Page 79 of Debt of My Soul

“Thank you,” I mutter. And because I’m an idiot, I add, “Do you think River was right about Adam coming back?”

His expression moves from passive to immovable and stone-cold before I can finish my question. He pins me with a stare as he finishes chewing the strip of bacon in his mouth. He wipes hishand on his thigh and leans down close to my ear. The scent of bacon with smokey spices and a woodsy smell gathers near me.

“Do you want Adam to come back?” Liam asks, his voice lower several octaves.

The sound kindles something deep in my belly, dangerous and reckless, and no doubt something I shouldn’t be feeling. I consider his hazel eyes, undeterred by his clear and blatant stare.

“I want to know he’s okay,” I answer.

“He’s fine.” Liam finishes his toast in two bites. “Be ready to go in an hour.”

Liam doesn’t tell me where we’re going, only that it’s about an hour’s drive and to use the bathroom before we go because there isn’t any place to stop. I’ve come to this conclusion in my own adventures around Mississippi, so I bristle when he addresses me like a child.

The roads we take are all dirt roads zigzagging through wooded areas. The black duffel in the back seat slides with every turn. Admittedly annoyed at every drag and snag of the bag along the bench seat, I reach back to steady it, earning myself a giant reprimand.

“Don’t touch it,” Liam barks.

I retract my hand, unsure I’ve ever heard him use such force behind his words before. Snatching my hand back, I practically sit on them, shame flooding my cheeks. What did he think I was going to do, peek?

Outraged at his implication, I flick my gaze toward his. “Don’t worry. I won’t touch your precious Jackpot. You may not be addicted toit, but you’re addicted to your position here.” I snort. “And you say it’s for your brother …”

He doesn’t spare me a look, but the white of his knuckles blanches as he chokes the wheel.

I bite my lip, anxiously chewing it and feeling the void of my rubber bands. With my hair now dry, I tip off the hat and pull my hair forward, thread it into a long braid at my side, then slip the hat back over. I brush the tip of my braid back and forth along my lips as I stare out the window.

Liam’s admonishments are the only words he says to me until we finally reach a secluded river.

There’s nothing around. The river winds through the woods, and the surrounding trees lean over each side of it as if seeking a secret. The road, more like trail, is one lane and the old truck doesn’t do anything to help suspend us from the bumps and dips along the pathway.

Shockingly, the leaves, while not yet turned, have begun to fall and the fullness of the great oaks is less so as we approach the cooler months.

Up ahead, a black sedan sits by the edge of the river, and I turn to see Liam drag a hand through his hair and blow out a breath. As we slow, a figure emerges from the car, and Liam pulls the truck to a stop almost fifty feet away.

“Stay here. Whatever you do, don’t get out of the car,” Liam says, reaching back for the duffel while his eyes stay straight ahead on the man stomping out a cigarette.

I lean forward, watching as Liam strides toward the man, bag slung over his right shoulder. His steps are languid and unhurried, but I don’t miss the way his head scans from side to side as if he’s expecting someone to jump out of the surrounding woods.

My heart pounds rapidly the closer he gets to the man, and if I thought I could hear anything they were saying over the roar of the river, I’d roll my window down to get a better shot at it.

Liam tosses the bag on the ground before the man’s feet. Following the bag up to the other man, I notice his jeans are a casual dark blue wash, his shirt is a navy polo tucked into his belted pants. Not the average dealer attire I’ve come to assume they wear, but what do I know? Darrin’s men dress like they’re a motorcycle club and technically they aren’t. Though I still think they want to be.

Liam’s animated hands move through the air as he clearly explains something important. When the man’s face turns toward me, I jerk back into the seat. An unsettling punch in my gut makes me want to dry heave. I look out the back window to see if he perhaps was trying to see something else. Nope. He was looking at me.

I shiver. This whole farce is going to end with me in prison for being an accomplice to drug dealing.

Another few minutes pass, and the man from the sedan—a Volvo I finally figured out—lifts the prize from the ground and saunters back to his car while Liam makes his way to me. Well, the truck, I guess.

He looks over his shoulder a few times as he walks less leisurely than before. There’s a quick scuffle with a downed tree limb in the pathway before he yanks open the door and climbs in.

Any other time, I’d ask how his meeting went. However, the frown on his face keeps me from opening my mouth. I try, but snap it shut at the sound of his curses while he fumbles with the truck key in the ignition.

“Normally, I take the bike,” he says. Those words come so easily, I’m curious if he has a point to them. Then I get my answer. “Easier to conceal among the trees.”

“Makes sense.”

The corner of his mouth lifts a smidge, and in this moment, isolated by the surrounding wood and compelling nature, I want to see him smile. For a second, I wonder what the harsh lines of his steely brow would look like if assuaged, or worse yet, what they would reveal etched in pleasure.

I shake my head.Gosh, what is wrong with me?

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