24. Ivan

24

IVAN

I debate, as I watch Charlotte fall asleep, if I should wake her up.

I know it's not wise for her to sleep. The wreck was violent—there's every chance that she could have a concussion. I should be waking her up—but she looks so peaceful that I feel an almost physical revulsion at the thought of disturbing her.

Today has been far beyond what I ever wanted her to experience while she was with me. Full of pain and violence and things that I know she'll never be able to unsee. And it's my fault.

I should never have left her alone in the car while I went into that gas station.

Logically, I know it doesn't all stem from that. Even if I could have avoided Bradley that way—which isn't a certainty by any means—Niki and Ani were an entirely different situation. They were hot on our heels, clearly, and a little more time and space between us wouldn't have made enough of a difference.

And Lev.

I grit my teeth, thinking of what just happened. Ani isn't dead, I don't think. I knocked him out, hard enough that I might have done serious damage, but I can't be sure. Ani is the weakest, the most stupid, and the most easily controlled of the three. I felt guilty at the thought of killing him in cold blood, like shooting a loyal dog that should have bitten its master a long time ago. But Niki?—

The sight of him trying to cut Charlotte out of the car and take her with him had made me so blind with rage that I'd wanted to do horrible, brutal things to him. I've rarely ever wanted to cause pain, wanted to see how long I could prolong a man's suffering—but I wanted to hurt him. If I'd had time, I would have.

I hope Charlotte never knows that about me.

Niki is dead. There's no doubt about that. The part of his head that blew away with the shot was clear enough, and if he somehow had still been breathing, the bullet that Lev accidentally put in his back would have finished him off. But Lev?—

I'm not sure that Lev is dead. And that means that for now, he's still a danger.

I need to put as many miles between what just happened, and us, as I can. I have an idea, as we pass into Idaho, of what we can do for a place to sleep. But we need food, and we need to clean up. And we need fresh clothes. Everything that we had was in the Corolla, now flung around in a mess in the wreckage.

Charlotte doesn't wake up until I stop at a 24-hour Walmart, far off the beaten path. She doesn't even wake up when the car stops—I have to reach over and gently shake her, acutely aware of the pain in my own shoulder as I touch hers.

"Charlotte," I say her name softly, thinking with a sudden, stabbing pain of the soft way she said my name just this morning. That already feels as if it was days ago. And I want to go back there, with a sudden desperation that startles me. I want her, sitting up in the thin, cold daylight, whispering my name behind my back.

I can't imagine she'll actually ever say it that way again.

"Mm?" She stirs, opening her eyes as if they're sticky. They probably are.

"We need clothes. Food." I look up at the brightly lettered sign. "I think?—"

"Someone is going to call the cops as soon as they see us."

I run a hand through my hair, wincing as I feel my fingers catch on the dried blood. "You're probably right. But?—"

"I'll go in," she suggests. "I'm banged up, but it's not too bad. I'll say I had an accident if anyone asks. Wrecked my bike or something. That I just need a change of clothes."

"I'm not letting you go anywhere alone."

"If Bradley or—" she swallows hard. "Or Lev shows up, you're better equipped to deal with them than I am. If it's just me out here, it'll just be a repeat of what happened all over again."

I don't ask why she thinks Lev is alive. I don't think I want to know. "And if they see you and follow you inside?"

"Then I'll scream. Cause a fuss. Claim that he's the one who hurt me, why I'm all bloody. While there's a commotion, I'll take off running." She gives me a bright look that I'm sure she's faking. "It'll be fine.

I hesitate. Every instinct that I have screams at me not to let her out of my sight again, reminding me of what happened earlier when I left her for just a few minutes. But she's right. We need food, first aid, and clothes, and in my condition, I'm more likely to raise alarm.

"Okay," I say finally. "But just take this." I slip a switchblade out of my pocket, the smaller of the two knives I carry on me—easier to conceal and easier for Charlotte to handle. "I don't expect you to have to use it. But I'd rather you have something on you just in case."

Charlotte's eyes widen, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, but she nods. Her fingers brush against mine as she takes the knife, and I feel my heart trip in my chest, the urge to tighten my hand around hers and pull her in almost overwhelming. But I lean back, watching as she slips the knife into her pocket. "I'll be quick," she says, looking nervously towards the store. "In and out."

