Page 54 of Omega

Iron will. Iron will.

I steadied my breathing, pushed away the images of Cut’s violent death at my hands. Pushed away any and all emotions. Feel nothing. There was nothing in this moment, nothing but doing whatever was necessary to get myself out of this.

While I was stopped, I followed the instructions for calling out of the country and dialed Kyrie’s number from memory, pulled the car out onto the freeway and tucked the phone between my shoulder and my ear, since I didn’t think the archaic cell phone had speakerphone technology.

The line rang once, twice, three times…four, five, six. “Come on, bitch,” I muttered, “pick up the damn phone.”

I heard a click, and then a smooth male voice. “Who is this?”

I choked, blinked back blurry stinging salt out of my eyes. The relief I felt was immeasurable. NOPENOPENOPE. I’m not crying. For sure I’m not crying. “I—Harris? It’s—It’s Layla.”

A pause. “Layla?” Another pause. “Sit-rep? Um, I mean, what is your situation?”

“I know what a fucking sit-rep is, Harris—I watch TV. I’m fine. I got away.”

“Where are you?”

“Brazil. Heading out of São Paulo toward—well, I don’t know how to pronounce it. A city on the coast, south of São Paulo. Starts with a ‘G’ and has an ‘A’ with a slant over it at the end.Gwar-yooh-jahor some shit.”

“Guarujá.” He said itgwar-ooh-zha. “Good plan. I can be there in—less than twelve hours. Are you hurt?”

I hesitated. “I’m fine. I can last twelve hours.”

“Layla.” He said my name…softly. Strangely inflected, like with emotion and shit. It made my heart squirm and my stomach flop. “What did they do to you?”

“Nothing, really. Nothing to worry about. I got away. I’m alive, not permanently damaged, and I’m in transit.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“I stole a dude’s car. He had some money in it, so I bought a prepaid cell phone. A nice gas station guy hooked it up for me. I don’t know if I’ll have enough gas to get all the way there, but I’ve got my route mapped out. I can walk if needed.”

“I’m impressed.” It sounded like he wanted to say a lot more, but kept it to himself.

“I grew up in Detroit, Harris. This shit is cake.”

“Think you’re being pursued?”

“No. Not yet, at least. When they find—well, when Vitaly finds out what I had to do to get away, I’m sure he’ll send guys after me with a vengeance. But for now, I’m not being followed. Vitaly’s in Brasilia for a few days, Cut said, so it might be hours at least before Vitaly is even aware that I’m gone. Depends on if his maid at the hotel knows how to get hold of him or his guys. We’ll see.”

A rife pause from Harris. “Layla…? You met Vitaly?”

“I met a lot of people. But yes, I met Vitaly hisownself. He’s a scary motherfucker, Harris.” I tried to keep my voice even and calm but couldn’t quite stop a quaver.

“What did you have to do to get away?” This, said softly, in that same concerned tone.

“Nothing I’m willing to talk about on the phone. I gotta keep my shit together. Maybe after you’ve rescued me I’ll let myself think about it. But for right now, don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

“Get to Guarujá, Layla. Find somewhere to hide out. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t stop for anything. I’ll be there as soon as I possibly can, okay? You’re going to be fine. I’m on my way.”

I wanted to say so many things. “Harris?”

“Yes, Layla?” God, that tone in his voice. No one had ever spoken to me like that, as if I mattered more than anything.

“I’m fine. This is like a road trip. Just…in Brazil.” I was trying to convince myself more than anything.

“You’re just fine. Everything is fine. We’re on vacation together.”

“I’m gonna go lie on the beach and put on my bikini and get some sun. Drink a few dozen mai tais.”