[Camden]
I don’t tell Kendall about the noise from yesterday. She’s already anxious, and I’d rather her feel safe, even if this morning only took her mind off things for a little while.
I call Dante while I’m checking the perimeter of the safe house.
“Any news?” I ask as soon as he picks up, my voice low.
“Not yet,” he answers, a hint of frustration sharpening his tone. “Angelo swears he spotted Marco running down the highway, but he couldn’t catch up with him after the party, so who knows.”
I frown, glancing toward the dense treeline on the edge of the property, every nerve on alert. “Angelo doesn’t drink. Why wouldn’t you believe him?”
Dante sighs, a faint rustling sound in the background, as though he’s pulling on his hair. “I don’t know, it was dark, so I’m taking it with a pinch of salt, I guess.”
I hum, eyes narrowed as I peer toward the shadows. The moon barely cut through the trees last night. He’s probably right, Angelo could’ve seen anyone out there.
“I’m going to move safehouses. Marco’s men might know where this one is,” I say, the weight of that realization settling like a stone in my gut.
“Yeah, we worked together a few years ago,” Dante agrees. “Best to set up for a while at the one upstate.”
I groan, a humorless smile twitching at the corner of my mouth. “I hate upstate.”
Dante laughs, rough but genuine. “It’s not a vacation, Camden. How’s the girl? Elora’s been asking about her.”
“She’s… all right,” I hedge, keeping my tone steady, not wanting Elora to have any inkling of this morning. “How’s my annoying little sister?”
“Annoying,” Dante says with a chuckle. “Nah, she’s been okay. Just worried about you and her friend.”
The lightness fades, my hand clenches the phone a bit tighter. “Do you think Marco will come after her?”
“No. I think he’s worried about Kendall, honestly, and he might be on your tail. I’m sure he’s managed to get a car by now.”
I curse under my breath, the creeping dread snapping into focus. “All right, I’ll take Kendall and leave by tonight.”
“Make sure you ditch your phone. Use one of the burners.”
“Noted.”
I snap the phone between my hands, the crunch of plastic sharp in the quiet air, and toss it into the dirt by the trees before I head back inside. Kendall’s seated at the table,
wearing a pair of black biking shorts that hug her hips, a loose T-shirt knotted just above her navel. Sunlight filters through the window, spilling over her skin, making her look softer, innocent. Untouchable.
I keep my gaze steady as I walk over, my heart pounding in a steady beat that I don’t let touch my face.
“Listen, Kendall,” I start, meaning to keep things simple, to tell her we’re moving soon. But she bites her lip, a spark of unease in her eyes, and glances down.
“I understand,” she says, her voice a low murmur.
“Understand what?” I ask, a chill threading through my chest.
“I understand that this can’t happen again,” she mumbles, her voice barely audible.
A coldness settles in my bones, and I stare at her. This. She’s talking about this morning. “You don’t want it to happen again?”
She looks up, her gaze catching mine, her lip still tucked between her teeth. “I mean, not if you don’t,” she manages, her voice breaking a little.
A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth, breaking through my surprise. “So, I get whatever I want?”
Her cheeks flush, and she nods. “Pretty much, yeah,” she murmurs. I let out a sharp laugh, my fingers lifting to tap her nose in a way that makes her scrunch it, blushing harder.
“Well then, I guess we’ll see, principessa.” Her blush deepens, spreading over her cheeks. The way she looks at me, a mix of shyness and want, makes it hard to stay focused.
“We’re going upstate to another safehouse,” I say, my tone firm, bringing her back.
Kendall’s brows furrow, confusion mingling with a spark of fear. “Why? Is something wrong? Elora-”
I shake my head, cutting her off before the worry can take root. “She’s fine,” I assure her. “Everything’s fine, but we aren’t sure how safe this place is. Dante’s had it for a while, and Marco might know where it is.”
The color drains from her face, her eyes widening. My hand finds her shoulder, a grounding weight.
“You’re not going to let anything happen to me,” she says, her voice soft, like she’s saying it as much to herself as to me.
I smile, a promise woven through it. “That’s right, principessa. I’m not.”
She glances around the kitchen, her hands twisting together. “I don’t have anything to pack,” she admits, a hint of frustration in her tone.
I chuckle, slinging the duffel over my shoulder. “We’re already packed,” I tell her, gesturing to the bag holding essentials-needle and thread, gauze, an extra pair of clothes, and the whiskey I found in the cabinet. We’re not here for comfort, after all.
She follows me out to the car, taking a bathroom break first, then buckling in quietly. I can’t help but notice how… adaptable she is, how well she’s handling this mess compared to Elora,
who would’ve been demanding explanations every other second. Kendall simply tightens her seatbelt, glances at me, and lets silence settle around us like a kind of truce.
She’s… surprisingly good company. A bit of peace, even if only for now. I keep my hands on the wheel, eyes on the road, but she makes it hard to stay unaffected.
Maybe I wouldn’t mind starting a physical thing with her, so long as Elora never finds out. Physical-strictly.
I’ve never let anyone get too close, and I’m not about to start now. Loving anyone is just another risk, a liability.
I’ve told Dante that for years. If he ever loses Mia, his wife, it’ll break him, and I refuse to give anyone that power over me.
I push those thoughts away, focusing instead on the road, on every car that passes us. We’ll get as far as we can before nightfall.
“What are you thinking about?” Kendall’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and to my surprise, I answer honestly.
“My mother,” I say, and she hums, her gaze soft.
“I think about my mother a lot,” she replies quietly.
I glance at her, the vulnerability in her expression catching me off guard. “Are you and your mother close?”
She laughs, a harsh, bitter sound. “She left when I was seven,” she says. “Chose drugs over me and my dad.”
“Shit. I’m sorry,” I say, the words gruff, rougher than I intend.
Kendall shrugs, her gaze turning distant. “It is what it is.”
“My father died when I was twelve,” I tell her, the memory more faded than painful.
Kendall nods. “Yeah, Elora says she doesn’t really remember him.”
Hearing her name again pulls me back to reality, a reminder of who Kendall is, who she’s tied to. She’s my little sister’s best friend. But sitting here, she feels like…something else.
“It’s better to have a dead parent than one who doesn’t care about you, I guess,” I mumble, struggling to put it into words.
She laughs softly, a bit of the tension easing. “I’ve never heard it put quite that way before, but I guess you’re right.” She pauses, glancing at her hands.
“But I’d never want to be without my father. Even if sometimes he’s…not as present as I’d like, he’s all I have left.”
I can’t help but smirk. “Daddy’s little girl?”
She smiles, her eyes bright. “Yeah, you could say that,” she admits, her voice turning soft. “He’s been sick, and I’m worried about him.”
She bites her bottom lip, and something in me twists. She’s still a kid in a way, clinging to the family she has left. I find myself saying, “I’ll have someone check on him, if it’ll make you feel better.”
Her head snaps up, surprise and gratitude mingling in her gaze. “It would make me feel better.”
“Consider it done,” I tell her, then notice a car pulling onto the road behind us. At first, I don’t think much of it, but when I turn at the next exit, they turn too. My gut clenches.
“What’s wrong?” Kendall’s voice wavers, her fear clear.
“I don’t know,” I say, my tone deadly calm, my eyes glued to the rearview mirror. “But I need you to get down.”
“What do you mean, get down?”
She stares at me, panic flashing in her wide eyes, her breaths quickening.
I reach over, gripping the back of her head, and push her down into my lap.
“Someone is tailing us.”