I hand her a fold of cash, still fighting the urge to call her back as she slips out of the car and starts to hurry towards the store, her gait still slightly off from how sore she must be. She's not too badly injured, I think—more banged up than anything else, but I'm still worried about what might not have made itself known yet.

Waiting for her to come back is a million times worse than having gone myself. I try to distract myself while I wait, thinking of what comes next. We need to stay off the main roads and find somewhere to crash for the night. We both need rest, to sleep off our injuries as much as we're able. I'm worried about going to a motel, after the last few close calls we've had, and the best thing I can think of is to go off the beaten path into one of the parks, and find a safety cabin.

It won't be the most comfortable place to sleep, but we'll manage. And it'll be the best bet I can think of for staying off the radar of anyone who might be tailing us.

I watch the store entrance as I run through possible scenarios, thinking of what we'll do tomorrow, and the day after, until we get to Vegas. I'm constantly scanning the parking lot, looking for Bradley's car, for the ominous shape of my brother's muscled bulk, for any sign of trouble at all. Every minute feels like an hour, although when I look down at my watch, I can see that only about fifteen minutes has passed.

When the doors open and I see her walk out, I feel a wave of relief, letting out a breath that I hadn't even realized I was holding. She's changed clothes, wearing a simple grey t-shirt and jeans now, a thin black hoodie tossed over it. She has two bulging plastic bags in her hands, and I can see that she's walking a little more steadily—pain medication, maybe. That feeling of relief only grows, but I can't fully relax until she slides back into the passenger's seat of the car, setting the bags down on the floorboard as she shuts the door firmly behind her.

I immediately lock them, not taking my eyes off her for even a second. "It went okay?"

Charlotte nods. "It's so late that there weren't many employees. I got a couple of weird looks, but only one of them asked if I was okay. And I just told them I took a spill on my bike and needed to clean up, that I didn't want to freak out my family when I got home. They bought it easily enough." She reaches down, opening up the bags for me to see inside. "I grabbed some clothes, a first aid kit, and some more food and bottled water. And these." She pulls out two prepaid phones. "I figured you needed new burners."

I can feel my eyes widen. I'm more than a little impressed by her foresight in that—she's clearly been paying attention.

"You're a natural," I tease her, smiling. At least—it's meant to be teasing, but from the shadow that crosses her face, I don't think she takes it that way. "I just mean—you did a good job, Charlotte. All of this is good."

She gives me a small smile, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. I can see the exhaustion in every line of her face—made more evident now, actually, by the fact that the blood is washed away. There's fear there, too, still in her eyes as she leans back against the seat tiredly and looks over at me. "What now?" she asks quietly, and I let out a heavy sigh as I put the car in gear.

"We'll need to stop somewhere soon. We're both exhausted, hurt, and probably in some shock. We need to sleep." I scrub my hand through my hair, once again wincing at how it feels, matted with blood as it is. "We need a day to rest, honestly, but I don't think we can swing that. We need to get to Vegas sooner rather than later."

"Okay, so where?" Charlotte's frown is audible; I don't even need to look over at her to know it's on her face. "The last time we went to a motel, your brothers caught us. And if Ani and Niki figured it out?—"

"I think Lev figured it out," I interrupt. "And sent them. When they dicked around for too long, he came to check up on things, and that resulted in what happened yesterday."

"That's just as bad." Charlotte lets out a small, huffing breath. "So he knows what we've been doing. And you've said before major hotels are off-limits, because there are too many people. Which begs the question, what the hell are we going to do in Vegas?"

"There, we'll get the nicest hotel available. One with security, keycards, the lot. There, we can get the kind of room where it'll be harder for Lev to get to us, and where I can pay people to keep their mouths shut." I glance over at her. "In a place like Vegas, where there's plenty of criminal activity like the kind my family involves themselves in, silence has a price. But in backwoods Idaho, or any of the places we've driven through so far, we'd just be putting people in danger."

Charlotte nods. "And tonight?"

"Tonight, I think we should head into one of the national forests. There are safety cabins out there, shelters for hikers and campers who need a place to crash in a storm or some other kind of emergency. I think this counts as an emergency," I add wryly as I spread the new road atlas that Charlotte grabbed out on my lap, flicking on an overhead light. "They're pretty off the grid. Hard to find, unless you're looking for them specifically."

