Page 22 of Crow’s Haven (Savage Legion MC #15)

Sharon

I wake up to the faint scent of diesel and coffee.

The low rumble of the engine vibrates beneath my exhausted body.

I curl deeper into the passenger seat, my knees tucked tightly against my chest, every muscle sore from running to the road earlier.

The glow of the dashboard casts shadows across the dark cab, alerting me that it’s either night or the wee hours of the morning.

Beside me, Sam shifts gears smoothly, eyes fixed steadily on the road ahead. In the dim glow, his weathered face seems kind rather than intimidating, the deep wrinkles around his eyes softening when he glances my way.

“You hungry, sweetheart?” he asks gently, his gravelly voice edged with grandfatherly warmth. “Ain’t much, but I’ve got some snacks behind the seat.”

I hesitate, unsure, then nod cautiously. “Maybe a little. Thank you.”

He reaches back easily, steering one-handed, and pulling out a granola bar and a bottle of water. “Here ya go, darlin’,” he murmurs, handing them over. His eyes soften further as I carefully unwrap the snack, my hands trembling slightly.

“You remind me of my granddaughter,” he says after a moment, his voice low, quiet, and steady. “Same wary look, like you’ve been through too much already.”

I glance up sharply, heart hammering, but there’s no suspicion in his eyes. He’s not blaming me for anything, just trying to show some basic human compassion. It catches me off guard, coming from a total stranger, and makes tears prick unexpectedly at the corners of my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to drag you into my problems.”

He shrugs gently, a small, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t apologize. World’s a rough place. Everyone needs a hand now and then.”

I exhale slowly, the tension in my shoulders easing just a fraction. Outside, highway lights flicker past, marking each mile further from Crow and the relationship wreckage I left behind.

“You need to make a call?” he asks softly after a long moment. “Figure you might not have your phone, considering how you flagged me down.”

My cheeks flush, embarrassment twisting my stomach. “Yeah, I don’t have anything.”

He nods slowly, calmly, untroubled by the admission. “We’ll hit a truck stop in about fifteen minutes. Got a phone you can use in privacy to call and talk to whoever you need.”

My chest tightens because his small acts of kindness mean so much to me right now. “Thank you, Sam. I appreciate it more than you know.”

“It ain’t nothing. Just being human in a world that’s forgotten its manners as of late.”

His sense of humor catches me off guard, and I laugh before I think.

Sam gives me another one of his crooked grins. Suddenly, the world seems a lot nicer for having him in it.

True to his word, fifteen minutes later we pull into a brightly lit truck stop. Sam parks smoothly, kills the engine, and climbs out, motioning for me to follow.

Inside, the noisy hum of conversation and crackle of a staticky radio provides comforting anonymity. Sam leads me to a quieter corner, pulling a battered flip phone from his pocket.

“Take your time,” he says quietly, handing me the device. “I’ll grab some coffee. Give you some privacy.”

He steps away, leaving me alone, fingers trembling as I dial my cousin’s number. My pulse quickens with each ring until finally, mercifully, she answers, her voice sleepy but alert.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” I whisper urgently, heart pounding. “I had to run again.”

She’s instantly wide awake. “Shit, girl. Are you safe?”

“For now,” I say quickly, fighting panic. “I’m at some truck stop on the interstate. I don’t have anything. I had to leave without my car, phone, and even my wallet. Which means I’ve got no money or place to stay. I’m sorry, I know I’ve already asked too much of you.”

“Shut up,” she interrupts firmly but lovingly. “You’re family. Give me five minutes. I’ll send cash to your account. You can access it through the app at any ATM. Just remember to delete it from whoever’s phone you’re borrowing.”

Relief floods through me. It’s so powerful that it leaves me shaking. “Thank you. God, thank you.”

“Don’t give it another thought. It’s what any decent cousin would do. I love you, girl,” she says firmly. “Call me again as soon as you’re somewhere safe. We’ll figure out what to do next. You’re not alone, okay?”

“I love you too,” I whisper, tears flooding my eyes. “I promise I’ll call soon.”

When I hang up, Sam is waiting patiently nearby, sipping black coffee from a Styrofoam cup, eyes steady and gentle.

“All good?” he asks quietly.

I nod, voice thick with gratitude. “Yes. My cousin’s sending money. I can access it using your phone through any ATM. Is that okay with you?”

“Absolutely,” he says softly, approval lighting his face. “I’m glad you have someone you can rely on in your life. Not everyone does.”

“I’m so grateful for the help you’re giving me. I hope you end up blessed in this life. You really deserve it.”

