Chapter 2
Autumn
Ipull into the parking lot behind my friend Clarissa’s apartment complex, breathing hard. My arm throbs where Dale grabbed it. Every turn of my steering wheel makes it ache more.
After maneuvering into a spot, I rest my hand on my lap, breathing hard.
Do I risk staying with Clarissa tonight?
She’s my best friend—my only friend. Dale will probably guess that I’m here, so I can’t stay.
But maybe one night would be safe, just long enough to gather my thoughts and make a plan.
The other option is a hotel. But that’s expensive.
Think, Autumn. I need money. Shelter. Food. Clarissa could give me food and shelter. Maybe even a couple hundred dollars if she has it on her, or she could run to the ATM for me. I check my own wallet and find it empty of cash; I always use a card.
I need a plan. A real plan. But I don’t have time to make one. What do I do? Hunker the fuck down so I have time to think? Or try to think on the run?
The indecision is crippling.
That’s it. I have to take some action. I’ve always been good at hiding. I’ll hide out with Clarissa for a little while, then figure out next steps. Including a plan for exposing what Dale did. People need to know.
But justice can never happen if he catches up with me. He’ll kill me, too.
I imagine my mother in the seat next to me. “Run, sweetheart,” she says. “I don’t need justice—I just need you to live. Run and hide. Find somewhere safe.”
Is that true, or is that just what I want her to say? It’s all coming from my own brain, anyway. Am I being selfish?
Or maybe my brain is trying to save me. I am great at hiding. If I find somewhere good, whether it’s Clarissa’s apartment building or a whole other city, I’ll be able to stay low and keep out of Dale’s grasp.
My phone buzzes in my purse, startling me. I fish it out, fearing a call from Dale.
Instead, it’s Clarissa texting me.
Clarissa: Where are you? Your stepdad thinks you’re with me. Why? What should I tell him?
Shit.
Clarissa: Seriously. He says he KNOWS you’re here and he’s on his way. Autumn are you okay???
Dale isn’t just guessing my whereabouts.
He must have a tracker on my phone, or a tag on my car.
Staying here is no longer an option.
I have to get the fuck out of Altera. Hell, I should leave Kinasey County.
I need to text Clarissa back—I can’t leave without saying goodbye. Fingers shaking, I manage to type out, Something terrible happened. I’m in trouble. Can’t trust Dale. I’ll get in touch as soon as it’s safe. I love you. Be careful.
Three little dots appear as she responds, but I don’t have time to wait to see her message. I yank open my door, climb out of the car. Dropping my phone onto the driver’s seat, I grab my messenger bag and my purse.
Then I run.
It turns out that it isn’t easy to run in flip-flops. I do my best, though, trying not to trip. My bag and purse slam into my side with every step, even after I attempt to secure them by looping the straps over my shoulder, across my chest.
Clarissa’s apartment is close to downtown Altera, and it doesn’t take long before I find an ATM. I take out the maximum amount of cash possible—five hundred dollars—and hurry toward the bus station.
Not many people are out this late, but the few who are give me a double take.
I must look unhinged, the way I’m crying and rushing around.
Quickly, I wipe my face and school my expression.
I slow my pace. Cool, calm. Hours of etiquette tutoring at Dale’s insistence are coming in handy.
I need to project the image that I belong here, that I am here on purpose, with a purpose.
I don’t want to fill the space, but I want to own my part of it.
Every proper young lady’s instruction for a gathering of powerful people.
My attitude switch seems to help. I’m less conspicuous now.
The bus station is well-lit, and more crowded than I would’ve expected after midnight. I stride up to the ticket booth, halting when I realize I don’t have a destination in mind.
Wherever gets me the farthest away, the fastest. I need the closest big city where I can disappear. Los Angeles, preferably.
The next bus for Los Angeles doesn’t leave until tomorrow afternoon. That won’t work.
But San Esteban…that bus leaves in an hour.
San Esteban is a few hours away, located between here and LA. It’s a shining, glittery city with a sexy reputation. I’ve never been there. Dale wouldn’t guess that I would choose it as a destination.
Before I ask for a ticket, though, I stop.
Cameras are probably everywhere in this station. With his connections at Altera PD, Dale would easily have someone review them.
