Page 24 of Heat (The Royal HArlots MC, Quebec City-Canada #1)
Chapter Twenty-Three
Diamond’s hands rested steadily on the wheel of the Freightliner. The truck hummed down the highway. Its nose pointed south. The evening sun breaking through a low curtain of clouds ahead.
The cab was quiet aside from the steady drone of the engine and the occasional creak from the sleeper apartment behind them. Sayer sat in the passenger seat, silent, alert, one boot braced on the dash, the other flat to the floor.
The truck handled like a beast, but Diamond had driven bigger in worse weather.
The Cascadia responded to her touch; its weight carried on air suspension that smoothed out the worst of the highway’s mood swings.
Every bump, every subtle curve, was answered with quiet precision.
She felt it throughout the wheel—this constant, living tension of steel, rubber, and momentum. But it didn’t rattle her. It never did.
Behind them, in the sleeper cab, Carla sat tucked into the dining table with her two little girls.
The girls had long since stopped asking how much farther.
They whispered now, playing a game between themselves.
Speaking a language of soft giggles and shared understanding.
Diamond could almost remember one from her own childhood—before the world grew sharp.
Carla didn’t speak, but Diamond had seen the exhaustion in her eyes back in Quebec City. Seen the relief when she’d climbed into the truck and locked the door behind her. Safe, for now.
Diamond shifted her focus back to the road. Eyes tracking the sweep of the highway signs. Montreal behind them. The U.S. border would come into view in a few more hours.
The Freightliner kept its pace, solid and grounded, eating miles like it was born for it. She adjusted the cruise control with her thumb, and let her hand slide back to the wheel.
“You good?” Sayer asked, low.
She nodded without looking. “Yeah.”
The road stretched ahead, a promise and a warning both. They’d hand off the family in New York—another safe-house, another checkpoint in the chain the Harlots kept running day and night. Diamond didn’t know where Carla and her girls would go next. Didn’t ask. That wasn’t her role.
Her job was the miles between the danger, and the next set of arms ready to catch them.
She glanced at the mirror. One of the girls had fallen asleep.
Her tiny body curled into her mother’s side; thumb tucked into her mouth.
Carla met Diamond’s eyes in the reflection and nodded once—grateful, quiet.
Diamond returned it with a small tilt of her chin before looking back at the road.
Ten miles from the border crossing Diamond’s phone rang. “Nova, how’s things?”
“Our contact at the border checkpoint was taken off shift at the last minute.”
Hearing Nova’s warning, Diamond knew she’d have to conceal the family. “Thanks for the call.”
“You know the deal, sis.”
“I do. I’ll contact you after we are clear.” Diamond didn’t wait for Nova to respond before hanging up.
Explaining to Carla, they have to quickly put her and the kids into the secret space. She found the first spot to pull the rig over. Diamond saw the look on the mother’s face as she closed the door. She knew it well, seen it a hundred times. Had worn it herself more than once in her childhood.
The air inside the cargo van was thick and stale with sweat, dust, and the lingering scent of old rubber.
Every bump in the road jolted through the metal frame, making her clutch at the worn-out backpack pressed to her chest. She barely had room to shift her weight; knees tucked to her chest, back pressed against a stack of plastic crates.
The darkness was almost complete, save for thin slivers of moonlight slicing through gaps in the van’s rusted doors.
The driver hadn’t spoken since he’d slammed them shut hours ago.
The only sounds were the muffled hum of the engine, the occasional cough, and the rhythmic pounding of her own heartbeat against her ribs.
Her throat burned from thirst. The last sip of water had been rationed too carefully, and the heat inside the vehicle clung to her skin like a second layer. The thin fabric of her shirt was damp, her hands clammy as they gripped the straps of her bag—the only thing she had left.
The trip had started with whispered promises. A safe passage. A new beginning. But as the van jerked to a sudden stop, as voices outside barked commands she couldn’t fully hear, she realized just how little control she had. Her fingers tightened around the edge of her sleeve, knuckles white.
The doors creaked open, flooding the van with a blinding rush of headlights and cold night air. Hands reached inside, gesturing sharply. She hesitated for only a second before pushing herself forward, legs stiff, body weak. One step closer to the unknown.
Sayer’s voice cut through her memories bringing Diamond back to the present. “Diamond, we can’t linger.”
She knew he was right, sighing she slid a stack of empty crates in front of the door adding to the camouflaging. Turning, she moved through the trailer towards him and the open door. “Let’s go.”
Hoping down she let Sayer help close and lock the door. Climbing back into the cab she called Nova giving her an update before putting the truck in gear. Pulling off the side of the road, she steered the truck down the highway.
Pulling up to the checkpoint, the truck hissed to a stop under the unforgiving lights of the border crossing, and Diamond felt every muscle in her body coil tight.
The cab was quiet, but her ears rang with the tension she refused to show.
One hand rested on her thigh, fingers drumming against denim slow and deliberate—fake calm.
Behind them, in the trailers belly, hidden behind stacked crates and false walls, a woman and her two daughters waited in a secret compartment no wider than a closet.
No windows. No air vents, just a slim rigged fan drawing a whisper of air from the frame. The youngest girl couldn’t be more than five. She had cried earlier. Diamond still had the sound lodged under her skin.
A border officer approached, his silhouette sharp under the lights. Diamond slid her eyes toward him as he knocked on the driver’s window with two fingers—short, clipped. Serious.
“Papers.”
She handed them over without a word. Diamond offered a polite nod when the officer’s gaze landed on her, but her gut twisted at the pause in his stare.
She didn’t like his posture. She didn’t like the smug confidence of men with too much authority and no sense of what people like her had to do to keep others alive.
Another officer paced around the trailer. She tracked his boots in the side mirror as he knocked along the seams of the trailer wall. The dog came next. A shepherd, lean and alert, tail high, nose pressed to every inch of rubber and steel.
Diamond didn’t breathe.
If the dog got too curious—if someone tapped the wrong crate, if one of the girls so much as sneezed behind those walls—it’d be over.
They’d yank the trailer apart. The woman would be thrown back into hell, her kids into the system.
And the Harlots? They’d be labeled traffickers instead of liberators.
“Step out of the cab.”
Diamond kept her movements smooth as silk, boots hitting pavement with quiet force.
She didn’t say a word. The officer didn’t look at her again, not really.
His partner cracked the rear doors and shined a flashlight over the visible cargo crates labeled as imported restaurant goods. Olive oil. Coffee. Flour.
Legit. Official. Perfect on paper. The light didn’t linger.
She forced herself to stand still. If she looked anxious, they’d smell it. If she looked too confident, they’d pull the whole trailer apart just to prove a point. She just watched—blank, professional—while the light danced across cardboard and shrink-wrap.
The radio at the officer’s shoulder crackled. “Everything checks out. Let them through.”
She didn’t exhale. Not yet. She climbed back into the cab. She didn’t say a word until they’d passed through the gates and hit the highway again. The border checkpoint shrinking in the rearview mirror like a bad dream fading.
Sayer looked at her. “Let’s find a place to get the family back up front. After that, we won’t stop until we get to our first stop. Not even for God.”
Diamond stared out at the empty road ahead. Nodded in response to his words. This was what freedom looked like sometimes—ugly, tense, and built on shadows, she thought. But they’d done it.
In the dark, hidden behind walls designed to look like nothing, a mother clutched her daughters, not knowing they’d just made it across the border.