Page 77 of Corpse Roads

“Is everything okay?” I ask for the third time.

Behind the wheel, Enzo is staring at the country road with a clenched jaw. He’s been quiet ever since we left the house, without his usual softness and charm.

The bags beneath his amber eyes are more pronounced than usual, ageing him more than his thirty-two years. I couldn’t believe it when I found out his age. Enzo doesn’t sleep much anyway, but he looks dead on his feet today.

“Everything’s fine, Harlow.”

“How many times are you going to say that?”

“How many times are you going to ask?” he replies sharply.

My mouth clicks shut. They’ve all been acting strange for the last few days. I thought it must be something to do with the reporters that tracked us down in the hospital, but this feels like more.

Leighton barely spared me a glance this morning, preferring to go down to the gym in the basement of their home and blast aggressive music. Not even a wink or bad joke.

“Where are we going?” I try instead.

Taking a right, Enzo releases a sigh. “You need more clothes. We only got the basics last time. Hunter wants you to have a phone too, so we can contact you.”

“Am I going somewhere?”

“Of course not.” Enzo frowns at the road. “It’s just a precaution.”

His words don’t quite ring true. Anxiety wraps around my windpipe as he speeds through the autumnal gloom.

“I still haven’t paid you back for the last shopping trip,” I worry aloud. “Maybe I should get a job or something. Start pulling my weight around here. I can’t stay cooped up forever.”

“You don’t need a job.”

“I can’t keep taking handouts, Enzo.”

He curses under his breath. “It isn’t safe right now. Working is out of the question. If you want to do something in the future, we can discuss that another time.”

“I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions.”

“Not if those decisions put your life in danger. That’s not happening, Harlow. Not on my watch.”

I slump back in my seat. His overprotective nature is endearing, but after weeks of resting, attending therapy and taking medication like a good little prisoner, I’m tired of following orders without question.

Winding through the countryside doused in fallen leaves and golden sunshine, we eventually reach a small village. Traditional cottages with picket fences and painted doors line the winding streets.

Passing through the residential area, small shop fronts start to appear as the houses melt away. Enzo finds a tight parking spot, manoeuvring the SUV into it with wordless ease.

The minute the car is parked, I leap out and slam the door shut. My ribs twinge from the sudden drop, but the pain is manageable. I’m not some invalid, no matter what he thinks.

At first, his possessive need to wrap me in cotton wool was appreciated. It’s given me the confidence to face the world a little more each day. But with each step I take, I’m changing.

I want to be treated like everyone else.

I want to actually live.

Enzo circles the car, pulling on his usual leather jacket. With his ripped, black jeans and dark-green t-shirt, every inch of corded muscle that carves his monstrous frame is on display.

A shiver runs down my spine, but not from fear. I can’t explain the way he makes me feel, even when he’s being infuriating and suffocating me to death.

“Why are you looking at me like you want to deck me?” he asks with a hint of his usual tenderness.

I drag my purple beanie over my long hair. “Because I’m seriously thinking about it. Why can’t I have more freedom?”

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