and ask for the bathroom key if you need to go.”
I nod mechanically, clutching the cash.
I turn and walk toward the glass doors of the convenience store, leaving Noah at the pump, waiting for it. The electronic bell chimes above my head as I push the door open, the sound echoing like a gunshot in my ringing ears.
The blast of the store’s heater hits my freezing skin, making me shiver all over again. The fluorescent lights overhead are blinding. To my left, an older man with a gray beard and a faded trucker hat is leaning against the counter, reading a newspaper.
I keep my head down, my shoes squeaking against the dingy linoleum. I feel like I have a neon sign flashing above my head. Murderer. Fugitive. I smell like exhaust, old dust, and something else more deadly.
And I suddenly feel sick to my stomach.
I approach the counter, sliding the fifty-dollar bill across to the clerk. “I just need this on pump…” My voice trails off as I turn around to see where Noah is.
“Pump six,” the clerk rasps, his voice thick with years of chain-smoking, probably. “I got you. It ain’t probably gonna take that to fill up the tank.”
“That’s okay,” I tell him, trying to be cool, as I turn back to meet his gaze. “I was wondering if I could have the bathroom key, too?”
“Sure,” he mutters, taking the fifty-dollar bill and then reaching under the counter. He grabs a brass key with a rubber tag and slides it across to me. “I’ll have your change when you bring back the key. The bathroom is outside to the right.”
“Okay,” I say, forcing a smile as he kicks on the pump. “Thank you.”
I grab the key, spin on my heels, and make a break for the door, my chest feeling painfully tight. I have no idea if I’m about to have a heart attack or if this is some sort of aftershock.
Did I feel like this after I killed Matthew? I try to conjure back that memory, but the effort falls flat. I don’t remember anything other than Bill’s neck spurting a stream of crimson. Gross. So fucking gross.
No, he was gross.
He fucking deserved what he had coming.
“Got it,” I call out to Noah, holding up the key.
He gives me a thumbs up, his full-faced helmet still on, and the nozzle already inserted in the tank.
I hate how normal he looks. How normal this could be. Just a couple out for an evening ride through the desert of New Mexico, enjoying their time together.
But not us. We’re not normal. We never will be.
I follow the clerk's instructions and make my way around the side of the building to the bathroom entrance. I stab the key into the lock and then turn it until it clicks open. I push the door in and step inside as the motion lights flicker on.
At least it’s clean. I take it in and shut the door, locking it behind me. I set the key on the sink and then stare at my reflection for a second.
Who is that? I stare at the glassy jade eyes looking back at me, bloodshot and tired. In twenty-four hours, I’ve lost my dog and my mind.
Cool. I run my fingers through my tangled hair and then give up as soon as my bladder cramps. I did have to pee. Noah was smart.
I go through the motions of that, but as soon as I flush the toilet, there’s a knock on the door. My heart skips a few beats.
“Occupied,” I call out.
“I know,” a familiar voice chuckles from the other side. “Let me in. I gotta piss.”
“Right.” I shake it off and then unlock the bathroom door, letting Noah in, still wearing his helmet. As soon as the door closes, he strips it off, his face damp with sweat and grime that slipped through the vents.
“Bike is filled up,” he says simply, as he undoes his pants and angles over the toilet.
“The guy inside said there should be change.”
“Yeah, I only spent forty-one, and we’re going to need all the fucking cash we can get.”
I nod and kick on the water, waiting until it gets warm. I wash my hands, then lean over them, splashing water onto my face.
Fuck, that feels nice.
And so do the hands coming around my waist. I gasp into the stream as Noah shoves my jeans down, a chill hitting my bare pussy.
“Noah,” I squeal.
“You can’t bend over like that and not expect something to happen.”
“Not right now,” I pant, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “We can’t do this right now.”
“We can,” his jeans unzip. “And we will.” He thrusts into me, a cry ripping through my throat at the intensity of his cock stretching me.
He pumps into me, his hand coming down on my ass in a hard slap. I cling to the sink, my forehead resting against my arms, as the arousal picks up, coating his cock. I lean into the feeling, the sensation of him inside of me, the only thing keeping me standing.
“Fuck,” Noah groans, slowing. He rests his hand on my back, and then finds my asshole, his thumb circling it.
A hot, intoxicating pour through my body.
“Noah,” I hiss. “What—”
He pushes his thumb the rest of the way in, grunting in satisfaction. I grip the sink even tighter, my orgasm pulsing through me unexpectedly.
“Oh God, you liked that,” he groans, his body stuttering through his own release. “You’re such a good girl when you let me do what I want to you.”
A wave of emotion crushes my chest at his words. It’s the only redeeming quality he seems to find in me.
And it’s both exhilarating and agonizing.