“Where the hell are they going?” Wilder slides me off his lap and scoots over toward the open door. Then he sticks his hand into his pocket, grabs his phone, and checks the screen. “Dammit, no signal.”
“Yeah, I know.” Jackson readjusts his pant leg over the holster. “I’m hoping Ridge was able to track us for long enough that they have a guestimate of our location.”
“They were tracking us?” I ask. Although, after everything I’ve witnessed over the last couple of hours, I’m uncertain why I sound so shocked.
Wilder nods. “I sent them a message the second we got a flat. All our phones have tracking devices on them, along with the car, so that we can always find each other in an emergency.” He restlessly bounces his knee up and down, as he punches a few buttons on his phone and the screen illuminates. “We also have backup trackers for when we’re out of signal range, but even that’s not working right now.”
“It hasn’t been working for about ten minutes,” Jackson rolls down the window and gazes at the dirt road that leads to the highway. “I tried to reboot but we must be too far out in the hills.”
“Yeah, I know. I heard the beeps,” Wilder shakes his head. “Seriously, Jacks, I don’t know what you were thinking when you decided to reboot in the dead quiet. You’re lucky I distracted everyone.” His gaze collides with mine and the corners of his lips tug upward. “And you’re lucky Zhara played along.”
It clicks what he’s talking about—the kiss. I hadn’t realized it was a distraction at the time and feel silly for not putting two and two together, for actually wondering if Wilder wanted to kiss me.
Of course he didn’t, Zhara. He could kiss any girl he wanted.
“Yeah, you’re lucky she didn’t slap you.” Amusement twinkles in Jackson’s eyes. “Technically she’s not on the clock so she probably should’ve. Maybe we should let her when we get out of this mess. We can hold you down and let her get in a few good smacks.”
“Maybe we should. It’s only fair, right?” Wilder shares Jackson’s amusement. “Although, she doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who would want to smack a guy. Then again, I wouldn’t guess she’d be the kind of girl who would like my tongue ring.”
Warmth rushes to my cheeks. How on earth did he know that?
“I…” Lie, Zhara. Do what Benton did and just let the lie roll off your tongue. “I didn’t even realize you had a tongue ring.”
Well, would you look at that? I actually did it.
“Sure you didn’t.” The look he gives me makes my face flame hotter than a melting candle. “Don’t worry. I won’t make you admit it… yet.” Then he directs his attention to Goatee Guy and Hoodie Guy, who are standing on the shore of the lake, smoking cigarettes. “What do you think they’re up to over there?”
“I’m not sure.” Jackson leans over me to get a better look, his arm sliding along the seat behind me. “I hope they’re just waiting around for their boss to show up,” he tells Jackson. “If it wasn’t for the dipshit standing right there,” he nods at the front of the vehicle where the driver is standing, staring at us with his arms crossed, “I’d say let’s bail out.”
“Even if he wasn’t, I don’t think running is going to solve the problem, especially when all three of them are packing,” Wilder rubs his hand over the top of his head, deliberating something. “Besides, I kind of want to see how this plays out. If their boss does show up we could maybe get a connection into the other circle. Could you imagine? Not just taking down one but two drug lords. We’d never have to work the shitty jobs again.”
“Yeah, good point. Besides, I hate running.” Jackson combs his fingers through my hair, drawing all of my attention to him “But Zhara, if at any time shit hits the fan, you run to the road and keep running until Xavier and Benton show up. Got it?”
I nod, not bothering to mention that moments ago they weren’t even sure the guys would be able to find us. But stressing them out isn’t going to help the situation.
A lopsided smile graces his lips and he tangles his fingers through my hair again. “Good girl.”
Wilder snorts a laugh. “She’s not a dog, dude. You seriously need to work on your game.”
“You mean by forcing her to kiss me?” Jackson quips, tossing a smirk at Wilder. “Because, just for future reference, usually that ends with your balls getting kicked.”
“I didn’t force her.” Wilder glowers at Jackson, but his eyes glimmer mischievously. “And trust me, I’m pretty sure she liked it.” He winks at me before looking back at the guys by the lake. “At least the tongue ring anyway.”
Oh my blushing idiots, are they trying to kill me with embarrassment? And what is with Wilder being such a flirt? I always thought that was more Jackson’s thing. Guess I was wrong. Makes me curious what else I was wrong about.
Jackson unexpectedly dips his head, putting his lips beside my ear. “You know, I might not have a tongue ring, but I promise you I’m way, way better, and I can’t wait to prove it to you.” Then he leans back and grins at Wilder.
