Undeserving (Undeniable #5)(6)
"Problem?" Pat asked.
Still staring at the exit sign, Preacher shook his head. Was there a problem? He didn't know.
"What the fuck are you waiting for? You're maxed out, Fox. Free. You got your ride waiting on you. It's a new beginning, a fresh start. Get your ass going and stay the hell outta trouble."
A free man. According to the law and the state of New York, he was indeed a free man. But in reality, he wasn't free at all. He belonged to the Silver Demons body and soul, for better or worse. And if he stayed on this path, this wasn't going to be the last time he went to prison.
Pat slapped him on the back and shoved him forward, and then Preacher was moving, one foot in front of the other, through the exit door and down the long corridor. Another guard, standing at his post near a set of double doors at the end of the hall, nodded at him. Then Preacher was through the doors and stepping out into the warm sunlight …
He was free.
Chapter 2
Her gaze flickered from the old man behind the wheel to the world outside the window, a blur of bright greens, blues, and grays. The rickety old truck smelled like stale cigars and feet, thanks to the many cigar stubs overflowing in the ashtray and the well-worn work boots lying on the truck's floor.
Turning back to the man, who'd muttered somewhere around fifteen miles ago that his name was Dave, she clutched her pocket knife a little tighter. He seemed kind-kind enough-and he was hardly in peak physical condition, but you could never be too careful. She'd learned the hard way exactly what sort of evil could lie simmering inside a well-dressed man with a kind smile.
Dave, in his torn denim coveralls, could hardly be considered well-dressed, and he hadn't smiled at all, not once. In fact, every so often when the radio station would break from the steady stream of country music, Dave would glance her way, his body hunched over the steering wheel, his thin lips pressed in a firm, disapproving line. Having lived like this for some time now-on her own, on the road-this was nothing new. She was well versed in the judgment of strangers. More than likely he guessed she was rebelling against her parents, or society, or something else equally frivolous. But whatever it was he was guessing, she didn't see any malice lurking in his faded blue eyes. Still, she'd strategically placed her large canvas army pack between them while keeping her knife clutched tightly at her side, ready to strike if need be. Nobody got to take from her anymore … at least not without a fight.
Her careful stare meandered back to the window. Large, cultivated farms, looming barns, and the occasional tractor hard at work were all there was to see. In fact, this was exactly what most of America looked like when you watched it fly by from the highway.
Eventually a mile marker came into view, boasting in big white lettering that they were now four miles from the New York border. A rush of excited air escaped her. This was the closest she'd ever been. Briefly closing her eyes, she envisioned all those crowded sidewalks, could almost hear the constant rumble of traffic and the unending blare of car horns.
Her goal was New York City, and maybe she could have made it there much sooner if she hadn't had an entire country to traverse, coupled with the daily worries of food and shelter and bad weather. Not that time mattered in her world; she didn't live by a clock anymore, and no one was waiting on her.
And New York City, from what she'd gleaned from television and books and word of mouth, was the ideal place to disappear. It was a city teeming with people-enough people to panhandle from and pickpocket without having to worry about going to sleep hungry ever again. It was somewhere she could live in plain sight while still hiding. It was somewhere she could become someone new-anyone she wanted to be. She could start over, maybe have a real life again. In New York City, the possibilities would be endless.
The radio clicked off abruptly and her daydreams evaporated. Finding the old man watching her, the fingers curled around her blade twitched.
"This is as far as I go," he muttered, jerking his chin toward the truck stop seated on the approaching horizon. As they drew closer, she leaned forward in her seat and looked around, noting with disappointment that it was a smaller truck stop with only a handful of rigs in the lot.
Dave pulled to a stop a short ways away from the diner and turned to face her. He said nothing. Grasping the door handle, she pushed the heavy slab open and slid across the seat, dragging her bag with her.
"Girl," he called out, and she paused. "Get yourself a hot meal." He tossed a handful of dollar bills across the bench seat, sending them fluttering in all directions. Lunging for the money, she caught the bills before any could be lost to the breeze. Wadding them into a ball, she shoved them quickly into her jeans pocket.