Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
ROXY
Dom's been checking the mirrors for the last hour.
Not obviously as he's too controlled for that, but I notice.
The way his eyes flick to the rearview every thirty seconds.
The way his jaw tightens when a car passes us going the opposite direction.
The way he took three unnecessary exits in the last fifty miles, looping back onto the highway like he's testing something.
He thinks I don't see it, but I see everything. I’m as obsessed with him as he is with me.
"You want to tell me what's going on?" I ask, setting my bottle of water on the dashboard.
He doesn't look at me. "What do you mean?"
"You've been driving like we're being followed for the last two hours. You took that exit near Flagston for no reason. And you keep checking your phone like you're waiting for bad news."
"I'm being careful."
"You're being paranoid again."
"Same thing."
I study his profile, the stoic face, the tension in his body like he is ready to pounce at any given moment, the annoying way he taps his fingers against his thigh like it’s a sensory distraction.
He's hiding something. Something that's making him more tense than usual, and that's saying a lot for someone who catalogs surveillance cameras like other people count sheep.
"Dom."
"Yeah?"
"Tell me."
He's quiet for a long moment, and I can feel the weight of whatever he's not saying pressing against the space between us. Finally, he pulls off at the next exit at another rest stop, this one even more desolate than the last. He shuts off the engine and sits there, staring straight ahead.
"There are cameras," he says finally.
"I know there are cameras. There are always cameras."
"Not like this.The small town, at the gas station where we dealt with Carl, they had cameras at multiple angles, and now there are witnesses."
The words hit me like a bucket of ice water.
"How many witnesses?"
"Lisa, obviously. But also the clerk at the gas station who worked with Carl. Then there is a trucker who was parked across the street that we didn’t see. There may be more, people from the diner, they weren’t very specific."
"And they saw us?"
"Everything. You, me, the van. They now have solid descriptions. Height, build, hair color. They know we are together."
Oh shit. "What else?"
He pulls out his phone and opens a news site. Shows me an article dated two days ago – Authorities Seek Information on Couple in Connection with Suspicious Death. There's a rough sketch, but it’s clear. A tall man with dark hair and a petite woman with long black hair and big eyes.
Us.
"They're calling it suspicious," Dom says. "Not murder yet, but they're looking. And they've connected us to highway traffic cameras. Three different sightings in the last week. The fuckers know we're heading west."
The adrenaline hits me all at once with a metallic flooding my mouth with a hint of copper. This isn't abstract anymore or some distant threat we can outrun. This is serious. They know what we look like and they know where we've been. They're building a profile, connecting dots, closing in.
Why am I not panicking? Instead I just feel like I’m full of a buzzing energy, more alive than I’ve ever felt.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask.
"Because I was handling it."
"Handling it how?"
"Planning, routes, timing, figuring out false trails. I've been working on the escape plan."
"Without me."
He looks at me, and there's something fierce in his expression. "I was protecting you."
"I don't need protecting."
"Yes, you do."
The possessiveness in his voice makes my stomach drop. He's not wrong, we both know I'm reckless, that I chase the danger instead of running from it. But the idea that he's been carrying this alone, that he's been trying to shield me from the consequences of what we did together…it pisses me off.
"We're in this together," I say, my voice sharp. "You don't get to decide what I can handle."
"Roxy…"
"Show me everything."
He hesitates, then pulls up more articles.
More sketches. A timeline someone's constructed on a true crime forum, seriously, there is a forum?
It contains our movements over the last two weeks, pieced together from witness reports and camera footage.
They don't have our names yet, but they're close, so fucking close.
I read through it all, my heart pounding, and the nerves I should be feeling are drowned out by a resistance, I want to taunt them all, play a game.
All I feel is excitement. I want to fight, not run or hide. Fight.
"We need to move faster," I say.
"I know."
"No, I mean now. This escape plan you’ve made, we can't wait a month. We need to do it this week."
Dom frowns, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.
"It's not ready. We need more time to set up the false trail, to…"
"We don't have more time, you just showed me that we have been found out. It won’t be long until they have our names."
