the sound of barking cuts through the wind. It’s coming from the direction of the road.
I turn to face Andrei, and the grin on his face is a mile wide.
“What was that you said about calling it a night?”
He shakes his head, still smiling. “Fuck yourself.”
We follow in the general direction of the barking in near darkness until the little red lights I attached to their collars become visible. That was my idea. Like always, Andrei told me it was madness. What good is a hunting dog if you can see it from a mile away? Like almost always, I proved Andrei wrong when I set a man loose half a mile down the road and set three of them off on his tail.
The man didn’t make it very far, and now I get a thrill every time Andrei points to one of the tiny red lights glowing in the distance.
“There,” he says, right on cue.
The cluster of red lights duck and dive in all directions, telling me we’re probably too late. Whoever the fucker was is already bleeding out, and if he wasn’t, he soon will be.
“Remind me to feed them more next time,” I tell him.
Andrei just shakes his head. “We should head back to the road and make for the port. We can take our time that way.”
I let out a sigh. “Very well. Get the dogs to check that there’s nothing else lurking and meet me there.”
Since my whistles turn to nothing, I click my tongue for the pups to follow me and set off in the truck’s direction. It’s not a long drive to the port, and leaving soon means we’ll probably arrive about an hour before the car from the hotel does.
I always keep myself hidden away, never letting the girl—or girls—see me. Better to let them think it is Celeste sneaking them away. I, after all, have a reputation to uphold. But nonetheless, from time to time I like to make sure they reach their destination.
Call it a spot-check.
I ensure that everyone is doing exactly what they’re paid—or fed—to do. From the driver to the ferryman to my very own dear grandmother who sends them off.
Call that paranoia, but I believe if you always expect the worst from everyone you know, you’ll never be disappointed.
I put the pups in the back of the truck and let down the hatch on the trailer for the dogs’ arrival before getting into the driver’s seat.
I tap the steering wheel.
I’m tempted to turn the thing around.
I’ve not been letting myself reach the stage of boredom. Not since she betrayed me. Not since I put her down in the cells and locked the door.
Boredom is dangerous.
Boredom is just you and your mind leading you down a path you wouldn’t be wandering if you had something else to do.
And that’s a very dangerous thing when the person you spend every minute of boredom wandering down that path with is a person who broke your trust. When you start to think that maybe you should let her off that path, maybe she’d be happier on another path. Maybe a path with a bed, for starters.
But things won’t always be this difficult for her. Not when I’ve given her what she needs. Not when she’s thick with my child. She’ll be happier then. She’ll have a purpose that isn’t just sitting around all day waiting for me to fuck her. I’ll make her happy. And I can’t fucking do that while I’m sitting out here in the middle of nowhere, can I?
I let out a sigh of relief when I hear Andrei at the trailer.
About time, too.
And just like that, the path fades back into the shadows, the temptation wanes, and the feeling of being on an even keel returns.
I’ll see her soon enough.
31
Sapphire
I can’t do it.
I can’t leave him.
Not now that I know the truth.
But why did I ever think I had a choice? How many times in my life have people tricked me into thinking I had a choice, only to take it away when my choice didn’t align with their own?
Countless. And I’m fucking sick of it.
I kick out against the driver's seat—the same driver who bundled me into the car—losing my balance when the vehicle swerves. With my hands tied behind my back, there’s nothing to hold on to, and I fall into Kayleen’s shoulder.
“Settle her down or she’s going in the fucking trunk!” the driver barks around his seat.
“You’re doing the right thing. I know it’s