Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
I stare at her profile, at the steady line of her jaw, the way her hands don’t shake on the wheel.
“You’re either incredibly brave,” I state, “extremely stupid, delusional from exhaustion, or you’ve got a death wish. Which is it?”
She shrugs. “You’re already hurt. If you wanted to kill me, you’d have done it in the parking lot. You want help. I took an oath to help. So I’ll do what I can and you can be on your way and I can go to sleep. But bottom line, if you were going to shoot me, I wouldn’t be here talking now. So put the gun up because you’re wasting energy.”
That lands.
I laugh—a short, rough sound that turns into a wince. “How often do you get kidnapped that you’ve got this kind of plan ready?”
“First time,” she shares. “But I improvise well. I read books, the women tend to have a good time with it. But I’m not having sex with you, just so we get that clear now.”
I watch the road slide by, weigh my options, feel another warm spill of blood soak into my shirt.
“Fine,” I state finally. “We do it your way.”
She exhales, just a little. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” I mutter. “I’m still holding the gun.”
“I noticed.”
Her house is exactly where she said it would be. Small. Modest. One story, with a narrow driveway and a porch light that flickers like it’s on its last leg. No neighbors peeking through curtains. No barking dogs. Quiet.
She parks and turns off the engine. “Caregiver’s inside,” she says. “Let me talk to her. Stay in the car until she backs out.”
I nod, keeping the gun low but visible. She steps out, moving with purpose, and disappears inside. I sit there, pain gnawing, every instinct screaming that this is a bad idea.
The door opens again a few minutes later, an older woman steps out wearing scrubs, moves to her car, and leaves. The nurse from the hospital emerges not long after that.
“She’s gone,” the nurse says softly. “I told her I’ve got it.”
I follow her inside.
The house smells faintly of antiseptic and coffee. Clean, but worn. Lived in. The living room opens up immediately, and my gaze locks on the hospital bed set up near the window.
An old man lies there, thin and pale, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Machines hum softly beside him. He doesn’t stir when we enter.
“You weren’t lying,” I state quietly as I follow her into a back bedroom.
“No,” she replies. “A lot of things, but not a liar. Never seems to get anyone very far in life to be anything other than honest.”
She sets her bag down, turns to face me. Up close, I notice the shadows under her eyes, the tightness around her mouth like she’s been holding herself together for a long time.
“I’m Danae,” she introduces. “I’m an RN. I can clean the wound. I can stitch if it’s not too deep. I can’t promise anything beyond that.”
I lower the gun.
“Do what you can,” I say. “I don’t plan on dying in your bedroom.”
Her lips twitch, just a little. “Good, really isn’t on my bingo card for this year.”
She gestures to a chair. “Sit.”
I obey.
And for the first time since coming too in the parking lot, I let myself believe I might actually make it through the night.
One
Miles
Chapter One – Miles
Salemburg wakes up slow or maybe it’s me. It’s a Thursday, but feels like a damn Monday for sure. The stir-crazy feeling is building up inside me and I need a ride soon.
I’m already on my second cup of coffee when the sun starts dragging itself up into the sky, light bleeding through the clubhouse windows. The building creaks as bodies begin to stir. I got here about an hour ago, waiting for Dove who apparently snored naked on the main couch all night. Whoever else was with him never came back. That’s how mornings work here, half of us in a routine, the other half reckoning with their life choices.
I sit at the long table with my ledger open, pen moving steady across paper. Numbers calm me. They always have. Gives me something solid to hold onto when everything else is noise and impulse.
Dues are light this week. Bar receipts are strong. One of our storage facilities has a problem with our gate codes for customers to enter the space, and I make a note to move money before the problem becomes a complaint. It’s a new place we recently purchased from a local family ready to retire. Since it is an established business, we inherited the existing clients along with the previous problems like this intermittent gate problem. We don’t have a good receivables balance on this one just yet. Once we get the units filled again or move some transports through them I can filter money better to give a cushion. For now, though, it’s a game of balancing numbers.