Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
I tossed and turned all night. Sometime during the night, Kyler came to lie down next to me but left early, which confirmed my suspicions that something was wrong. Feeling like a zombie, I make Rebel breakfast and wave her off as she gets on Brooks’ motorcycle.
I grab my phone and call my best friend.
“What’s wrong?” The concern in Teagan’s voice is clearly audible.
I pace through Kyler’s apartment. Well, what is wrong?
You screwed us over, Layne.
Paxton’s voice keeps playing in my head and I’m at a loss, but I can’t let it go either. In what way did I screw them over?
“Something’s amiss,” I whisper into the phone.
I can almost hear Teagan rolling her eyes. “I know, Layne. You’re locked up at Kyler’s apartment because there are men who want to snatch you and your daughter. Did you find out what Connor did?”
I sit on the sofa while running my fingers through my hair.
“That’s just it. I think the club knows something but isn’t telling me shit.
I went to see Paxton yesterday and he said I’d screwed them over.
Always causing trouble. But he didn’t say what kind of trouble.
” Now I’m the one rolling my eyes. “Except for the fact that I always end up leaving Kyler a wreck.”
“What? Why did he bring up Kyler?”
Of course that’s what she responds to. “That’s not important right now, Teag.
What kind of shit did I cause? And what did I screw them over with?
Not that I did, but apparently Pax thinks I knew something and that I set them up on purpose.
I’m worried.” I mumble the last sentence.
“What if I really did endanger the club? What if someone dies because I—”
“Listen,” my best friend starts. “First of all, it started because Connor heard something, not you. Second, you didn’t ask anyone to help you.
Thirdly, you’re not killing anyone. If someone does die, it will be through no fault of yours, but the fault of the person who, uh, commits the murder.
Or because their heart gives out.” She chuckles weakly.
“They could also just die of a heart attack, just like us.”
I sigh. “As if I didn’t know that. But it feels like it’s still me to blame if that happens. After all, I’m the one they’re after.” I get up and start pacing again. Sitting still isn’t an option.
“But they’ve decided to help you, Layne.”
I stop in front of the window that looks out at the front of the bar. “Maybe you’re right.” I exhale a deep sigh.
I still don‘t feel comfortable after ending the call. I’ve got a million things going through my head, but nothing makes sense.
What did I miss? Something with Connor? It practically has to be.
I try to remember if he ever said anything, but I can’t recall noticing anything strange.
No late nights, no other stories, just still interested in Rebel.
Reading to his little girl every night. Nothing.
I literally can’t think of anything. I haven’t even caught a glimpse of who killed him.
Kyler mentioned the Knights, but I don’t know the club.
Why would Connor have anything to do with a motorcycle club?
He hated the fact that I was part of the Renegades when I was younger, that Dad was the former vice president.
My hands are balled into fists. I don’t understand why they want me. Or could it be about Rebel after all? Although those men didn’t say anything about her.
I exhale deeply. I got no idea who they are, what they do, or what Connor knows. Knew. Why would anyone kidnap me? To test me? I would’ve talked by now, though, wouldn’t I?
“Argh,” I exclaim in frustration, and my knees buckle.
If I’m really causing them nothing but problems and Paxton thinks I’ve screwed them over…
I close my eyes. All I want is for everyone to be safe.
I don’t care what Teagan says, I can’t have someone’s death on my conscience.
The only problem is that if those men are targeting me, I can’t stay here because eventually someone will die because of me.
And if I can’t stay here, Rebel can’t stay here either.
Where will I go?
Where will I be safe?
Where can I start over without them finding me?
The first place that comes to mind is Mexico, but that isn’t a good idea at all. Rebel must be able to go to school and get on with her life. If we go there, she’ll have fewer opportunities.
“London,” I say. “She knows the language. The schools are great. We can emigrate, but I need to get there as soon as possible.” An idea forms in my head and I open the browser on my phone and start looking for a cheap airline.
We can’t fly under our own names. Then that organization will find us in no time.
At least, I assume it’s an organization.
I briefly close my eyes and then scroll to a phone number that Dad once gave me, but that I hoped I’d never have to dial. With my eyes closed, I think back to the day he gave it to me.
“It might come in handy someday,” he says to me.
Rolling my eyes, I laugh mockingly and say, “Why would I need a new identity? I’m a Turner.”
Now I’m standing here and I’m so glad Dad gave it to me. I slide my finger across the screen and call.
After two rings, a gravelly, low male voice answers: “Yeah. Hank.”
“Hi, this is Layne Hayes. Um, Turner.”
“Well, missy? Hayes or Turner?”
“Turner,” I decide. It’s better to use my maiden name. He knew my dad under that name.
“Don’t know ya, honey.”
“Wait,” I blurt, panic rising. “Not me, but you know Elias Turner.”
Silence.
“Don’t anymore,“ he grumbles. “Good day.”
“He was my father,” I squeak.
Another pause. Then softer—still rough, but different, “Little Laynie?”
“Well, not that little anymore…” I mumble.
“What do ya need?”
I breathe a sigh of relief and tell him what I need.
A few minutes later, I've booked two tickets and made an appointment to pick up the fake passports. I locate my overnight bag and gather clothes for Rebel and myself. I stuff as much as I can into the bag. Everything else can wait; I can’t even think about that right now.
