Page 25 of Gatling
Damn lucky kid,I thought.
Surrounded by people who loved him, who made him smile and laugh and protected him. Even when his parents were splitting up. His world was about to change, but he would never be left alone to fend for himself.
“Gatling,” Credence called.
At a corner table of the clubhouse, Credence had set up his laptop. Clusters of half-empty coffee mugs next to his elbow indicated he must have pulled an all-nighter to run that truck’s license plate.
“Got something for me?” I replied, striding across the room to his side.
He gestured to the screen, showing a man’s driver’s license.
“I found the owner of the truck.”
I clasped Credence on the shoulder for a job well done.
“Good. Let’s go gut the bastard.”
Chapter eight
Kelsie
Guilt gnawed at my stomach as I gazed out the window, watching the landscape fly by in a blur. Noah tapped out a rhythm on the steering wheel, matching the beat to some classic rock song I didn’t recognize.
A relentless chant echoed in my head, over and over.
I slept with my brother’s best friend.
And I didn’t even regret it. The only reason I felt guilty was the fact that I did it behind Noah’s back. Lying to him was a necessary evil sometimes when he could be so overbearing and wouldn’t give me the breathing room I desperately needed.
But this secret was different. Too heavy, too big to contain. It festered in my gut, burned on the tip of my tongue.
I couldn’t tell him. It would destroy his friendship with Ryker. They had been through hell together. I didn’t want to be the wedge that drove them apart.
“Pit stop,” Noah declared, gesturing to the exit sign up ahead. “I need to get gas and coffee. Are you hungry, butterbean?”
I wrinkled my nose at the nickname.
“Will you ever let that go?”
Noah flashed a grin at me.
“Never. When you were born, that was the first thought that popped into my head.She looks like a butterbean.Kinda round and pale and clammy.”
“What a flattering description,” I replied.
He chuckled, turning off the highway and pulling into a nearby gas station. I marveled that Noah seemed to be in such a good mood, given the circumstances. The only reason we were on this road trip was because of me and my stalker problem. All morning, I’d been mentally preparing myself for Noah to chew me out, trapping me in the car for some long-winded lecture about my safety.
Although I caught him stealing glances in the rearview mirror more than necessary. And if I needed to use the restroom, he would dart a look at his watch, keeping an eye on the passing seconds until my return.
After Noah had filled the gas tank, he rapped his knuckles on the hood of the Jeep and jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating he was going inside. Then he clicked his key fob and the locks thunked into place.
I sighed. This time, he had a perfectly valid reason to be overprotective, and I couldn’t even argue about it. I composed a text to Ryker in my mind, updating him on our road trip, and how Noah still sings off-key. I thought about mentioning that night we spent together, and how I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
But Noah and I had left our phones at his house so they couldn’t be tracked. Noah had a burner phone in his duffle, for emergencies only, and sending a friendly text to Ryker hardly qualified in that department.
A few minutes later, Noah returned and tossed a bag of skittles into my lap, while he chewed on a length of red licorice.
“Got you a treat, kiddo,” he said. “I could have grabbed a healthier option, but I didn’t. So you can’t call me a hardass.”
