Chapter 17 Jace
JACE
Iswing the truck into the Pilot lot south of Lynchburg and park in the shadows behind the last row of idling semis.
Rain needles the windshield and the neon sign buzzes overhead, illuminating the puddles.
I can't begin to express how happy I am that it's not snow.
It's been a long day, and adding snow to that would only make it worse.
My vision tunnels from exhaustion, the stab wound in my thigh throbs, and the road has been swimming in front of me for the last twenty miles. I can't push another inch tonight. If I do, I'm risking both of our lives for no reason.
Sabine sits against the passenger door with her knees drawn up and her chin resting on them.
Her eyes are closed peacefully but she isn't sleeping.
I kill the engine and she blinks a few times, yawning hard.
We're both so cozy in here, but we have to get out and move or we'll end up with blood clots in our legs from sitting for too long.
“Shower,” I grumble in her general direction. I know she'll appreciate it too. “You’re filthy and you stink…"
She turns her head slowly and looks at me through half-lidded eyes. “Well, you're a ray of sunshine this evening," she mutters as she rolls her eyes, and I chuckle at her. I'm sure when she's clean, she'll thank me.
“Nag me when you're not festering in anxiety sweat anymore…" I wink at her, and we climb out into the wet, frigid air. It's colder now than it's been in weeks with this wind, but the snow is holding off for now. The farther south we get, the better weather we'll have.
Sabine slides from my truck holding her duffle bag under one arm and giving me a sour look, like she wanted to sit there and sleep.
I walk her through the automatic doors of the newly remodeled truck stop and straight to the fuel desk.
The clerk is a kid with acne scars and a neck tattoo, scrolling his phone and ignoring most of the customers.
I have to tap the counter a few times to get his attention.
“She wants a shower,” I tell him, sliding cash across the counter. “Throw in a towel pack too.”
He rings it without looking up, hands me the key card and a plastic-wrapped bundle. Sabine takes them and lifts an eyebrow at the kid. I think we're both wondering the same thing—whether that kid is mute or something. Then she sighs at me and starts walking away.
“See you in forty-five,” she mutters, and disappears down the cinder-block hallway toward the showers.
The door swings shut behind her, and I stand there staring at the empty space, thinking something maybe I shouldn’t be.
Hamilton’s arms around her. Her hands flat on his back. Her face turned into his shoulder while he whispered apologies into her hair.
The way she let him hold her like that sparked something in my chest that I can't seem to fight back.
My fists curl at my sides. The jealousy is a living thing now, coiled like a serpent in my gut.
I don't like the feeling at all. It's a possessive, angry tension grating at my insecurities, but I don’t dare tell her that.
I have no ownership over Sabine Hart or her attention.
Expressing my distaste for her touching another man would be like telling the president where to sit in his own office.
It's just not a good look on any person.
I turn away before the kid notices and head toward the diner counter.
The grill area smells like burnt chicken, but there isn’t much else here other than pre-packaged convenience food.
I look up at the menu of images that make the food look gourmet knowing it'll be nothing more than gas-station mediocre, but I have to eat.
A woman in a hairnet and a name tag that reads CARLA looks up from wiping the stainless steel.
"What'll you have, handsome?" Her words strike me as funny, because just as much as I hated seeing Hamilton wrap Sabine in those thick biceps he had, I dislike the feeling of some other woman flirting with me.
It makes me cringe, even though she's a sweet, fairly good-looking woman.
“Turkey club, no mayo, large Coke,” I tell her while avoiding eye contact and pulling out my wallet again.
She punches buttons on the register. “Seven forty-two, honey." She holds her hand out, but I'm not foolish enough to put my cash in her hand and spark anything at all.
I drop a ten on the counter and tell her to keep the change, and she turns to grab my items. She slides the tray across three minutes later without a word, so I take it to the dining room and pick the booth farthest from the doors.
Sitting here with my back to the wall, I'll be able to see when Sabine walks out.
