Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 60921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
“Bounty? Like someone just put a hit on us?” Knight’s jaw flexes. “Amount?”
“High enough to make you popular,” Ozzy says. “And they’ve got Lark now too. You hit the floodlight, sweetheart. Congrats—you’re both trending.”
“On the worst kind of social media,” Arrow adds.
Knight closes his eyes for a beat.
Then opens them.
They’re dark.
Resolved.
“Can they trace us back to Riverside?” he asks.
“Working on severing the links,” Arrow says. “But assume yes. You can’t come back here tonight. Or home. You’ve got about ten minutes before local goons and out-of-town opportunists start sniffing around.”
I swallow.
“So,” I say, trying to lighten the shadow in my chest, “what I’m hearing is… we’re going on a trip.”
Knight looks at me.
We’re pressed close together in the dark—me, breathless and adrenalined, bat at my side; him, heat and control and barely leashed anger.
“This is your fault,” he says under his breath.
“Technically, this is their fault,” I counter. “I just refuse to be decor in a parked Altima.”
He leans in, voice dropping. “You understand what this means, right? Once we move now, we don’t stop. We don’t go home. We don’t go back to normal until this is done.”
A thrill runs through me. Fear. Excitement. Something sharp-edged and bright. “Then let’s be done,” I say. “Let’s burn this whole thing down.”
For a second, something raw flickers in his eyes. Then he nods. “Ozzy,” he says, straightening. “Wipe what you can. Reroute the rest. We’re going dark.”
“Copy,” Arrow says.
“Arrow,” Knight continues, “Think Dean can help us out with a new ride and a safe house?”
“Already on that. Dean’s sending coordinates now. He’s got a cabin two hours out of the city,” Arrow says. “They’re stocking the place now. No neighbors, no cameras, no internet.”
“That last part is a hate crime,” I mutter.
Knight’s hand tightens on my wrist. “You wanted in, Birdie,” he says quietly. “You’re in.”
“Oh, and Knight,” Gage says. “Keep her safe.”
“With my life,” Knight answers, which sends another thrill straight through my core.
We slip into the shadows together, leaving the warehouse—and our old lives—in the rearview.
And as we disappear into the night, one thought pulses through my head louder than the alarms behind us:
I finally got what I wanted.
Alone with Knight.
On the run.
Just the two of us against everyone else.
I grin into the dark.
Let them come.
SEVEN
THE PART WHERE WE DON’T TOUCH HER
KNIGHT
The cabin looks like the kind of place serial killers dump bodies.
Which, naturally, means it’s perfect for us.
Tall pines crowd the dirt driveway, branches clawing at the sky. The structure itself is small, dark wood, a deep porch, a metal roof, and absolutely no neighbors. Not a gas station. Not a mailbox. Just trees, crickets, and the low hum of my paranoia.
I kill the headlights and let the engine tick cool in the silence.
Beside me, Lark exhales. “Wow. Peak murder vibes.”
“This place is off-grid, hardened, and unregistered,” I say. “You want a spa weekend, ask someone else.”
She smirks. “We can do spa treatments with knives.”
I don’t respond to that.
Mostly because my brain doesn’t have room for anything but the last three hours: ditching my car, grabbing a new one, changing routes, cutting through back roads while Arrow, Gage, and Ozzy radioed updates about the bounty network.
Someone posted Knight Hayes and Lark Dawson to an encrypted board with a price tag that made even Render swear.
Face capture. High-priority. Interfered with operations.
We’ve been promoted to “problems.”
Lark swings the passenger door open and steps out. The forest air is cold. Sharp. It smells like pine and damp moss and impending bad decisions.
She stretches, arms overhead, shirt riding up enough to flash a strip of bare stomach.
I do not look.
I look at the cabin.
I grab our go-bags we packed before the mission, our laptops, and Lark’s bat. Lark tromps up the front steps like she’s on a weekend getaway. There’s a key in the agreed hiding place—under a fake-looking rock by the third stair.
“Welcome to Casa Oh-Shit,” Lark says as I unlock the door.
The cabin is… nicer inside than I expect.
Small, yeah, but clean. Living room with a couch and battered coffee table. Tiny kitchen in the corner with a gas stove, fridge humming quietly, a couple of cabinets. There’s a woodstove against one wall, already stacked with kindling and logs. A single hallway leads deeper in.
Someone’s stocked the place.
There’s a crate of bottled water by the fridge, bags of chips and canned soup in the pantry, clothes in the closet, and a handwritten note taped to the cabinet.
I peel it off.
Knight,
Stocked well with everything you need.
No wifi. Just Starlink. Stay put. Lay low. Please don’t blow anything up.
P.S. Yes, there’s only one bed. No, that wasn’t an accident.
— Ranger Cole
Lark appears at my shoulder like a nosy cat. “Only one bed?” she echoes, way too delighted.
I fold the note and shove it in my pocket. “Apparently. I’ll take the couch.”
“That thing?” she says, pointing to the tiny leather loveseat in the center of the living room. It doesn’t look like it could handle Lark comfortably, let alone me.