"And you think Bradley won't look for that specifically? Or Lev?" There's uncertainty in Charlotte's voice, and it makes a tangle of mixed feelings surface in my gut. On the one hand, I'm proud of her for thinking this through, for questioning it all, and for taking an active part in this. But on the other, I wish she trusted me. I wish that all of this had brought us closer, instead of seemingly pushing us further apart. Right now, I can't help but feel that more than ever, she's only still with me because it's her best option.

That as soon as she has the opportunity to safely leave, she will.

I take a deep, slow breath, pushing those thoughts aside. They're not helpful right now, for either of us. There's nothing I can do about it at this moment, and what Charlotte needs most from me right now, I know, is for me to focus on our immediate crisis.

The need for a safe place to sleep, and shelter, so we can recover before the morning.

"It's possible," I admit. "It might occur to both, or either of them, that we might try to hide away somewhere like that. But we have to stop somewhere. We can't drive through the night, not in our current state."

"This is an automatic," Charlotte points out. "I can drive this."

"Yeah, you can. But you shouldn't." I shake my head. "You were in shock earlier, Charlotte. I only let you sleep because I couldn't bear to wake you up, but you probably hit your head. We're both banged up, and our bodies can only take so much. We won't make it if we collapse before we get to Vegas."

Charlotte is silent, and I take a deep breath. "Those cabins are scattered all over the parks. Bradley and Lev don't know whose car we stole, or what roads we took. They won't have had time to figure it out yet. Maybe, if that guy called the theft in, Bradley could get to us quicker, but honestly—" I shake my head. "There's plenty of stolen cars every day. Maybe less so out here, but he's still gotta decide which one he thinks is us. He has to figure out which cabin we chose. Our odds are just as good as a motel, maybe better."

She nods, her lips still pressed together, thin with worry. "Okay," she says finally, on a long exhale. "I trust you."

Those three small words, three of the six that I've never really expected to hear from her, hit me harder than I expected. I feel as if the air has been knocked out of my lungs for a moment, and I swallow hard, trying to keep my composure. I hadn't realized just how badly I wanted to hear that from her, until she said it. Now, I just want to hear her say it again.

I nod, feeling briefly incapable of speech as I stare at the road ahead, following it until I turn down a side road marked on the atlas, towards one of the parks. We're both silent as I drive, the night closing in around us, deepening the further we get from civilization. The only sounds are the hum of the engine and the soft brush of the wind through the trees outside, along with the occasional rustle of Charlotte's clothing as she shifts in the seat or brushes against the bags on the floorboard.

It takes about an hour before I see signs for a cabin. I turn onto a narrow, thin road, grateful that I stole a car with all-wheel drive as I drive us further into the forest. The trees loom over us, creating a dark canopy that sends a shiver down my spine, blocking out the night sky above us and the shimmer of the stars.

There's something a bit spooky about it, especially this time of year. But I push the crawling feeling that creeps over my skin aside, focusing on the task at hand. The forest might be silent and dark, but there are far, far more dangerous things out there. And this, hopefully, will keep us shielded from them for the night.

As I expected, when we reach the cabin, it isn't much. I've stayed in places like this once or twice before, when I've gone off on long hikes to get away from my family and clear my head. It's primitive, without electricity or running water, but from what I know of these kinds of places, there will be a lantern, basic bedding, some bottled water, and a fireplace with some cut wood left from the park rangers who keep these cabins stocked. Enough to get us through the night, and after the day we've had, it looks as good as any five-star hotel to me.

I park the Subaru around the back, where it won't be immediately seen if Bradley, or maybe a park ranger, comes by and happens to look at the license plate. We won't be able to keep this car long, just in case the man that I stole it from does decide to call in the theft. But right now, I'm pushing that further down the list of things to worry about.

"Let's grab our stuff and get inside," I murmur to Charlotte, glancing around. There's no one to be seen, and no reason to think we've been followed, but I feel anxious all the same. "We shouldn't hang out in the open, just in case."