I drop into the cracked vinyl seat and unwrap the sandwich.
The television bolted high on the wall across the room runs CNN on mute with captions scrolling.
A reporter stands outside Dempsey’s house next to yellow tape flapping in the wind.
I remember that place too well. They have grainy footage now—me leaving the driveway with my hood up.
It looks like it came from a neighbor across the street who had a Ring cam.
The ticker reads “Chicago authorities link multiple suspicious deaths, seek person of interest.” They don't have my name yet, and there isn't an indication of it being linked to any of the others, or at least not Dempsey's military record, but it's only a matter of time now.
I bite into the sandwich and chew without tasting anything. Bread sticks to the roof of my mouth. All I see is Hamilton’s hand sliding to the small of Sabine's back, the way she leaned in instead of pulling away. She needed comfort and she took it from him. Not from me.
The jealousy claws deeper.
I have no right. I'm the man who was paid to murder her, not become her new best friend. And Hamilton has history with her—years of service. But still, the sight of his arms around her made me want to snap his neck.
That's how I know I love her.
I stood there watching that exchange feeling toxic as fuck because I wanted to get him away from her as fast as possible, and I felt like a complete asshole.
After everything she'd been through, she deserved that reconciliation.
But the way he looked at her, and he whispered things he thought I didn't hear…
He likes her too, probably wanted her at some point.
But I want her gratitude aimed at me. I want her to reach for me the way she reached for Hamilton today, and I want it to be permanent, not a passing thing.
It makes my throat constrict so it's hard to swallow my food.
The envy consumes me, cushioned only by the fact that Everette Hamilton stayed behind in a Kingwood motel with plans to meet us in Chicago in ten days or so.
At least I don't have to see him, and he can't just reach out to her for now.
My Coke glass sweats onto the table and the ice melts into brown water. Truckers shuffle past with trays of burgers and burnt coffee. None of them look twice at the hooded man in the corner booth staring at nothing as I eat the stale bread and bland meat.
All the while, I can't stop thinking about Sabine. I picture her under the spray of water with her head back and her eyes closed. Water cascades over her body in places I long to touch her. And I picture her scrubbing Hamilton’s hug off her skin like it burns.
The jealousy doesn't cool. It hardens in my chest but only strengthens the resolve I feel. There's no doubt in my mind that she belongs to me, but try to tell her that.
I don’t know how I'd even go about telling her I love her. Words like that are ammunition the world can use against you. But they live in me now, and they're changing the shape of every decision left on the table.
My phone buzzes in my pocket so I pull it out, screen lighting up with Lucas’s number. I haven't heard from him in a few days and I've been waiting for an update. So I swipe to answer and press the phone to my ear while I lean back in the booth and scan the dining room again.
“Yeah,” I answer as I focus on the hallway leading to the showers.
Lucas starts talking fast. “Yeah, Jace, we got trouble.
" He sighs but doesn't let me get a word in before continuing.
"The boss ain't happy. That military douche went rogue.
He musta beat the boss's name out of that broker 'cause he showed up and nearly laid Barone out.
He knows the woman's alive, Jace, and the boss ain't happy… ."
I pick up the plastic Coke cup, swirl the melted ice, and take a sip of the flat liquid. A family pushes through the doors, coats dripping, kids whining about being hungry while the father herds them toward the bathrooms.
I pause until they're past me to respond. "Tell me exactly what happened."
"Bryan's his name… Said someone is coming for him and said you're failing your job. He told the boss to get a new hitter and demanded the rest of those hits be executed now. Barone is calling for you to be neutralized."
That word sounds sterile, but that's exactly how the family works. Barone won't say "kill him" because if anyone links that back to him as a bonafide threat, he goes down for it. Saying "eliminate" or "neutralize" can be interpreted in many ways, which gives plausible deniability.
“He named me?” I ask.
“Directly. Said you fucked the job, left witnesses breathing. Every crew in the city has your photo, your truck plates, everything.”
