widens, all three of them ducking. “Guns,” I prompt.
Both men reach for their belts slowly, one hand up in surrender. Part of me is hurt that they clearly think I’m capable of such a cold-blooded act. But part of me is thankful. They still don’t trust me. Right now, that’s good.
They slowly lower their guns to the floor. “Easy, Rose,” Ringo says, kicking his to the side.
I gather up their weapons and slip them into my bag. “Now take me.”
Brad looks at Ringo. Ringo looks at Brad.
My patience begins to fray. “I know you know where he’s meeting Nox. Something isn’t right. I can feel it.”
Brad takes a moment. Shakes his head. Sighs. Pulls his phone from his pocket and hits the screen a few times before tucking it away. Then he stalks forward, passing me. “Fuck it, I wanted to go anyway.”
I blink, surprised by how easy that was. “That’s it?” I question, running after him as Ringo follows me.
Brad sweeps the keys up off the table in the hall and opens the front door. “Yes, but I’m having my gun back.” He swipes my bag from my shoulder and rifles through, pulling out his own and chucking Ringo’s to him. “Fuck knows what we could be walking into. Get in the car.”
I do as I’m bid immediately, aware that my plan could be foiled at any moment by either men swiftly and expertly disarming me and putting me back in the house. Yet, part of me knows that Brad is just as worried as me. He drives fast but carefully, and the silence is so fucking loud.
“He sent me a text.” I move forward, putting myself in between the front seats and showing them my screen. “I’m worried.”
Brad returns his attention to the freeway.
“He’s not been right,” I go on. “Lost in thought, saying things like he might not ever see me again.”
“Like what?”
“He told me he needs me to be strong for him. Why would he say that? Why does he need that? The last time he behaved like that, he pulled a psycho on Ernie. Has he told you what he’s doing?”
Brad’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror as the car picks up speed, and I sit back, my unease increasing tenfold. Now, the more I think about Danny’s need for me to be strong, the more I’m wondering why. And Brad’s silence isn’t helping. Does he know? Or is his mind racing like mine?
The rest of the journey is quiet. It’s only when we pull off the freeway that I realize where we’re heading. The boatyard. But when we reach the turning for the track, Brad passes it, continuing down the road. I notice Ringo look down the dirt lane that leads to the boatyard. “Saw nothing,” he says.
“We’ll take the back road anyway.” A few more miles down the road, Brad slows and takes a right, and we immediately start jumping around, the Merc struggling with the huge potholes and rocks in the road. “Anything?” Brad asks.
“Can’t see through the fucking bushes,” Ringo mutters, his face up close to the window.
Brad slows to a stop, and they both get out the car, not bothering to close the doors. I remain in my seat for a few seconds, until the instruction I need finally falls into my head. I jump out, too, following and leaving the door open so not to create any sound. I jog after them, so damn tense.
“Get in the car, Rose,” Brad hisses over his shoulder.
“No.”
“Do it.”
“No way.”
“Fuck me, no wonder he’s so stressed lately.”
“Shit,” Ringo curses, putting his arm out to stop me in my tracks. He starts looking around, as does Brad, both their guns appearing from behind their jackets.
I withdraw, scanning the space too. Then I see what’s got them all twitchy. “Oh my God,” I breathe, feeling Ringo reach for me and pull me close. His hand comes over my mouth, as if he senses my impending scream of panic.
“There’s another.” Brad motions with his gun toward a nearby tree where a body is slumped against the trunk, his throat cut. My eyes widen, breathing becoming increasingly difficult, not only because of the hand over my mouth. I recognize him. He delivered a picture of my boy to my room and a punch to my kidneys not too long ago.
I reach up, trying to yank Ringo’s hand away. “Keep quiet,” he warns, letting me win.
I swing around to face him. “They’re Nox’s men,” I pant, spotting