Page 65 of Faded Rhythm

I blow out a sigh as the sedan passes, heading back down the access road toward the bypass.

I thumb the safety back on and stand from my crouching position, only halfway satisfied. I lost them successfully, but what I wanted to do was kill the motherfuckers.

The girls squeal when I open the driver’s side door, and I feel horrible. They’re terrified.

I look in the backseat, patting one little back, then another.

“Yall can stop hiding, now. Game’s over.”

I glance at Sable. Her lower lip is trembling.

“Sorry I drove so fast,” I say as the girls get back into their seats. “I bet that was scary.”

“Were you chasing somebody?”

I smile at Kelice. “Nope. Nothing like that. Just trying to make you girls laugh. Did you laugh?”

Rae rolls her eyes. “It’s not fun being scared.”

“I’m sorry,” I say again. “Go ahead and buckle, sweetheart.”

I reach over and press my thumb to Sable’s lower lip, mouthing, “It’s okay,” trying my best to soothe her frayed nerves.

“Listen,” I say, my voice low. “I have a place. It’s south, past the airport.”

Sable’s brows go up slowly. “A house?”

“Yeah. It’s real out of the way. We can do another hotel if you want, but—“

“No. He keeps finding us.”

I nod. “My place, then?”

“Yes. Please.”

The drive south is quiet. Long stretches of highway slip behind us, the morning sun slicing through the treetops. I take backroads when I can, mostly out of habit, partly out of paranoia. Paranoia keeps you alive. Besides, what they say is true. Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean nobody is after you.

Sable’s curled against the window, knocked out, her head bobbing every time the car hits a deep groove in the pavement. The girls are asleep in the backseat, their snores filling the interior like little reminders of what’s at stake.

Finally, I pull off the main road and ease the car down a private gravel path that cuts through dense woods. The trees slant overhead like a canopy, filtering the sun into golden streaks. The gate is a quarter of a mile in, tall, black, andimposing. As soon as I tap my remote, it creaks open, welcoming me home.

But this house isn’t just a home. It’s a fortress.

It sits on eight acres of mostly uncleared land tucked into a pocket of south Fulton, just south of Hartsfield-Jackson airport. You wouldn’t even know it existed unless somebody drew you a map and walked you there themselves. The nearest house is ten minutes away, and that’s on a good day with no mud, downed trees, or flooded streets.

We get those fairly often, and they suit me just fine.

My place is modern and simple. Two stories on a basement, brand new, state-of-the-art security and interior features. Solar-powered. Backup generators. Bulletproof glass windows. Steel interior doors. Surveillance so extensive, I get an alert if a squirrel blinks too hard near the perimeter.

Nobody gets in here unless I let them.

For the first time since I’ve had this place, I’m letting them.

I tap Sable’s leg when we pull into the drive. She lifts her head quickly, looking at me with confusion in her eyes.

“We’re here,” I say softly.

She nods, turning to look at the girls. They’re already awake and rubbing their little eyes. When I kill the engine, they both look out the window at the same time.

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