Page 22 of Velvet Betrayal
Branches whipped past. I ducked instinctively under a low one, too fast to see if they followed. Snow sprayed in clumps as we clipped a buried root, the ATV bucking beneath us.
Still, for one wild second, I let myself feel it—this heat at my back, this kid laughing into the wind, this impossible, perfect, stolen family.
I checked over my shoulder at the crest of the ridge. The cabin was already gone, swallowed by trees and distance. What hit wasn’t relief. It was that old knot in my gut—the one that always came with a job unfinished. A life interrupted.
We hit the first fork and I veered right, hugging the ridgeline where the trees got thicker. A left past the burned-out mill, like muscle memory. I’d used this route before, back when the stakes were lower. Back when no one was counting on me to make it out alive.
Rosie whooped, arms in the air like it was a theme park ride. “FASTER!”
“We’re not in a race,” I shouted over the engine. “We’re in a plan.”
We jostled over a half-frozen creek bed, and Ruby’s arms locked tighter around me. There was a warning in her grip. Not fear—expectation. Responsibility. Don’t fuck this up. Maybe I imagined the forgiveness in it. Maybe I just needed it to be there.
The trail dipped, the trees giving way to a stretch of brittle birch and maple. I let off the gas and let us coast. Not silence, but quieter. Breathing room. Enough for me to listen—for engines behind us, for boots crunching where they didn’t belong.
Rosie groaned dramatically. “Why are we stopping?”
“Leader’s got to plan the next move,” I said, keeping my voice light. “You good?”
“I wanna go again!” she chirped, twisting to see if the cabin had disappeared. It had.
Then she looked at me. Not past me. At me.
“You’re scared,” she said.
“Not yet,” I lied, and braced for the next move.
Ruby leaned in close, her breath cold against my ear. “How far to the car?” she murmured.
“Quarter mile. We’ll walk. The ATV’s too loud—they’ll be listening.”
She nodded, eyes already scanning the woods. “We have time?”
“We do,” I said, hoping I was right.
We ditched the ATV and slogged through knee-high powder. My legs felt hollow, adrenaline draining out. I parked the machine off-trail and doubled back to a half-buried cut that ran along the stone wall. Ruby caught on instantly, steering Rosie with her, pushing through the drifts.
We hustled. Rosie whined, but Ruby bribed her with promises of mac and cheese, Froyo, hot chocolate, whatever YouTube channel she was obsessed with this week. We made the walk in under fifteen minutes—miraculous. At the end of the trail, the shed waited: prefab, ugly, next to a Civic I’d stashedhere months ago for exactly this scenario. The car was dusted with snow. The road beyond was empty. Perfect.
“We’re not going home, are we?” Ruby said.
“Not yet.”
“So where are we going?” She buckled Rosie in, stripped off her own coat, and slid into the passenger seat.
“The Ritz,” I deadpanned, turning the key. The engine whined, then settled into a steady growl. “Room service, yoga for kids, the works.”
She shot me a look, all calculation. “Cute. Real answer?”
I sighed. “I can’t tell you. You’ll get mad.”
“I’m already mad. This adventure was not on my to-do list.”
Her hand hovered on the door handle, knuckles white. She looked ready to bolt, even now, with her kid in the backseat and half the contract killers in New England probably combing the woods behind us. The Civic’s heat kicked in, fogging the windows. Rosie hummed in the back, lost in her own world.
“Least you could do is tell me,” Ruby said, voice low. “That’s the bare minimum.”
“We’re going to see my brother.”
