“They’re coming, hurry the fuck up,” the voice commands.
My stomach rumbles uneasily, but I turn and Jordan follows suit. A man who I don’t recognize stands near the trees, a gun pointed at us. Who is this guy? His hands are gloved, his outfit consists of black skinny jeans, a long black shirt, and a hoodie that doesn’t quite cover the entire shirt. He’s not masked, but he has dark black hair that’s buzzed and striking blue eyes.
Those eyes are so familiar I falter and he waves the gun. “Don’t make me tell you again,” he bites out. Trailing toward him, he motions for me and Jordan to walk ahead. We do, knowing we’re headed the wrong way.
“Planning on killing us?” Jordan snaps, probably losing his patience. Colt is gone, Rimbaur is dead, and we’re trying to escape the repercussions of what it all means.
“Not yet. Right now, we just need to get somewhere.”
Jordan grimaces and peers at me with worry. We can’t stress anything. Between not knowing where our girl is to not knowing where the guys are, and knowing there’s at least one dead person, we can’t exactly spare the time for stupidity.
We comply, following the man to an opening a few miles in. It’s huge, something we’ve never seen. How did we not know there was this big open field so close to Arcadia?
My mind travels to all the times the parents arrived and we never witnessed cars bringing them up the winding road, or the fact that people show up so quickly without any of us noticing much.
Hell, the times we noticed planes and helicopters above and wondered why they were there with no landing pad. It all makes so much sense.
That also means this man is a part of the Vestige. Why else would he know some secret landing area that none of us knew of?
In the middle of the area is a plane, I have to blink several times to believe it’s there.
“To the plane and hurry. They weren’t far behind.”
We don’t argue, but sprint toward it. It’s a jet, a private one, and we know immediately that this man may not be a known entity, but he’s saving our asses.
But the why is the problem.
We board the plane and the man rushes us into our seats. Jordan and I take the left side while mafia-boss over there sits on the right. He watches us with disdain, but his gun is gone, so that’s a positive change.
He’s not too old, probably in his late thirties, which means he could easily be a founding family relative or parent. But whose?
“You look like you have questions, DeLeon,” the man says, waving the stewardess over. She nods in understanding and gets him a glass of something. The caramel color lets me know it’s expensive and possibly Scotch or bourbon.
“What, does the rich boy not speak?” he taunts, and it starts aggravating me. Before I can do or say something stupid, Jordan squeezes my thigh intentionally.
The man’s eyes widen and I smack Jordan’s hand. The offended look on his face only lasts a moment before understanding dawns on him.
“I think I’m starting to understand why my daughter is so fond of you both,” he mutters before the plane takes off. He doesn’t say another word the entire ride to wherever the fuck we’re going.
Who the fuck is his daughter?
Jordan must’ve missed the man’s words because he’s stalk-still and completely silent next to me. He’s probably realizing we could be in a Vestige plane and this man could sentence us to death for the insinuation of that simple touch.
A few hours later, we land. It’s not awkward silence, it’s tense. I don’t know whether I’ve arrived to my death or my survival, but Jordan hasn’t spoken a word and not knowing where his head is at scares the fuck out of me.
Pulling out my phone, I go to text Ross but I’m stopped.
“No phones.” He grabs it from me and escorts us toward the door.
After we leave the plane, I notice we’re not at a strip, but rather, a very large backyard. I peer up at the massive home in front of us and nothing clicks. It doesn’t look familiar at all and seeing this place doesn’t ease anything.
“Welcome,” another man greets, waving us inside.
“Where are we?” I whisper aloud, not knowing it until I get a response.
“Somewhere no one will find you,” the man who nabbed and saved us says as he escorts us inside. His attitude from then to now has changed. He’s calmer here. His face doesn’t seem to hold as much animosity. When I enter the doors behind him, I immediately understand why.
“Mort—” Colt begins, and then she sees me and Jordan. She doesn’t stall, rushing to us both. Shocked as shit to see our girl not only safe, but happy, I nearly fall to my knees after catching her. Jordan and I both hug her to us. It’s an awkward three-way embrace but it feels right.
A throat clears and Colt adjusts her shirt and wipes the stray tears from her eyes. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
“Do you really think I’d take you away from the world forever?” the man asks her and she shrugs.
“You may be my father, Mortem, but you’re definitely a new face to me. I don’t know you yet.” He nods, pacified with the answer.
“Fair enough.”
“Why do they look so disheveled?” she asks, and Jordan shuffles from foot to foot.
“Seems your boys got into a lot of trouble today,” Mortem explains, and she stares at us both in confusion. “I’ll let them explain.”
He walks off and she lets him, not stopping him for more questions. She smiles once he’s out of sight, and then comes back to us and hugs us for a long time.
“My room?” she asks and offers in one go.
“That’d be nice,” Jordan whispers. I can tell he’s still anxious about what Mortem—as Colt called him—saw. Colt leads us down a long corridor and then opens a door to her room.
It stops me in my tracks.
“Look familiar?” she asks me, and I nod. Colt had repeatedly accused us of stealing her shit. Well, she accused Ross and Ten, since she didn’t like me enough to confront me at the time.
“Guess we know who stole your shit,” I joke, knowing this room was where her innocence almost died. On more occasions than I care to count.
Shutting the door behind us, she goes to the bed to lay down. “So, what got you two into trouble this time?” It comes out teasingly, but knowing her for as long as we have, I can tell she’s anxious.
She waits for our answers, then taps the bed. “Take off your shoes and jackets and then come here.”
We do, removing all the wet materials before climbing onto the bed. Jordan takes the opposite side, and I can’t help but feel a pinch of rejection at him not spooning me while I spoon her.