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“Do you really need all that?” Asher questions skeptically as he sees the handles of the guns, along with some of my tactical gear.
“You must be new here.” My voice drips with irritation.
He falls silent, choosing not to challenge me further. Wise choice. I have as much patience as Easton right now, which is zero.
When we walk outside, I see the blacked-out SUV that Weston sent for me.
Billie hugs me tight, her arms trembling with emotion. “Please be safe,” she whispers. “Please save Harper.”
“I will,” I assure her before meeting Asher’s eyes firmly. “Take care of her.”
He nods.
He will. Asher already walked through the fire for Billie. Now that she’s with him, I breathe a little easier.
I climb into the back and close the door, sealing my fate.
Ten minutes later, I enter Park Towers—the high-rise building on Billionaires’ Row, where the top stories are nothing but penthouses. Weston meets me in the foyer, wearing jeans and a T-shirt and some flip-flops. My cousin and I are the same height, and people often confuse us for brothers. In a way, we are. Sometimes, when I look at him, I know my life could’ve been the same, but I chose a different route from them. My own path.
Weston senses trouble when he notices my duffel bags in my grasp.
“What the fuck is going on?” he asks, running his fingers through his dark hair, keeping pace with me. His brows are furrowed, and his Calloway blues shine with concern.
“Micah is Billie’s stalker. He’s manipulated Harper and he took her,” I say bluntly.
Weston’s expression darkens instantly. “What do you need?”
“A getaway car that can get me to Newport fast,” I explain.
“And then what?” he asks as we step into the elevator and go to the ground floor, where he and Easton’s private parking garage is. They have handfuls of cars, trucks, and motorcycles stored below one of the most expensive high-rises in New York City.
“I’m taking her to the cabin. That’s where I’ll be. Tell no one,” I confirm.
Weston nods slowly, then tilts his head. “You haven’t been there in five years.”
“I know,” I reply, my heart aching when I think about Eden.
Weston knew about our relationship, but never told a soul.
“It’s the safest option. Off-grid. Secret. It’s a fortress on top of the mountain. Small-town life. Not many people talk. She’ll be safe there until I figure this out.”
“Stay in touch. Flip Easton off on the cameras for me,” Weston says, squeezing my shoulder firmly. “Return home whole.”
“I will.”
He pulls me into a brotherly hug, then lets me go. He presses his thumb against the door reader, and it snaps open for me.
“See you,” Weston says.
“See you.”
I walk into the garage and go directly to the vintage, blacked-out 1969 Dodge Charger. My hand slides over the freshly waxed paint, which gleams like a challenge. This car is coaxing me forward as adrenaline pumps through me. Without hesitation, I snatch the keys out of the case, feeling the cool metal against my palm, and climb inside.
I wave at the camera in the corner of the room, then shoot it a middle finger. “That one was from Weston.”
I open the door to the car, running my hand across the smooth leather of the dash, then sink back into the seat. I hold the cool steering wheel tight and feel rebellion buried deep in my grip. I push in the clutch, cranking the engine, and it roars to life. I let out a laugh because this car is pure fucking joy. The rumble vibrates through my bones, and a smirk touches my lips because it’s music to my damn ears as I buckle in.
Easton swooped in and bought this car minutes before me. And it’s pissed me the fuck offeversince. “Motherfucker. You should’ve been mine,” I whisper, revving the engine a few times to let her warm up.