He's quiet, and I can see him weighing the options, running scenarios in his head. He overthinks too much sometimes.
"There's another option."
"What?"
"The trucker, the one who saw us at the gas station. He's the most credible witness as he got a good look at both of us, and he's already talked to the cops. If we eliminate him…"
"We can’t do that, they'll know it was us."
"Maybe. But it buys us time. Muddies the investigation and possibly makes them second-guess the witness statements."
Huh, this could work. I think about the risk versus the reward, what it means to actively track someone instead of just reacting to threats as they appear.
This is different from Carl, because it’s not because they have done something wrong, it’s purely for our survival, to protect each other. And the fucked-up thing is, I'm not hesitant about doing this. I'm excited.
"Where is he?" I ask.
Dom looks at me like he's seeing me for the first time. "You're serious."
"Where is he?"
He pulls up a map on his phone, zooms in on a truck stop about sixty miles east. "He runs a regular route. Phoenix to Albuquerque, he'll be here tonight."
"Then we go tonight."
"This is serious, Roxy."
"I know that, Dom. You said it yourself, we're out of time. So we either run now, or we handle this. Which is it?"
The silence stretches between us, heavy with options. The tape is playing something low and energetic, Blue Monday by New Order, the bass line pulsing like a heartbeat. The sun has now set, leaving us under the shroud of night except for the glow of the phone screen.
Finally, Dom reaches over and cups the back of my neck, pulling me toward him. The kiss is passionate, his teeth catching my bottom lip as I taste the promise of what’s coming on my tongue.
"We handle it," he says against my mouth. "Together."
"Together."
He releases me and starts the engine, pulling back onto the road.
The van smells like coffee and gasoline mixed with my vanilla bodywash and Dom’s woodsy cologne.
This is what our home smells like, and it’s comforting.
My camera is in my lap, and I run my fingers over the lens, thinking about what I'll photograph tonight.
Not the act itself, because that's too risky now. But the aftermath, the shadows and evidence of what we’re capable of.
"You worried?" Dom asks after a few miles.
"No," I say. "Are you?"
"No."
He reaches over and squeezes my hand, and the touch is as it always is, grounding.
A reminder that we're in this together, that whatever happens next, we face it as one. We both know getting caught is not an option, because we will never not be together, whether that’s in this world or not. I’m not leaving him.
As Dom continues to drive, I lean my head against the window, watching the desert blur past. Somewhere behind us, law enforcement are building a case. Somewhere ahead of us, a trucker is driving his regular route, unaware that his life is about to end.
And somewhere in between, we're hurtling toward a point of no return. But I'm not afraid, because I've been waiting my whole life for this, for a purpose and for someone to share it with. Dom's hand tightens on mine, and I squeeze back. We're not running anymore.
We're hunting.
And God help anyone who gets in our way.
Dom pulls off the highway without warning, the van lurching onto a dirt access road that trails into the remote desert. My heart is still racing from the conversation, from the decision we just made and the weight of what's coming.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
He parks aggressively, so much so that the van lurches forward and I have to hold onto the dash. He turns to me, and the look in his eyes makes my breath stutter. Hunger. Need. Something wild and barely controlled.
"Come here."
It's not a request and I’m down for anything, anytime, when it comes to this man.
I unbuckle and he pulls me onto his lap in one rough motion, his hands gripping on my ass hard.
The cassette player is still going, Purple Rain by Prince & The Revolution, all slow bass and desperate vocals, and the music wraps around us like a living thing. Sensual.
"We just decided to kill someone," I breathe against his mouth.
"We did."
"I’d do anything for you, kill anyone."
"Thats why we’re doing it, for each other." His hands slide up under my hoodie, palms hot against my bare skin. He yanks the purple hoodie over my head and tosses it aside onto the passenger seat, his eyes dark as they rake over me.
"We're past the point of turning back now."
"I don't want to turn back."
The words come out passionately, almost angry, something that delights him from the arrogant smirk on his sexy face.
He grabs the back of my neck and pulls me into a kiss that's all saliva and tongue and barely restrained roughness.
I kiss him back just as hard, biting his bottom lip until I taste blood.