Page 8 of Outlaws’ Runaway

“But if you supposedly have all this money…” He trails off for me to explain.

“I had my reasons.” And right now I don’t trust these guys any farther than I can throw them. Which is exactly nowhere. Once my bag is filled, I toss it over my shoulder and give my little hideout a last look. It was good for a couple of days.

Back at the diner, Poe and Mike are talking next to a black van with a motorcycle trailer hitched behind it. Mike’s put his shotgun away, so I guess I'm not getting a miraculous rescue from him.

“Took you long enough,” Poe says as he sees us coming.

I glare at him, heading straight for Mike. “Listen, I don’t know what he said, but I'm not?—”

He pinches his lips together. “I'm sorry Sarah. Or I guess I should call you Paige now. You seem like a nice enough girl, but they’re licensed and everything. I hope you get your life backon track, kiddo. Nothing I can do.” He throws his hands out apologetically, like he wants me to give him a hug for trying.

Blah blah blah. No help coming. I don’t blame Mike, but it’s hard to feel understanding at the moment. “They broke your door, by the way. Split it right down the middle. That’s not my fault. They wouldn’t wait for me to unlock it.”

Savage’s expression looks caught between pissed off and amused. “I'll pay for it,” he grumbles.

“In you go.” Poe opens the back door of the van to reveal a couple of bench seats and not much else.

Crank fetches his bike from behind a tree and rolls it onto the trailer. “I'll be keeping you company.”

“Yippee.” Great. Not that I thought I'd be able to break out of the back anyway.

A few moments later, I'm buckled in with Crank sitting across from me while Poe drives us to the bus station. Savage leads the way on his bike. I close my eyes and pretend I’m somewhere else, anywhere else.

“You okay?”

Crank’s question has me look after all. With his shaved head, beard and tattoos, he looks like the kind of guy you’d cross the road to avoid, but his blue eyes are kind, and I remember the feel of his strong arms around me. He’s strong enough to have really hurt me, but he didn’t. He held me like I mattered. They didn’t get me into this situation. I can’t even totally blame my uncle. He tried to warn me off, but I couldn’t stop poking my nose into things.

I want to stay angry, but it’s hard to maintain when the mercenaries that are probably going to ruin my life keep seeming like decent people. “Been better.”

“Fuck, it's just a shit situation. You're cute, you're young, and you don't seem like you’ve really let the habit get to you yet.”

“Do I seriously look like I'm on drugs?”

“Jesus, ease up.” He sighs. “I didn’t mean nothing by it. You can’t tell by looking at someone, you know? I’ve known people who should be fucking dead considering how much they shove into their veins, but they hold down jobs and join the PTA. And then someone else makes one shitty decision and it fucks up their whole life. I’m not here to judge. Do I look like a fucking boyscout to you?”

“Sorry, I just… I’m not supposed to be here. None of this was supposed to happen.”

“Welcome to life, beautiful.”

The van stops, and a few moments later there’s three quick knocks on the back door before it opens. They don't cuff me or march me through the doors like a prisoner as we enter the bus station, but they keep me centered between them, and someone is always close enough to grab me. In some ways, I’m probably the safest person here right now. Nobody would dare touch me with them around.

The lockers are in the basement. It’s not a big town, so the place isn’t exactly swarming with people. Right now it’s just me and my captors. Eager to get it over with and prove I’m not making things up, I pick up speed down the hall as we get closer to the locker. It’s the third section on the right. I crouch down and put my key in the lock. This is it.

Here's hoping I'm not making a huge mistake.

I open up and reach inside. My fingers close on nothing. My heart freezes, refusing to pump ice through my veins.

“No, no, no,” I chant, crouching even lower and feeling all the way to the back of the locker.

Savage crosses his arms in front of his chest and sighs. “Give it up, Paige.”

“No! It should be here!” I double check the locker number, but why would my key work anywhere else? No matter how many times I open and close the door, it's not going to change anything.

It’s empty.

5

CRANK

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