Page 102 of Hold the Line

The only weapon I had was my voice. Richie wasn’t a reasonable man, but I had to try.

“This is a terrible idea,” I said, keeping my tone even.

“Fuck off.” He stared daggers at me through the rearview mirror, his knuckles white against the wheel.

I held his gaze, unflinching. “Deacon will never forgive you. Neither of them will.”

His pupils were pinpricks—wired. He’d taken something before setting off on this disaster of a kidnapping.

Hailey’s hand shot across the seat, latching onto mine. I squeezed back. We were in this together, for better or worse.

He let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “He should’ve just done what I’d asked him to do.”

He flung both arms into the air, letting go of the wheel, sending my heart into my throat.

The truck swerved, tires spitting gravel as we hit the narrow shoulder. My body lurched sideways, my seat belt digging into my shoulder. At the last second, Richie grabbed the wheel and yanked us back onto the asphalt, overcorrecting so violently the truck fishtailed before steadying.

“All he had to do was drive a truck, drop off a package, and be done with it,” he ranted, taking his eyes off the road to glare at me. “I would’ve given him a cut. But no. Prison made him noble or some shit.”

“I never want to see you again,” Hailey vowed, her chin jutting bravely. “If I have kids one day, I’m going to tell them I have one brother and that’s all.”

Richie slapped his chest. “Aw, Hailes, don’t break my heart. You’ll be all right. I don’t wanna hurt you, kid. It’s just bad luck you were with Deke’s girl.”

“Done,” she hissed. “You talk about bad luck, butyou’rethe idiot who decided to start selling drugs or whatever garbage you’re mixed up in. LikeMom and Dadwere great role models.” She shook her head, curling her lip in disgust. “Gawd, how dumb are you?”

He slammed the heel of his hand down on the wheel over and over, the truck wobbling with every hit. “Shut up, shut up,shut up! I’m the one with the gun here. That means I’m in charge. Stop running your little mouth—it’s quiet time until I say you can talk.”

Richie was unraveling fast.

I gave Hailey’s hand a firm squeeze, then tapped my lips with my finger. She swallowed hard, her nostrils flaring, but nodded.

There was no point in trying to talk to him. Not now.

Hold the line.

In the suffocating silence, I planned. No matter what happened, Hailey needed to get away from Richie. If I could create a diversion after we arrived at our destination, she might have a chance to run.

I just have to wait for the time to be right.

Beside me, Hailey stiffened as we turned onto a rutted dirt road. The path jostled us with every deep divot leading toward a cluster of buildings, each more dilapidated than the last. It’d been years since she’d lived with her parents, but the way her breath hitched, I knew she recognized the Slater compound.

It was worse than I’d imagined.

Dust swirled around us as Richie rolled past rusted-out junkers, their skeletal frames lining the path like some kind of ramshackle gate, trash blowing around like tumbleweeds.

The main building looked to be made of corrugated metal, and the few windows were smudged or broken, some completely boarded up. Three smaller wooden structures huddled nearby. One had half its roof missing. The others leaned precariously, like a stiff breeze might finally put them out of their misery.

I turned to Hailey. Our eyes met, and I mouthed my plan to her. After a beat, she nodded in understanding. She’d be ready when the time was right.

Richie yanked the wheel hard to the right, whipping us around the main building before gunning it toward a small, lopsided shack.

"Slow down," I mouthed. Hailey’s fingers dug into mine. "Slow down, slow down—"

The last one tore from my throat in a scream, matching the truck's brakes as it jerked and skidded.

Hailey’s hand clung hard to mine. I grabbed the handle above my door and slammed my eyes closed, bracing for an impact that never came.

We stopped.

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