No bus ticket yet. I duck into a bathroom, breathing hard. How can I get a ticket and get out of here without Dale figuring it out?
An outfit change, first of all. If I could cut and dye my hair, Fugitive style, even better. But oh, surprise surprise, I don’t happen to have freaking hair dye on hand.
I put on my hoodie. I could pull the hood over my hair, but it looks too much like I’m trying to disguise myself.
A woman enters the restroom with a young boy. He’s wearing a baseball cap. That could work.
“Hey,” I say, “could I buy your hat from you?”
The woman frowns at me and speaks rapidly in Spanish, telling me not to talk to her kid.
“Please pardon me,” I say in Spanish, addressing her. “I’m in trouble, someone’s after me. I need to change my look. Can I buy his hat?”
She looks me up and down, makes a tsking sound, and gives her kid a questioning look. He nods.
I hand over two twenties.
She looks me up and down again, then opens the large backpack she’s carrying. She hands me a coat and tells me to trade her the hoodie. Then she passes me a long, flowing red skirt, which I pull on over my leggings. She finds a pair of glasses, too.
“Do you need these?” I ask.
“They’re reading glasses from the store. I can buy another.”
After I jam on the baseball cap, she shakes her head. “Put up your hair.”
Of course. I hadn’t thought of that. I do as she said, tucking in my long, light brown hair. Then I put on the glasses, which make my vision go a little wonky, and check myself out in the mirror.
It isn’t perfect. But it might fool cameras, at the right angle.
I consider dumping my messenger bag, or asking to trade the woman’s backpack, but I can’t do it. Not this last thing of my mom’s.
“Will it work?” I ask.
She nods, and her boy gives me a thumb’s up.
“I will purchase your ticket for you,” she says. “Where are you going?”
“San Esteban.”
She nods and says, “Wait here.”
A long moment later, she and the boy return. She hands me a ticket, and I give her the money for it, plus extra.
“Thank you,” I say in Spanish, over and over again, my tears blurring my vision even more than her reading glasses. “Thank you.”
When I try to hand her more money, she shakes her head.
“I was in trouble once,” she says. “Someone helped me. Now I help you. Next, you help someone else.”
“I will,” I promise.
I leave the restroom and settle myself on a nearby bench to wait.
Despite the outfit change and light disguise, I feel exposed.
A careful viewing of camera footage would eliminate this disguise in a second.
I went into the bathroom as myself and someone emerged who looks similar to me, but in different clothing… it isn’t foolproof in the slightest.
A new feeling of paranoia strikes me—what if Dale put a tag or tracker in my purse? I empty it out on the seat beside me, identifying every tiny piece of clutter. Then I feel along the inside to make sure he didn’t tape anything to the inner lining or pockets.
Nothing. Okay. He was probably just tracking my phone or my car. He wouldn’t have had much reason to monitor me before this. It’s not like I witnessed a murder before. At least, I never thought I had.
My poor mom. She loved him, I know she did. And he hurt her. For what? Probably money. Power. Dale’s an insecure asshole and the fact that people deferred to her instead of him probably grated on his nerves.
The bus’s engine starts, and a voice comes over the speaker, announcing the upcoming departure for San Esteban.
I climb the narrow steps, along with several others, and find a seat by the window.
I avoid looking at the other passengers, and luckily at this hour, nobody seems too interested in looking at me.
My new, traded coat is warm and smells faintly of lavender. I pull the hood up and lean my head against the bus window. My bag and purse are in my lap and pull my bruised arm over them, hugging them close like I wish I could hug my mom.
The city lights of Altera taunt me as they get fainter and fainter, and soon enough we’re rumbling along Interstate 5, my past ripping apart in the exhaust.
Xander
A low, feminine moan echoes from Will’s office. I didn’t realize he had already returned from hunting.
Straightening my collar, I stride down the hall.
His door is cracked open, which means he wanted me to either hear the woman or smell her blood.
Both, probably. Passive-aggressive asshole.
Will and I used to hunt together, but I’ve pulled back and let him select the women for our playtime and feedings.
Now he rubs it in my face by always taking the first bite.
“That’s so hot,” the woman says. “You’re really a vampire.”
I clear my throat.
Will turns slowly around, blood on his lips. “What?”