Page 11 of Along for the Ride

I force my legs to carry me across the parking lot, my eyes focusing on a huge tree whose canopy would lend me some delicious shade if I can only muster the strength to reach it.

I’ve nearly made it to the edge of the lot when I spot a dark SUV idling with no one inside it. Black smoke chugs from the old exhaust, and sun rays glint from the sections of paint that haven’t peeled away. I reroute my steps until I’m standing beside the driver’s door. My head swivels in all directions as I search for an owner, but there’s no one nearby. It probably belongs to a guest at the motel.

My fingers graze the hot metal door handle, and my mouth drops open as I discover it’s unlocked.Don’t do something illegal,I try to tell myself, but the legal way hasn’t worked so far and I’m fucking exhausted. I’m desperate to make it out of New York. It’s only a matter of time before Mickey comes to claim me, and I’ve pressed my luck enough.

It’s their fault for leaving the key in the ignition,I rationalize.

I whip open the door and selfishly sit in the seat. My eyes gloss over the ripped interior, cigarette butts in the cup holders, and bottles of half-empty drinks. The gas tank is full, and that’s all that really matters if I plan to do this.

Do I plan to do this?

My body answers the question for me, and I throw the SUV in reverse and ease out of the parking space. As I back up, I watch the rows of doors and windows for movement. I expect someone to rush from the building and teach me a lesson for trying to take what isn’t mine.

But it doesn’t happen.

No one notices me as I exit the parking lot and pull onto the road. I blend into the light traffic and crank the air as high as it will go, not even daring a glance in the rearview mirror as I put miles between myself and hell.

It’s getting dark by the time I near the highway that will lead me to the next state. The occasional oncoming headlights on this back road hurt my eyes, and my vision is already sensitive from the headache knocking at the base of my skull. The stress of stealing a car hasn’t helped. Neither has the withdrawal. It’s like steam in my veins, building and building with nowhere to go without the release valve.

I spot something ahead on the side of the road and slow the SUV so I can get a better look. It’s a white van with its hood cranked open. A man with his pale thumb in the air stands beside it. The tug to pull over draws me toward him. I know what it means to rely on the help of others, and I know the feeling of helplessness as every car rushes by you without so much as slowing for your safety.

Don’t do it, Leana.

It’s not wise. I know it’s not. This man could be a serial killer for all I know, and the whole reason I stole this piece of shit was to get myself to safety. Now I’m considering placing myself in danger once again. I can’t.

My foot eases off the brake and moves toward the gas pedal. I roll past the van...

Against my better judgment, I pull to the side of the road. If I keep going, I’m no better than the hundreds of people who passed me by today. I also wouldn’t mind handing the keys to someone in a better state of mind to drive, especially with this nagging headache biting at the backs of my eyes.

The man approaches my window with a smile, and I feel a little more at ease. He looks like he might be in his late thirties. His dark, unruly hair waves a bit in the breeze. I can’t see the color of his eyes against the shadows, which means they’re probably dark too. Scruff lines his strong jaw, and though he’s not a broad man, I can see the strength in his toned arms. He’s attractive, in a wild sort of way, and I find myself ashamed of my haggard appearance for the first time in a while.

“Hey,” he says as he adjusts a duffle bag strap on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong with your van?” I ask.

“Busted radiator. I need a ride to the shop a few miles from here. They have a loaner car waiting for me, but they can’t pick up my piece of shit until later.” He motions toward his van.

Everything seems okay so far, and my defenses begin to lower. If he’s lying about any of this, he’s doing a pretty convincing job. Besides, it’s only for a few miles. Then I’ll be on my own again.

“Get in,” I tell him, pulling my purse off the passenger seat.

The man loops around the SUV, tapping the hood as he walks by. He climbs into the seat, but instead of closing the door so we can get moving, he stares into the trees lining the side of the road. I’m about to change my mind and ask him to get out when he turns to me and...just stares.

As his eyes harden, the hair on my neck stands at attention. I reach for the shifter, thinking I can fling him from the car if I drive off fast enough, but a metallic click stops my hands from doing anything at all. My stomach twists into a knot as I turn my head and find the barrel of a pistol aimed at my face.

“I don’t want trouble,” I say, keeping my voice steady.

“Unfortunately, trouble is exactly what you’ve got,” he says, motioning toward the trees.

A lead curtain of silence weighs down the vehicle, only broken when I hear the crunch of heavy boots emerging from the woods. My heart crawls into my throat and I choke on it.

Another man approaches the SUV, this one much bigger than the man sitting beside me. His full, dark beard obscures the lower half of his face, but I can see his eyes and they’re just as dark. His hair is much neater than the other man’s, but they look as if they were cut from the same cloth.

My stomach twists, and it’s not only from the sheer horror of the shit sandwich I’ve found myself wedged inside. I’m dope sick, and the water from earlier isn’t happy where it’s at.

The larger man gets in the seat behind the one holding his gun on me. “Thanks for the ride,” he says as they close their doors.

“I didn’t really have much of a choice, did I?” I snap. They might kill me, but I refuse to go out like a simpering child. I spent the last six years begging Mickey to go easy on me. I refuse to spend another second begging a man to lay off.

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