Page 102 of Callum

One, I’m not wearing shoes and will likely end up breaking all the bones in my foot. Loving that for me. Two, it will be loud. The question is, will it be loud enough to alert whoever is driving this shitbox that their cargo is awake?

Only one way to find out.

My heel slams into the back of the taillight, but it doesn’t budge. Two more solid hits and a few misses that we don’t need to talk about, and the taillight finally starts to give way. The third kick lands at the same time the car veers hard to the right. My body rolls without my permission, and my back lands flat against the front of the trunk.

“Mother fucker!” I make sure to keep my voice low even as my entire body screams in pain. The whole car begins to vibrate, the terrain going from a paved road to something else entirely.

We’re in the woods.

We’re in the fucking woods.

Shit, shit, shit.

My nails dig into the ropes at my wrists, the damn things only getting tighter the harder I struggle. There’s no way I’m going to die in these woods without putting up a fight. But to do that, I need my damn hands.

Something breaks in the rope, and I feel the loop around my left wrist loosen. I have just enough time to get my hand in front of me when the car suddenly slams to a stop.

This is less than ideal.

There’s no way Callum won’t kill me if I reinjure my leg less than two days after he took out my stitches, which means I’m left with just my non-dominant hand to defend myself.

Voices filter through the air, coming closer and closer to the trunk. It takes a moment to place the man’s voice, the deep tone distorted through the metal hull around me. He’s asking where I am, and I hear Ginetta direct him toward the back of the car. Panic sets in, my heart pounding as I brace myself for what’s to come.

Hooking my foot back through the loop is far more difficult than expected, but I manage it just as I hear them approach. My free hand slides back through the rope, and I awkwardly twist my wrist a few times to tighten the loop. I’ve just settled back into place when the trunk opens. Light pours in, temporarily blinding me, but I manage to crack one eye open to see the outline of a man leering down at me.

“Hello, Red.”

Twenty-Nine: Old Habits Die Hard

CALLUM

My eyes stay glued to the phone screen, watching the little flashing dot move through town.

She’s in a shitty old Crown Victoria, according to Merrick, who dropped in to tail them. He reported one driver and no passengers, meaning Rosalind is likely tied up in the backseat or trunk—if she’s even in the car.

There’s no evidence that the GiGi’s searched her for trackers, but there’s always a chance they found it.

Or that she told them about it.

I shake the thought from my head, focusing on the flickering green light again. “They’re headed toward Bray Forest.”

“Neutral ground.” Grant hums, swerving the Maserati smoothly around a minivan going half the speed limit. “Stupid.”

“Why’s that stupid?” The question is muffled by the knife pinned between Lachlan’s teeth as he finishes pulling the straps on his bulletproof vest. He lets the thick black sweater fall back in place over his stomach before dropping the blade from his mouth and catching it with practiced ease.

We’re all dressed in black and wearing our softest combat boots. Considering the bright white layer of snow on the ground, our outfit choices feel counterproductive, but there won’t be snow where we’re going. Bray Forest has always been a dense canopy; very little makes it through the treetops. It stays dark within the trees year-round, even on the sunniest days.

“Because we’re allowed on neutral ground,” Maddock answers for Grant. I recognize the grenade he’s carefully strapping to the belt of weapons across his chest as the one I stole off the man Rosalind killed at the RMF Safehouse. “Which means we aren’t breaking any rules by crashing their party.”

“Turn right.”

Grant immediately follows my direction, throwing Maddock off balance in the back seat.

“Easy, fuckhead,” Lachlan laughs, but his eyes are locked on the grenade. “If you accidentally blow us up, I will haunt you for all eternity.”

They dissolve into whispered arguments about who would haunt the other better, but I tune them out. Rosalind’s little green dot is moving quickly out of town, and I’m getting more anxious by the moment.

I watch the dot dart to the side, straight into the forest. Within seconds, the car fills with the sound of a phone ringing, and Grant answers the call with a gruff, “Tell me.”

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