She nods, grabbing the bags from the floorboard and sliding out into the chilly night air. I hear her draw in a deep breath, and I can't help but smile, despite the hellish day we've had. It is nice, out here. Clean and fresh, the air cold and crisp, and I want to linger for a moment. But I see Charlotte shiver as she walks around the back of the car, and I hurry to grab the bags out of her hand as we walk to the cabin.

The door is unlocked, as I figured it would be, since these cabins are meant for campers and hikers in need of shelter during emergencies. It's dark inside, and I stomp my boots as we walk in, wanting to make sure to scare off any creatures. This time of year, stacks of firewood and any cracks in walls or under doors are prime places for snakes to hide.

When I don't hear the dry whisper of scales across wood or the chittering of any raccoons or other small furry creatures that might not like being disturbed, I fumble for the lantern that I know should be near the door, batteries already inside. My hand brushes against cold metal, and I find the switch, flicking it on and bathing the room in a warm, soft glow.

Inside, the cabin isn't much, either. It's sparse—small, with two beds made up with quilts, a rustic table and chairs, and a wood stove next to a fireplace. I glance over at Charlotte, a wry smile on my face.

"Home sweet home?" I shrug, and she manages a small smile back.

"I kind of like it," she admits.

"Better than our tent out at that campsite?" The question comes out before I can stop it, before I can remind myself that this isn't a conversation that I want answers to. I had told myself I'd leave this alone, that I'd push aside any further thoughts of how I feel about her. She gave me her answer, when she couldn't give me one.

But clearly, while I'm done torturing others, I haven't tortured myself nearly enough yet.

"Maybe a little better," she says softly, her gaze still scanning the room. "I think this will be nice and cozy, with a fire going. Warm."

"I'll get right on that, then," I promise her. "Look and see if there's any blankets in that closet while I work on a fire?"

Charlotte nods, setting down the bags and walking over to investigate while I kneel down by the fireplace. I can feel every inch of my body protesting as I arrange kindling and logs; my shoulder is starting to throb again. Whatever adrenaline was carrying me through has long since worn off, and I feel painfully aware of every bruise and scrape.

The fire catches, just in time for me to hear Charlotte's soft footsteps behind me. "I found more blankets," she says quietly, and I shift, turning to look at her. In the glow of the firelight, she looks even more beautiful than usual, and my chest aches.

Her gaze sweeps over me, and I see the concern in it as she tugs the corner of her lip between her teeth. "You need to clean up," she says softly. "That gash on your forehead—and your shoulder." She looks at me again, assessing. "Come sit on the bed, and I'll help."

Something in my chest squeezes tight at the thought of her touching me like that. Caring for me. Sexual touch is nothing new to me, but affection, caring—those are things I'm not familiar with. Things I've never let myself want or have. The desire for affection is dangerous. Addictive.

Much like Charlotte herself.

"I can do it myself," I tell her, as I push myself up painfully from the floor. But the words come out weak, uncertain. It's easy to hear that what I really want is for her to touch me. To feel her hands on me again, just for a few minutes.

Charlotte looks at me for a long moment, and shakes her head. "Let me help," she insists gently, motioning to the bed again. "You're hurt. You shouldn't have to take care of it yourself, not when…when I want to."

Something about those last three words hit me like a punch, like hearing her say she trusted me earlier. I swallow hard, giving her a slight nod as I make my way to the bed, sitting gingerly down on the edge. Charlotte rummages around in one of the large plastic bags, pulling out a first-aid kit and setting it down next to me.

She hesitates as she opens it, glancing over at me again. "Can you take off your shirt?" she asks slowly, pressing her lips together. "So I can see how bad it really all is."

A beat passes. I can feel how tense she is next to me, as I debate whether or not I should do that. But I'm going to have to change clothes eventually, I reason, even though I know that's very different from sitting here shirtless in the glow of the fire, while Charlotte helps clean up my wounds.

I look over at her, searching for an excuse to say no. To tell her that this is a bad idea. I see the scratches on her arm, cleaned now but still red and angry, and gesture towards them. "You need to patch yourself up," I start to say, and she purses her lips, looking at me narrowly.

"I'm fine for now. Just—take off your shirt, Ivan."

I hesitate for a second longer, but I reach down, slowly peeling off my shirt.