I reach my car and hop in the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel hard. Cason gets in the passenger seat, slamming the door quickly. He falls into his seat and lets out a groan as he grabs onto his ribs.
“You good man?” I ask.
He points to his ribcage. “This? This ain’t shit.” He chuckles but it quickly turns into a groan. He takes a few deep breaths and readjusts in his seat.
“How long do you think it’ll take?” he asks.
“I don’t know. He’s telling the truth. He may not actually know where Marcus is,” I say with dread. I’m worried because, right now, he’s our only hope at finding the psycho who took Fallon. And that hope is quickly dwindling with every step we make.
“I don’t believe that shit for a minute. Did you hear what I heard? He’s blood,” Cason growls.
“It’s not always about blood,” I say as I intently look at Cason. Cason isn’t my blood brother, but he’s still my family. But I’ll never claim my father, and half my DNA comes from that asshole.
“He knows something. No way he’s completely in the dark,” Cason says fiercely. “So, what do we do now?”
Just as soon as the words fall out of Cason’s mouth, I look through a break in the hedges we’d parked behind and see Jax bounce out of his crib and head straight for his car, stopping briefly to check his surroundings. He’s looking for us, but I was smart enough to park somewhere he couldn’t spot us easily. Where are you going, Jax?
“We follow him.”
Marcus had us packed up, or rather himself packed up, within ten minutes after his visitor left. I felt more like a piece of his luggage than anything else. Either way, we were in his truck flying down the road in no time. He didn’t even give me a full hour to accept the fact that whatever chance I had at being rescued is about to become non-existent. I’m not even sure where we are headed.
When he’d tugged me outside to his truck, still handcuffed, I’d hoped a neighbor, a car driving past, or even a kid on a bicycle riding by would see us. But my luck is staying strong—in the wrong direction. There hadn’t been a soul outside but us. He’d yanked me to his truck, tossed me in, locked the doors and quickly rounded the front to the other side. It’s not like I could have gotten out with my hands behind my back anyway. But damn it, I’d have tried to run or scream if I’d thought I could’ve.
But as we drove off, what hit me hardest was the fact that I’d only been five minutes from Jesse’s house this entire time. I’d recognized the houses and roads as we’d passed by, and it makes me sick to know that Jesse was right there. If only I’d gotten out. I could have made it to his house, even cuffed. Or to a neighbor’s house to ask for help. Any of those options would have been good ones.
Marcus keeps driving to the outskirts of town. He eventually pulls into the parking lot of a run-down, crappy-looking motel. Motels aren’t fancy by nature, but this one looks particularly shady, like something you’d find in a movie about drug lords and prostitutes. He drives past the front office and heads to the farthest corner of the parking lot, pulling his truck into a spot in front of the very last door, out of sight, out of mind from the world. Marcus has his door open before he even turns off the truck. He quickly grabs his bag out of the back and comes for my door.
He pulls my door open and stands there with one hand full and the other hand on the handle. I stare at him as my mind races. The front office might have someone working in it. I mean, it is business hours. The possibility is one I can’t pass up.
“What the fuck are you doing? Get out of the truck, Fallon,” Marcus growls at me. His obvious aggravation with my lack of urgency is so pleasant.
I clear my throat and slowly slide out of my seat. Again, I continue to watch, waiting for the perfect opportunity.
“Get a move on it.”
I squeeze between the door and the truck. I hold my breath and just as I clear the door enough for him to shut it, I take off. With my hands behind my back, I run. I set my eyes on the office. I don’t look back. I put every ounce of energy into my legs, but the searing pain from my ankle and the spinning in my skull almost makes me rethink this plan. How can I outrun a perfectly capable man with a hurt ankle?
But I put my head down and I push harder, push through the pain. Because this may be my only chance to get away, and I’m not wasting it. I get halfway there and realize I don’t hear any indication Marcus is following, but I put that thought to the side and keep running. I’m almost there. Safety is right behind that door.
I slow down only when I think if I don’t, I’ll run right through the door of the office. When I’m within distance of reaching out and touching it, I start kicking it and screaming. I don’t know if there are people inside, but I just need someone—anyone—to hear me.
“Open the door! Please!” I scream. I kick at the door and again. “Hello? Is anyone in there? Please help me!”
“No one is going to help you Fallon. Read the sign.” Marcus’s voice rumbles through my frantic screams laced with what sounds like disappointment. I look down at a white piece of paper with awful handwriting scrawled across it. It reads “Office Closed.” That’s it. Those two words knock me down to
