Page 77 of Cruel Love

She snorts.

“That’s just us, Dani,” I say. “You and Fox have that soulmates never die, reach across the cosmos, love can move mountains, Disney-magic thing going on. You have nothing to worry about.”

“So, you’re not nervous about him?” she asks.

“Of course, I am. But he’s coming back. Fox always comes back. That’s what he does and when he does…” I gesture to the rock on her finger. “You guys are gonna have the rest of your lives to figure it all out together.”

Dani looks down again, this time focusing on her left hand. She nods slowly and smiles, though I’m not sure she believes me.

“Want to stick around here for a while longer?” she asks. “Get some extra sleep and drive through the night? We should be in Iowa by Monday at this rate. Tuesday, at the latest.”

I nod. “Sounds good to me.”

Hell, I’m not even sure I believe me.

Chapter 24

Fox

The van rocks back and forth for several miles and the ride gets bumpier the farther we travel outside the city. I’ve lost my bearings completely. I can’t say for sure how far we’ve gone or in what direction. Dante can’t either. We won’t be able to tell anything until we get outside again, assuming they don’t shoot us before we get the chance… but I don’t really like to think that way.

Eyes open. Senses sharp. Don’t try and change the past. Try and alter the future instead.

I made a promise to Dani. I don’t intend on breaking it.

Finally, the van comes to a sudden stop. I dig my feet into the floor to keep from tumbling over, but Lucy’s reflexes aren’t as sharp from the sounds of it. Her body slaps against the wall and she yelps.

“Ouch…” she murmurs.

“You okay?” Dante asks her.

“Getting pretty pissed off, actually.”

The back doors swing open. A strong hand takes my arm and yanks me out onto the concrete ground. My boots echo slightly. We’re inside somewhere. The air smells like rotting wood and dried blood. It’s cold and stale.

I tune my ears, trying to count the number of people and create a map in my head of where they are. One with me. Two with Dante. Another with Lucy. About a half-dozen voices on the other side of the room.

We’re outnumbered and — if my sense of smell is correct — out-gunned.

Someone kicks the back of my knees, forcing me down to the floor. They plunk Lucy down to my left and I hear Dante putting up a struggle on the other side of her. A few punches and the sound of bullets sliding into chambers makes him sit still again.

A man stomps in closer, his heels grinding along the floor as he slowly passes each of us. The gang leader or maybe the low-level man assigned to torture us. I can work with either one. Just have to get him talking.

“Eti grebanyye zmei…” he growls softly.

These fucking snakes…

My lips curl as I recognize his old, dry voice.

“Markov?” I ask, raising my head. “I thought I smelled cheap vodka.”

There’s a short pause as his feet shift back in my direction.

“Fitzpatrick?”

He grabs my hood and pulls it off. I look up from into Markov’s milk-gray eyes as they shift with amusement and he laughs out loud from the bottom of his gut.

“Fitzpatrick!”

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