I put Rebel’s jeans in the bag and think about Kyler.
My heart aches. Paxton is right, but this time I’m doing it to keep the club safe.
They shouldn’t have to pay for Connor’s mistakes.
He can always come live with us if he really wants to.
It’s not like I’m turning my back on him.
I was truly hoping we could try and make this work.
My eyes are burning. Shit. Quickly, tears begin to fall down my cheeks, and before I know it, I’m overcome with loud, wracking sobs.
Why won’t anyone tell me what Rebel and I are getting ourselves into? Not Connor, not Kyler. I have no fucking idea if what I’m doing is the right thing. Or if it makes any sense. If I’m actually running away from something dangerous or just from Paxton’s tirade.
I sit down at the edge of the bed and try to calm myself down. I frantically wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand. I need to make it crystal clear that I don’t want to leave him behind. That I’m doing this because I don’t see any other way out. For their safety.
In the living room, I pull open all the drawers of the cabinet until I find a piece of paper and a pen. Then I sit down on a bar stool at the kitchen counter and place it in front of me. I take a deep breath and then put the pen to the paper.
Kyler,
I stare at the blank page. How on earth am I going to write this down? My eyes fill with tears again, but miraculously I keep them from falling.
I booked flights. I know what I promised and what I said to you. It was all true. It IS all true, and I want nothing more than to stay here. Nothing more than to give us a chance.
But it’s crystal clear that I’m putting you in danger. I have no idea what’s going on ‘cause nobody’s telling me shit, but I can feel that something’s off. So I bought plane tickets for Rebel and me. We’re leaving. We’ve gotta get out of here. It’s for everyone’s safety.
I wrote your number down and brought it with me. I left my phone behind ‘cause I don’t want them to be able to find me. Once we’re safe, I’ll get a new one and let you know where we are.
I don’t want to be responsible for anything happening to any of you because of me.
I love you. I always have and always will, and maybe…
I wipe my nose with my sleeve.
… we get the chance some day.
Love, Layne.
I take my phone out of my pocket, turn it off, and place it next to the letter.
Then I grab my bag, put on my coat, and step out onto the landing.
From there, I can see the whole compound.
Outside is a truck, and I desperately hope the keys are in it.
I glance at my watch. Rebel will be done with school in half an hour, but I have to beat Brooks there.
That means I’ve got to go now. I scan the compound one more time. No one’s around.
I descend the stairs as calmly and normally as possible. My heart is pounding in my throat, even though this is exactly what I intend to do. I’m consumed by a single, terrifying thought: what will I say if they discover me?
The cameras are focused on the entrance gate, preventing them from immediately seeing me walk here.
I take a deep breath as I place my fingers on the door handle and carefully try to open the truck.
Miraculously, it works. I cringe when I hear a squeaking sound coming from the hinges.
My eyes go to the ignition, and there are the keys.
Long live the sense of security that comes with being part of a motorcycle club.
A sigh of relief passes my lips and I throw my bag on the passenger seat. Then I climb into the driver’s seat. My heart’s still racing. I grip the steering wheel tightly. My palms are sweaty. Thank fuck for whoever owns this thing and left the keys in the truck.
Now it’s getting serious. I close the door and turn the key in one swift movement.
The engine roars to life. Even though I knew this was going to happen, a shiver of fear runs through me. With trembling fingers, I grab the gear stick and put it in first.
That’s when the bar door swings open.
Without looking to see who’s coming out, I floor it.
“Layne, stop!”
My focus is on the gate. I don’t see anyone and I don’t recognize the voice. I have to get to Rebel. As fast as possible.
Adrenaline rushes through my body as I tear through the gate.
Tires skidding, I turn onto the road to Rebel’s school.
I have to get her in the car before anyone from the club can catch up with me.
If they think logically, they’ll know that’s the first place I’ll go.
Everything in my body is pulsing, but I try to focus on the road.
I simultaneously floor the gas pedal as much as I’m comfortable with.
A black car appears in my rearview mirror.
I don’t recognize the face. It’s a bald man wearing a T-shirt, and even though I don’t know him, my instincts tell me something’s wrong.
Struggling to tear my gaze away from the mirror, I look in front of me.
Three hundred meters to go, then I have to take the turn. I’m almost there.
In the distance, a car is approaching me. I slow down and turn on my blinker.
The car is approaching quickly. Hopefully, I won’t even have to stop before the turn. I tap my fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. Come on, come on. I have to be on time. There’s no other way.
Suddenly, the car swerves toward me, and I widen my eyes.
Before I can react, the impact throws my body against the seatbelt, and I scream. The air gets knocked out of me and my head hits the steering wheel.
After a few seconds, I look up in a daze and try to focus on the road. The passenger side is pinned to the guardrail. Sluggishly, I look at my door and touch my forehead.
My fingers brush something wet and when I lower them, I notice blood. I forcefully press the seat belt button. Release. It needs to be released. I need to get out. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Suddenly, someone yanks open my door, and I find myself staring down the barrel of a gun. “Hello, Mrs. Hayes.”
I say nothing. Everything seems to fade into the background and then everything goes black.