Page 25 of Ravens
“Neutral ground. These aren’t the type of people you want having your home address, but I’ll keep you safe.”
“For now,” I say under my breath.
“Why do you always do that?”
“What? Inject reality into my situation?” I put my hands on my hips. “Or injecting it into yours?”
“This world, this life you’ve chosen is all about domination.” He drives my hips down, planting my ass on the bed as he kneels in front of me. “I’m glad you have a grip on reality, but your reality sounds so very narrow at the moment.”
He pulls open a drawer located under the bed and unfolds a pair of thin socks. He slides them onto my feet and then pulls out a second, thicker pair and slides them over top the first. He closes the drawer and looks up at me. “When are you going to realize you hold a position of power?”
“When it becomes true.”
Shaking his head, he stands and opens and closes drawers in the dresser, pulling garments out and tossing them on the bed beside me. Without warning, he drops his linen pants and strokes his semi-erect cock absently before walking over and grabbing the pair of utility pants off the bed next to me. He slides them on without anything underneath.
Jesus. My mouth goes dry, so I drop my head and squeeze my eyes shut for a second. Once I hear him move away, I open them again. A panel on the wall pops open when he presses on it, like a hidden closet, and from it he pulls out a crumpled black bag that he drops in the middle of the floor, as well as a pair of boots and two raincoats.
From the next panel, he pulls out a couple of sweaters and whistles before tossing a gun. I catch it and check it, setting it next to me, as he starts stuffing things into the bag. Finally, he puts on a shirt, then a knitted sweater before sitting to put on socks and hiking boots.
“Get your shoes on and take this.” He hands me a raincoat.
Without speaking, I take the coat and the gun and go back to the door where I left my shoes yesterday. I keep finding myself having these strange dazes in his presence, where it feels like I’m moving in a fog. Me in a position of power? Clearly, we’re looking at my situation from very different angles . . . me from the angle where people are trying to kill me, and him from the angle of profiting off me in one way or another.
Life isn’t about domination; it’s about fucking perspective.
Striding past me with the bag over his shoulder, he heads out the door. I gather my things and close the door behind me as I hurry down the hall after him.
***
“I can drive if . . .” The way his eyes meet mine over the lip of the open trunk makes me fumble as I walk across the floor. “If you need to rest.”
His eyes disappear entirely, and then the trunk slams down. He hands me a pair of boots that I look at dumbly for a second.
“I’m fine. Get in.” He opens my door for me, and I slide in before he gets annoyed, but he doesn’t slam it closed this time. I toe my shoes off and wedge my feet into the boots that came out of nowhere in my size. I’d ask . . . but I don’t want to.
An hour later, some light rain begins, and the car pulls off onto a side road, a few miles from the border of the state park.
“Won’t there be rangers out here?”
“Maybe.” He pulls the car into a natural alcove in the tree line of the woods that run along the road. “Why? Are you planning to break some laws?”
“Are you?” I ask quietly, concerned for my own safety again. I’m not sure if the inkling is directed at him or his mysterious companions.
“No, but I can make anyone disappear out here if I have to . . . even apark ranger.”
The engine shudders to a halt, and I swallow a lump in my throat as he swings his door open and climbs out. Fuck, I really hope we don’t run into any cops out here. Again, he appears at my door and pulls it open, watching me closely as I climb out.
“Coat.” He nods at my seat.
Reaching back in, I put it on and tug the hood up, watching him as I close the door, and he moves to the back of the car. The trunk pops open, and he hefts the large black bag out, threading his arms through the straps like a backpack.
He produces a compass from his pocket and tosses it to me. “Northwest.”
Nodding, I hold it up and start walking. It rains off and on the entire way, and after the first hour, I’m checking over my shoulder at him, doubtful that I’m going the right way, but he says nothing. After the second hour, I smell smoke.
“Just ahead,” he says.
The rain lets up again, and I see the smoke through the trees in the distance. York breaks through into a small clearing and drops the bag. The little fire has a few tin mugs resting on rocks beside it, and York picks one up, sniffing it and then tasting it.
