Something to Die For by Kaye Blue

Ten

Lucas

I had allowedmyself to be lulled.

Had let the rotation of the tires, the distance that I was putting between me and the prison calm me.

Calm that was shattered in an instant.

“What is that?” she asked.

I didn’t spare her a glance, and instead focused up ahead.

It was dusk, the last bits of sun almost a memory. But I could still make out what lay up ahead.

“We are going to be ambushed. And there’s nothing we can do about it. So just follow my lead. And don’t speak.”

“Ambushed—”

The doctor cut off when she heard the screech of tires and then saw the camouflaged Jeep pull out into the road.

I slammed on the brakes and angled the car to avoid a head-on collision.

A crash wouldn’t have ended well for us.

While the Jeep was old, it looked to have been fortified. Her piece of shit tin can would have crumpled at the lightest impact.

So I did the only thing I could and allowed us to be taken.

I brought the car to stop, looked over at her.

“How do you turn this fucking thing off?”

She threw the gear into Park and then pushed the same button she had before.

By the time I looked up, we were being approached.

Two came head-on, two from the side, and though I didn’t glance in the rearview mirror, I knew there were two behind.

Standard formation.

I’d gotten so fucking rusty. Had driven right into a trap. One that, had the situation been different, I might have set myself.

“Get out. Move slow. Don’t speak. Follow my lead.”

I didn’t wait to see if she complied.

Instead, I pushed open the door and stepped out, making sure my hands stayed visible, then watched the doctor as she did the same.

The two in front kept their eyes trained on us, while two others, dressed in fatigues, approached from the side.

“What do we have here?”

He looked at Angel, no doubt trying to rattle her.

To her benefit, she didn’t speak, didn’t even acknowledge him.

“We were just hoping to be on our way,” I said.

“GSP.”

The one who spoke, though he definitely wasn’t the leader, gestured toward the black block letters printed on my back.

“You an escapee?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Is that your hostage?”

“Something like that,” I responded.

He smiled, though the hard glint in his eye didn’t soften a bit.

“What if I want her to be my hostage? Not what I usually go for, but desperate times and all that,” he said.

“You can have the car,” I said.

“What the fuck am I going to do with that thing?” He frowned in disgust. “What else you got?”

“Nothin—”

“Morphine,” she whispered.

I glanced over at her, glared, wondering what she was talking about.

She gestured toward her pocket and then looked at the one who was speaking. And I speared her with a glare so angry that I could feel the tightness in my face muscles.

But she didn’t respond, or even acknowledge it.

“I’m going to get it,” she said.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out two vials. “Hospital grade. That has to be enough of a toll, right?”

The one who stood next to her grabbed the vials, read them, then nodded at the one who spoke.

“A nice start, but not nearly good enough.”

Angel glared, then reached into her pocket again and pulled out one more.

“Better. But you know what I thi—”

“Crowe?”

I turned at the sound of my name, looking at the man who stood farthest back and to the left.

“Jones.”

I hadn’t seen him in over a decade, and the last time I had, he’d been a scrawny kid, more of a hanger-on than anything.

“You remember me?” he said.

His voice had no inflection, and I couldn’t tell if he was impressed.

“I do,” I said.

“You keeping different company these days?” he asked, gesturing toward Angel.

“As your friend said, desperate times.”

“These are that. There are some folks who probably want to catch up with you. Come back with us to the compound.”

“I—”

He shook his head. “I insist.”

The semiautomatic he held was the real force behind those words, but more importantly, I wouldn’t risk escalating the situation.

In the beginning, I had pretty much run things in the prison. Over time, I’d take a step back, but nothing happened without my blessing, and I had considerable power on the outside. After my father’s death four years into my stay, some of that power had been lost.

Not that I’d given a shit.

Over time, the things that had driven me before had become meaningless.

Were less than meaningless now.

What mattered now was keeping my word to the doctor and then disappearing.

It looked like that wouldn’t happen as soon as I’d hoped.