“Dude, you’re so not as good as you think,” Wilder says with an eye roll.
A smile spreads across Jackson’s face. “How would you know? You’ve never tried it.”
Wilder stares at Jackson blankly. “Hardy har fucking har…” He trails off as headlights illuminate through the darkness.
I turn my head in the direction of the road right as a car pulls up beside the SUV.
“So you think it’s their boss?” Jackson asks as he slides toward the door. “Or another one of his bitch runners?”
“I don’t think Goat Guy or the creepy hoodie guy are bitch runners,” Wilder says, putting his phone away. “At least the creepy hoodie guy isn’t—he has too much say over what happens.” He drums his fingers on top of his knee, his gaze fixed on the car. “Who do you think that guy is, anyway? And why keep on the damn hoodie and sunglasses? It’s like he doesn’t want us to know his identity.”
“Maybe that’s the point.” Jackson’s fingers enclose around the handle of his knife. “Maybe we do know him and he’s trying to keep it a secret. His voice did sound familiar.”
“Yeah, I know.” Wilder’s brows bunch as he dazes off, nibbling on his bottom lip. “You don’t think it’s someone from our organization, do you?”
Jackson shakes his head, resting his arm on the windowsill with his gaze trained on the car next to us. “As far as I know, we don’t have anyone working inside the Fairfield circle.”
Wilder opens his mouth to say something, but zips his lips shut as the passenger side door of the car opens up and a man climbs out. He looks like a shadow against the darkness of the night, but as he approaches the car, the interior lights cast across his face. His brown eyes and facial features carry a hint of familiarity, but I can’t figure out where I’ve seen him before.
“He looks familiar,” I say. “Who is he?”
“He helps runs the Fairfield circle,” Wilder says lowly. “He does a lot of business in Honeyton, so you’ve probably seen him around.”
I nod, but doubt weighs heavily in my mind. I don’t know why, but I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that guy before, more than once. I just wish I could remember why.
The Mysteriously Familiar Stranger
I have this memory of my mother waking me up in the middle of the night to go for a drive. I was young—too young to fully remember every detail that happened. What I do recall are bits and pieces, clips of images that don’t necessarily make sense. Me being in a car with the top down, the stars above me, the wind in my hair. And my mom in the passenger seat, talking to a man. I can’t see his face, but I can hear his voice as clearly as my mom’s.
I’d nearly forgotten about the memory until the man walks up to the car, opens the door, and instructs us to, “Get out and get into the other car.”
His voice is strikingly similar to the guy’s in my memory, but it doesn’t make sense. He works for a drug lord. Why would my mom have ever been with him in a car? And why
would she take me somewhere with him? Perhaps he didn’t work for a drug lord back then?
I assess the man carefully as I scoot across the seat to climb out. He looks around my mom’s age—well, the age she would’ve been if she were still alive—with brown hair speckled with grey and a scruffy jawline. He’s also watching me as closely as I am him.
“Who’s the girl?” he asks Jackson as he hops out of the car.
As I step out, Jackson laces his fingers through mine and tugs me against his side. “My girlfriend.”
Well, I guess that answers my earlier question about who I’m supposed to be to them and how this undercover girlfriend thing is going to happen—I guess it’s Jackson’s turn to be my boyfriend.
The man scrutinizes me with disdain. If we did cross paths at one time, he doesn’t seem to recognize me. Which I guess makes sense, considering I was so young. But I’ve been told by many people that I look a lot like my mom.
“I need to check and see if she’s allowed to come,” the man says, tearing his eyes off me. “You shouldn’t have brought her.”
“We had no choice.” Jackson holds me against his side and I more than willingly cling to him. “She was in the car when your idiot bitch runners blew out our tire. Besides, we were told to bring her.”
“Do you always listen to bitch runners?” The man questions with a crook of his brow. “Because, from what I understand, you’re higher up than that. But maybe I’m wrong.”
“You’re not wrong.” Jackson’s voice is firm, his eyes cold. “Like I said, we didn’t really have a choice. Your morons over there blew out our tire.”
“What’s the problem now?” Wilder asks, winding around the car to join us. He moves up beside me, standing close enough that our arms touch. “Because, seriously, I’m getting tired of this shit. You guys blow out our tire, force us to come out in the middle of fucking nowhere without an explanation, and now you’re giving us shit for what? Because we’re not going to leave our girlfriend behind with three fucking perverts?”