The waitress moves past my booth with a pot of coffee, refilling mugs for the truckers. One of them thanks her with a nod, the other keeps staring at his phone. I set the Coke down and drum my fingers on the laminate.
“What sort of timeline we talkin' about?" I knew this was coming. I just didn't figure it'd happen until Sabine had turned in her evidence and I reported back with my updated tally.
“They're rollin' now, buddy. Don’t come back to Chicago. Hole up somewhere quiet. I’ll feed you what I hear.”
Turning my gaze, I stare out the window into the darkness. Rain hammers the semis, and a driver climbs into his cab. The engine roars to life while I watch.
“I have to come back,” I tell Lucas. “I have business there… And I'm planning to stop Barone in his tracks." A wry smile crosses my face as I watch my own reflection. "I'm thinking early retirement. Barone's made mistakes and gotten sloppy. I have all the evidence I need to shut him up for good."
Lucas exhales hard. “You drop that and you’re dead before it hits the news. He’ll burn the city to keep you quiet."
“Then he learns not to push me,” I say.
A semi pulls in from the ramp, air brakes hissing, tires throwing water.
The driver kills the lights and the cab rocks as he climbs down.
I watch him as my mind continues to think through contingencies.
If Barone really does have a hit out for me, I'm gonna need help when we get back to the city, or at the very least, extra cash to help me and Sabine stay hidden.
“You’re serious,” Lucas mutters.
“Dead serious. Tell him I’m finishing this my way.”
The line stays open while Lucas breathes on the other end. “Watch your back,” he finally says.
I end the call and slide the phone into my pocket, then sit there trying to let that information flow through me without causing too much of a mess in my nerves.
Everything has changed.
My head is officially on a platter. Men I grew up with are hunting me. But at least I have the evidence now that will rip the Barone family open if they come close.
I'll make sure Don Vittorio learns the price of putting out that order.
Then I lean back in the booth, pull the burner out again, and open the encrypted cloud app.
My fingers move fast as I back everything we have up to the cloud.
I'm not going to be able to use this phone now, either, so saving our information is essential.
If Barone tracks where I'm at or where I've been, he'll know how to find the others.
I won't cry if he finds Hamilton and ends him, but Sabine deserves a chance to find someone to side with her, and letting them track my phone won't help that.
Barone wants my head. Fine. I'll hand him the whole family on a platter instead. Every ledger, every wire, every name tied to Bryan’s blood money.
When I walk into Chicago, I'll carry a dead-man switch that will blow the Barone empire wide open.
One button and the Feds will get everything.
He'll learn what happens when he marks me as expendable.
The hallway door swings open and Sabine walks out with wet hair slicked back, skin pink from the shower's heat. She stops by the counter to buy her own sandwich and drink before she spots me, crosses the dining room, and slides into the booth opposite without asking.
She sets the tray down and unwraps a roast beef on rye with greedy hands and big eyes.
“We'll have to be more careful now," I tell her, but I don’t intend to give details. "With Hamilton holing up in a hotel, they'll start searching harder. The faster we can get to the others, the better."
She nods, takes a bite, chews slowly. Under the table her knee brushes mine and stays there. "Yeah, Ham was pretty riled when we got there. I bet they sent a memo out saying to stay away from me…" She looks annoyed as she takes a bite, but she doesn’t know the half of it.
If we don't get to the others before Barone's new hitter does, we lose any leverage. And protecting Hamilton will be our only option.
"Eat fast. We gotta get on the road tonight. I want to make it to North Carolina before we knock off for the night. We'll find a hotel this time."
I don’t mind sleeping in the truck again, but she deserves better and I have competition now. Sabine only nods and keeps shoveling her food into her face. Even devouring food like a hog, she's intoxicating.
I just have to keep her long enough that I can find the nerve to tell her that.
And hope all of this goes off without a hitch.
I won't let Barone get what he wants, and I won't lose her.