Neither of us says a word for at least a couple of miles until Jae feels positive no one’s following her, and then she finally exhales a giant sigh of relief. “Okay, I think we’re good,” she mutters, taking a big swallow from the bottle of water in the drink holder. “I’ll let you know when I’m exiting the freeway for the airport, and you can crawl up here so you look like a normal person getting out of the passenger seat at the drop-off.”

“Sounds good,” I reply, dropping my head back against the door as I close my eyes and focus on the low hum of the tires against the pavement.

Since the night everything went down, I’ve been a fucking basket case. Work is out of the question. The one day I attempted to go in, I made the mistake of opening my desk drawer, and the second I saw the picture of Blake tucked away in the back, I lost my shit. Like a pissed-off bull in a china shop full of red dishes, nothing was spared from my wrath.

After that episode, Easton and I agreed it’d be best if I stayed home until after whatever happens this weekend. But home hasn’t been much better. With my ribs still pretty sore, I can’t use working out as an outlet to release my tension. I’ve even tried jacking myself off in the shower every morning, but that just increases my frustration, not finding a release with Blake slipping further and further away from me.

At night, I’ve been lying awake in the guest bedroom, staring at the ceiling as every possible scenario of what could happen on this trip runs through my head. I could get caught by the TSA, FBI, or the US Marshal Service for using a fake ID on a flight, which, in and of itself, is a felony with guaranteed jail time. This could all be a set-up to take me hostage, to torture me for information, or worse, to be killed. I could discover they’ve been brutally mistreating Blake. And that’s the one that gets me every time. Makes me physically sick to think about.

The thought of my suffering for a chance to get to see her is nothing compared to the possibility of me having to witness her being abused. Beaten. Molested. Dehumanized. I will probably end up dead if that happens, so I’m really fucking praying that’s not the case. This Raze guy seems to have a soft spot for her, and if what he said is true about doing this as a favor for Blake, and my gut says it is, then I doubt he’s letting someone mistreat her. But then again, he’s a Russian mobster and trained killer, so he could be blowing smoke up my ass, as I’m sure lying is second nature to him. Trying to stay optimistic in this entire fucked up situation is proving to be a major task.

About an hour or so after we leave my house, Jae taps the back of her headrest to get my attention. “We’ll be there in about five minutes or so,” she announces. “Go ahead and climb up here.”

Grateful to finally unfold from the cramped position, I crawl over the center console and slide down onto the seat, fastening my seat belt, even though we’re almost there. I don’t want to give the police any reason to pull us over.

She drives up to the drop-off zone and shifts the transmission into park. Even though Jae and I don’t know each other all that well, I know she’s one of Blake’s only friends and that she cares about her quite a bit, and she just put her neck out on the line to help make this trip happen. I smile at her appreciatively. “I can’t thank you enough, Jae. As soon as I know what flight I’m coming back on, I’ll text you.”

“I’ll be here to pick you up, Easton,” she teasingly reminds me of my alias for the next however long this takes. “Good luck, and bring our girl home.”

I hop out of the car and onto the curb, giving her one last wave before she pulls away into the busy merging traffic of LAX. Turning around on my heel, I pull the baseball cap down low on my head and stride inside. Here goes nothing.

The Reno-Tahoe airport is a lot smaller than I expected. And a lot seedier. I guess I assumed it’d be a lot like the Vegas airport, but as I walk from the gate to the exit where the buses are, it’s clear I was way off base. The furniture is outdated, a funny odor lingers in the air, the few workers I’ve seen are not exactly approachable, and everything is so dingy and weathered that it feels as if I’m viewing it all through a hazy yellow camera lens. Like a B-list movie from 1980.

Oh, and don’t get me started on the old people. At least seventy percent of the people I pass are eligible for social security benefits. I’ve even seen six or seven with oxygen tanks strapped to them. That’s when I place the odd smell: a nursing home.

I move quickly to get outside into some fresh air, hoping I won’t have to wait long for the bus I need to catch. The online schedule indicated an eleven-thirty departure time, but was footnoted that based on traffic and weather conditions, the times could vary by up to an hour. The last place I want to hang out for an hour is on the splintery wooden bench outside the most depressing airport in the country, and luckily, when I approach the line of buses parked outside, I immediately see mine. Truckee, California, here I come.

In a back row by myself, I sit with the bill of my ball cap pressed against the window, half-listening to the music playing in my headphones, but mostly trying to memorize every sign and landmark we drive by. If I ever need to find my way back here again, I want to have as much information as possible.

It’s just after twelve-thirty when the bus driver pumps the brakes several times before bringing us to a complete stop in front of a tiny bus station. We all stand to get off, beginning with the front rows first, and by the time I hop down the two big steps and onto the cement, my teeth are chattering uncontrollably with nerves. I’m almost there.

As instructed, I hoof it the two blocks north to the famous golden arches high in the sky. When the soles of my shoes hit the blacktop of the parking lot, I slow my pace and scan the vehicles around me. At first, I don’t see the old blue and white Ford pickup I was told would be here, but as I reach to the back corner of the fast-food restaurant, I see the truck parked next to the dumpster.

Swallowing back my fears, I lower my chin to my chest and walk as inconspicuously as possible to the passenger side of the truck. I grab the handle and open the door, hauling myself into the cab, before I talk myself out of this. Only then do I turn to look at my girlfriend’s captor. Face-to-face. Man-to-man.

And he might just be the most intimidating man I’ve ever seen in my life. As if his enormous body frame isn’t threatening enough, the broken nose that was never fixed and the ugly jagged scar on the side of his face definitely seal the deal.

“Decker.” He tips his chin in acknowledgement as he grunts my name.

“Raze,” I reply, praying he doesn’t hear the shakiness in my voice.

Then, without another word, he turns the key over in the ignition and the engine roars to life. And we’re on the road.

He finally breaks the silence after we’ve been driving for about ten minutes. “I’m gonna pull over off the highway once we’re out of town and blindfold you for the rest of the trip. For obvious reasons, I don’t want you to know where we’re going. You know too much already. I won’t bind your feet and wrists, unless you give me a reason to. I’m trying to make this as easy as possible. No one else other than you, Blake, and myself will be at our final destination, but to make sure none of my men show up unexpectedly, I will stand guard outside while you are with her. Do you understand?”

Nodding, I keep my eyes on the road in front of me. “How long do I have with her?”

“One night. We will leave before daybreak in the morning, and I will drop you back off at the McDonald’s for you to go back the same way you got here.” His accusing eyes cut over to me, pinning me to the seat. “And don’t try anything fucking stupid like taking her back with you. That can’t happen yet. It’ll fuck everything up, and then we will all be running for our lives.”