Page 82 of Betrayed By Sin
I laugh, shaking my head. “You should have let me drive longer, then you could stretch out again.” She only let me take a five hour stretch of road.
“You drive like a grandma.”
I roll my eyes and grab my wallet. “Come on, let’s grab food.”
The gas station is nearly empty, just a guy behind the counter who looks half-asleep. The overhead speakers crackle with some old country song, the kind that makes you want to sit on a porch and regret your life choices.
Bria beelines for the snack aisle, arms filling with bags of chips. “We’re getting road trip snacks. Non-negotiable.”
I grab a pack of Twizzlers and a bottled water. “This isn’t a vacation.”
She gasps. “Excuse me? Every road trip is a vacation if you try hard enough.”
I shake my head, amused. “You’re an idiot.”
She grins. “But I’m your idiot.”
As we head to the counter, Bria suddenly grabs my arm, her entire body going rigid. “Don’t look now, but we’ve got company.”
My heart stutters. “What?”
“Shit, okay, yeah. Look now.”
I whip my head around, bracing for one of Caputo’s men.
Instead, I see a guy in a raccoon onesie.
He’s holding a Slurpee, staring at us likewe’rethe weird ones.
Bria stares. “Dude.”
He slurps loudly. “Sup.”
Bria blinks, then bursts out laughing. “I thought you were a hitman.”
He lifts his cup. “Nah. Just getting my blue raspberry fix.”
I shake my head, exhaling. “Jesus Christ.”
Bria slaps cash on the counter. “Let’s go before I start thinking about how much of a disaster this trip is.”
I grab the bags, following her out. “You mean you weren’t already?”
She smirks. “Shut up.”
Back on the road, the sun sinks behind us, trading brightness for shadows. The sky stretches out, wide and endless, until the stars bloom overhead. Clear, sharp, unburdened by city lights.
TWENTY-TWO
Bria is yawning as we cross into Florida.
I should be exhausted. We’ve been driving the entire day, running on gas station snacks, caffeine, and adrenaline. It’s been fourteen long hours, but the moment I see exit sign 361, every nerve in my body snaps to attention.
Margo Finley.
Or at least, the name I found in my orphanage records. A name I clung to like a lifeline, proof that there was someone out there connected to me. Someone real.
The reality?
