Page 27 of Along for the Ride

My head whips toward her and my lip curls. “You’d be wise to stop asking questions, thief.”

“My name’s Leana,” she says with an inflated puff of her ample chest.

“Okay, thief.”

Gentry throws us both a stare—first me, and then her through the mirror—and we both shut up. His dark eyes are as lifeless as his personality, and this motherfuckerstillgot inside her. I hate that my brain keeps harping on it, but it bugs the piss out of me that Gentry is getting laid and I’m not. We’ll have to change that, whether they like it or not.

* * *

Leana

Hearingthem talk about a detour fills me with nervous energy that makes my leg shake, but a twinge of pain zaps my insides with every movement. I ache from the inside out, and I burn where he ripped through me when he first pushed inside me. I feel the pain in every movement of my hips from where his hands left bruises and the strain in the muscles as he spread me. My insides feel rearranged, like he pushed my uterus into my fucking chest. I’ve never been fucked like that.

And I hate how much I liked it.

I don’t know what came over me last night. First I let him make me come in the laundry room, then I let him fuck me. I want to blame it entirely on my urge to get off, but I can’t. The first orgasm should have cleared my head. Instead, it only made me want more. It can’t happen again, though. Especially not when he still plans to get rid of me.

He said he would “figure it out” when Karson asked how they’d do their job while I’m tagging along. That can only mean one thing, and I didn’t escape Mickey so I could fuck my future murderer. No matter how hard Gentry made me come, no matter how good he felt inside me, I have to keep my legs closed. If he fucks me like that again, I won’t be able to run straight. I thought maybe he’d changed his mind about killing me, but I guess men never change.

Before I take off, I need to know what these men do for work. The not knowing will keep me up at night, even though it’s probably best to keep my nose out of it. Whatever it is, I’m certain it’s illegal. As long as it doesn’t involve children, I can probably look past it, but they don’t seem to care that I don’t give a fuck if they rob or rip people off. Who am I to judge? Maybe if I can convince them I’m not the straight-and-narrow type, they’ll rethink murdering me and I won’t have to leave. I don’t exactly look forward to struggling on the street again after spending a few nights in a bed—and having multiple mind-blowing orgasms.

We take the next exit, making what seems like more than a little detour.

Karson whips out his knife and drags the tip down the length of his finger. A bright line of blood springs to the surface. He rolls down the window and moves his fingers in the wind with an innocent playfulness. Crimson beads strike the glass and spread along the length of the window beside my head as the wind blows it toward the back of the car. When he tugs his hand back inside, he lifts it above his head and sends a few drops into his mouth before putting his finger up to his lips. He sucks, his cheeks hollowing as he holds pressure to his wound with his tongue.

What the fuck is wrong with this dude? His brother seems so normal.

Normal people don’t carjack and abduct strangers,I remind myself.

Gentry doesn’t acknowledge his brother’s behavior. Maybe Karson’s one of those people who stops their attention-seeking behaviors if you don’t react. Unfortunately, I struggle to keep my mouth closed as I watch his sadistic enjoyment of his own blood. I mean, he’s really going to town on that finger. Total fucking weirdo.

We drive until we get off the highway in the middle of Nowheresville, Ohio, and there isn’t a motel or hotel in sight. Gentry pulls to the side of the road and punches something into his phone, and Karson busies himself by pressing his nails into the cut on his finger, opening it again.

“We’ll have to camp out until it gets later in the evening,” Gentry says.

So much for enjoying a bed every night.

He drives to a campground and parks in the back of the lot, then he takes a hundred out of his wallet and hands it to me. “Go get a site,” he says.

“Yes, sir,” I say, and the corners of his lips tremble as he tries to avoid smiling at me.

“Buy a bundle of wood too!” Karson yells as he gets out and loops around the SUV.

I make my way to the tiny building, and a bell chimes overhead as I enter. A young woman sits behind the desk, a visor holding back her blonde hair.

“Checking in?”

“Well, no. I’m hoping there might be a site available for a walk-in tonight?”

The woman types on a yellowed keyboard that sounds sticky with every press of the keys. “Tuesdays are usually good for walk-ins,” she says as her eyes scan the screen. “We have availability. Let me just get the paperwork.” She leans over and pulls out a paper with three identical segments. She marks the areas for me to fill out my information, and marks three X’s, one on the bottom of each.

After I fill the paper with false info, I slide it back to her.

She tears the top one off, writes D34, and marks tomorrow’s date in bold marker. “Place this on the dash.” She hands it to me. “That will be thirty-five dollars.”

Karson passes the building’s window with a bundle of wood in his arms. “Oh, and a bundle of wood, please.”

“That will be forty dollars, then.”

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