“Awe, that’s damn nice of you to say, Ladybug. Now let’s get you fed properly so you don’t end up blowing away in the wind.”

I follow him to the truck stop diner. It’s a warm, friendly place. In this moment, Sam feels like a guardian angel, someone safe and solid in a world suddenly turned upside down. I’m lucky he stopped for me.

Over plates of scrambled eggs and toast, Sam shares stories of his family.

He tells me all about his granddaughter’s first steps, her mom’s teenage stubbornness, and how she’s determined to go to college and make something of herself so she can give her daughter a good life.

The pride in his voice is unmistakable. Listening to him eases my fear, reminding me that there is still good in the world.

I download my banking app on his phone, sign in, and use the ATM at the truck stop to pull out five hundred dollars.

I quickly locate a shelf filled with cheap, disposable prepaid burner phones.

They’re supposed to be untraceable. I choose one, my fingers trembling slightly as I count out cash at the counter.

The cashier barely looks up, indifferent to my nervousness.

The phone feels light and insignificant in my palm, but it’s a lifeline, my only connection to my cousin, who is my only anchor in this chaos.

Back outside, Sam offers another reassuring nod. “You got what you need?”

“Yeah.” I hold the phone to let him see. I’m careful to uninstall my banking app from his phone before handing it back. I also offer to cover breakfast, but he won’t hear of it.

By the time we return to the truck, the bone-deep exhaustion that seeps into my bones has been softened slightly by the comfort of a warm meal and simple human kindness. Sam’s quiet companionship eases my panic into cautious hope. I don’t know what comes next, but for tonight, at least, I’m safe.

I rest my head against the cool window as the truck hums softly back onto the interstate, headed towards uncertainty. I don’t dare close my eyes again, because I can’t sleep the day away.

***

Later, Sam stops for gas. I make a quick call using my newly acquired cell phone and sit hunched in the truck’s passenger seat waiting for the call to go through.

“Please just come here,” she pleads quietly. “Stay with me. It’s safe, and we’ll figure this out together.”

My chest tightens painfully at the thought. “I can’t. If the cops find out you’re helping me, they’ll call you an accessory after the fact for harboring me.”

“I don’t think that’s quite how harboring a fugitive works,” she cuts in fiercely. “You’re family. I won’t turn my back on you.”

“That’s exactly why I can’t come,” I whisper back, my voice strained but firm. “I won’t drag you down with me. I’ve already messed up enough lives.”

She sighs heavily, frustration evident, but her voice softens again. “Then at least let me help from a distance. You need to stay low. Keep moving, keep quiet. Don’t leave a paper trail. You’ll have to stay off the grid.”

“I know,” I say, exhaustion seeping into every bone. “But I don’t have a car now. That means I can’t even get an under the table job or have a safe place to sleep at night.”

“Staying off the grid is going to be difficult. Every time you use your bank account, you run the risk of them tracking you.”

“Yeah, I know,” I tell her, feeling a flicker of strength returning. “But by the time they get the alert, I’ll be miles away.”

“You need to find a cheap, quiet hotel. Don’t use your own name. And pay cash there. You need to rest up and eat healthily. Meanwhile, I’ll be working on something more permanent.”

“I’ll do exactly that,” I promise, my voice thickening with gratitude again. “And… thank you.”

“You’d do the same for me. Call me again when you’re safe in a room. I’ll start making some calls to figure out how we fix this.”

“I will,” I whisper. “I love you, Ronnie.”

“Love you too, Sharon,” she says firmly. “Stay safe.”

After hanging up, I glance at Sam. He entered the cab towards the end of my phone call, and he’s been pretending not to listen. He keeps his eyes focused politely on the windshield, but concern lingers in the furrow of his brow.

“Is everything all right?” he asks softly.

I nod quickly, pocketing my new phone. “My cousin has been amazing. I’ve been wondering if you can drop me off somewhere cheap, a motel maybe?”

He considers carefully. “I know a decent place about ten minutes from here. It’s clean, quiet, safe enough. Truckers use it sometimes. The owner doesn’t ask too many questions, so you don’t have to explain your life story to them.”

I breathe out slowly, my tension easing again. “That sounds perfect.”

The drive is quick, passing in silence. It feels more like Sam’s gentle personality than any kind of awkwardness. Sam parks in front of a small, modest motel, its neon sign flickering gently in the darkness. I stare at the building, a wave of cautious relief washing over me.

“You sure you’re good here?” Sam asks quietly, concern evident in the tone of his voice.