Page 75 of Hitch

“Get your money and fucking go!” I bellow.

She flinches, then grabs the money with shaking hands, and I look away. When her footsteps fade, I glance toward the front door, seeing her black hair flutter behind her.

On the ground, there’s nothing. No gun. No knives. No money.

I’m empty and alone. Reggie has it all.

She made me weak.

Chapter25

Reggie

On the front porch,relief courses through me. I see my car. The tires are brand new. The keys are in the console. The engine roars to life.

I flip the car around and drive. I don’t look back.

As soon as I’m on the highway, something vibrates underneath me and I jump. I grab the phone—myphone—out from under me.Toddblinks on the screen. Did he put it there?

“You all right?” he asks.

There are so many things I could say. My eyes sting with tears, not because I’m sad, but because I don’t know what the hell is going on. Not with the farm. Not with Duane. And not with my heart.

But I can’t let myself cry. Now isn’t the time for that. I just need to get away.

“I’m fine,” I manage to say.

“Don’t worry,” Todd says. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t come after you.”

“Okay,” I barely mumble.

“Stay low for a while. Keep me in the loop.”

“Thanks,” I sigh. Then I hang up.

The sunset stretches over the sky in a wash of pink and orange, and it seems like a century has passed since I saw Duane kill the Mortician, and was immediately kidnapped by Braden. Even though I was unconscious for some of it, I don’t think Braden touched me. Not like that. He just didn’t trust me.

Honestly, I understand. If I was in his position, I wouldn’t trust me either.

A young girl, maybe eighteen or nineteen, stands on the side of the road, her black roots showing past her yellow hair. Even though I’m looking at her, the image of Duane on his knees floods my vision. Ready to die for me.

Because of me.

Emotion stirs inside of me. Shock. Regret. Anger. Pain. Even empathy. The need to help this hitchhiker. To helpme.

I pull over, then open the passenger door. She checks me out, knowing that the driver is what determines her safety, and her shoulders relax when our eyes meet.

“Where are you heading?” I ask, just like Duane asked me that first night. But the teenager doesn’t say a word, hiding behind the collar of her hoodie. Refusing to completely trust me.

I’m glad she’s being careful. I should’ve been more like her. I wish I would have.

But even as that thought passes through my mind, I know it’s not true. I don’t wish I could change anything.

I’m not sure what I want right now.

“I’m heading to Oakdale,” I say. “I won’t hurt you.” I point to the gun and knife in the passenger seat. “You can hold those if it makes you more comfortable.”

Her shoulders loosen a bit, then she slides into the passenger seat.