Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 155798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 779(@200wpm)___ 623(@250wpm)___ 519(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 779(@200wpm)___ 623(@250wpm)___ 519(@300wpm)
“I’m going to Brett’s,” I told her.
She looked over her shoulder. “I think they’re going to argue with that.”
No. “There’s been no threat against me.”
Lo shook her head. “There have been and you know it.”
“The normal ones. Right?”
“There’s one they’re worried about. The Feds are still combing through the rest of Dad’s computer. They wanted to take everything in with them, but he raised hell since he still needs that for work and stuff. So they’re copying everything, but yeah, there’s one standing out from the normal lunatics. I might’ve overheard all of that.” She frowned. “Why are you fighting this? You know you’re a target. All the profilers are saying you are. You, yourself, have said you are.”
“Could they park outside your place?” I asked Brett.
His eyes narrowed, studying me.
Lo snorted. “They’re going to have a conniption fit at that.”
“Is that what you want?” he asked, but I knew that wasn’t what he really wanted to ask.
I nodded, sighing. “Not in the house. Outside.”
Brett turned to Lo. “They can walk through my place, see my system. I talked to Howard earlier. My place is safe.”
She looked ready to argue but saw my face and swallowed the protest. “Okay.” She stepped back. “I’ll tell them. Is it safe to send them out to talk to you, or are you two going to keep necking like you’re teenagers?”
Brett chuckled.
I glared.
She noted my expression, the ends of her mouth turning up in a slight grin as she went back inside.
“I want to leave.”
Brett’s eyebrows rose. “Let’s wait and talk to them. We can get a police escort to my place. Being safe isn’t—”
No! I felt heat rush through me.
He paused, seeing my reaction. “What’s going on?”
I shook my head, frustration settling in my chest. I knew what I should do. All the proper steps, knew what they’d say, knew their worries were valid. I’d lived this already. But there was a restlessness inside me now, and I was suddenly, so madly, so furiously sick of being this way.
Of being scared. Of hiding.
Of not living.
Of not being in the sunlight. Brett brought me the sunshine.
I just wanted to feel that warmth, his warmth.
What would that world feel like?
If I’d not gone to Jojo’s?
If my mom hadn’t—I couldn’t go there.
“Just go,” I whispered. “Please.”
The screen door opened again. The Feds were coming out.
Brett saw something on my face and clipped his head in a nod. He turned and yelled through his window, “I’ll text you my address. We can talk there.”
The first agent frowned. “Wha—”
Brett threw his truck in reverse, gunning the engine and swinging the front around like a drag racer, handling it as if he’d done this a million times before. He shifted gears, slammed down on the accelerator, and we were racing down the driveway.
A sense of freedom swept over me—the speed, his carefree handling of the truck, the wind from his window still open. It was irrational, but in that moment, it was a morsel of food after a lifetime of starvation.
A thrill sparked through me.
Brett was waking me up, in more ways than one.
We came to the road, and as if he was a pro, he braked and swung his end to the left. Almost without stopping, we zoomed straight ahead. We were out of sight before any headlights came following us on the driveway.
Brett watched in the rearview mirror, one corner of his mouth curved up.
He wasn’t reckless. It might’ve looked that way, but his face was calm. His eyes were steady. He handled his truck with restraint, everything calculated for maximum control.
“We’ve got another three miles before cops will clock us for speeding,” he warned me. “While I’m enjoying the random burst of teenaged rebellion, I’ll need to slow down. Getting hauled in after a car chase would cause a certain publicist to have an aneurysm.”
I grinned. “I know. Thank you for that, though.”
“Not a problem. Care to share what bee got in your pants? Just so I’m on the same page.”
I shared what I could, trying to explain it the best way possible.
After a little bit, he nodded. “I can get that.”
“You’ve driven like that before.”
He grunted. “It’s called a controlled fishtail. Most have to rev their engine for maximum effect, but I figured a way to do it faster. I did a lot of crazy shit when I was a kid.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ll tell you about it. Actually, I think there’s a documentary that kinda covers where I grew up.”
“Really?”
We were coming to the outskirts of the city, so Brett slowed to a normal speed. Once we hit the interstate, the phone started ringing through his dashboard.
Willy calling.
Brett cursed. “I gotta take this.” He hit accept. “If this is about the news, I don’t want to hear it.”
The person on the other end was quiet a moment. “What are you talking about?”