I’d noticed he had a sloppy way of driving. He leaned slightly to the side while his left hand sat on the steering wheel and his right lay either on his lap or on the centre console. Today, I noticed he had a smear of black ink on his right thumb between the joints.

  “What’s this?” I grasped his hand and lifted it so I could see the tattoo on his thumb. His skin was cold, like there was no warmth inside him—matched his personality.

  “It’s my stamp of approval,” he replied dryly.

  It was a tattoo that looked like a crude rendering of two crossed swords. I knew that image—the Fortitude logo—and it made me want to puke. Yeah, Fortitude had a logo like they were some kind of corporate conglomeration with a business card.

  “They mark you now?” I demanded.

  “It’s just a tattoo.”

  “It’s not just a tattoo. It’s a brand.”

  “Why do you care? All you’ve been doing since I met you is push my buttons.” He snatched his hand back and glared, his thundercloud personality raining all over the place. “You’ve really gotta stop.”

  “Get over yourself,” I hissed. I pushed my sunglasses back up my nose and sank back into the seat. “God forbid someone might actually care.”

  “You? Care about me?” he scoffed, turning over the engine.

  “Is it such a foreign concept?”

  “With the way you’ve been acting since I picked you up…? Yeah, it is.”

  “It’s nothing personal.”

  “That’s not going to change my mind.”

  “Do you want me to change your mind?” I asked, my voice low.

  “Sloane.” His tone had softened considerably.

  “Chaser.”

  He grunted and peeled out of the parking space, and the moment we hit the highway, he flattened his foot on the accelerator. The car shot forwards, the engine revving as it flicked through the gears.

  Sitting there, trapped in the passenger seat, was the first time I really looked at Chaser. I meant, really looked at him beyond his rough exterior.

  Other than the first night we’d spent together, he’d made sure I got the first shower, the first meal, and I got the bed while he slept on either the floor or in a chair. He tensed every time I stared at him for too long, and he bit my head off whenever my words got too close for comfort.

  Was Chaser finally cracking? Did I want him to? After seeing that blood bag, I wasn’t quite sure what I was dealing with.

  “I need to go to the toilet,” I declared, mainly wanting to get away from him for a few blessed minutes. My bladder was perfectly fine.

  “We just left the bloody motel,” he snapped. “Hold it.”

  “I’m not going to pee in the middle of the Nullarbor.”

  Ten minutes of uneasy silence went by, and finally, Chaser turned off the road, and we came to an abrupt halt beside a petrol bowser at a lonely BP servo. The lot beside us was empty, as was the highway behind us, until a lone truck rumbled by, but after that, we were alone again.

  Following the sign painted on the side of the building, I cursed when I realised the door to the restroom was locked. A sign riveted onto the brick wall said Key for Paying Customers Only.

  Storming inside, I asked the attendant for the key and pointed to Chaser, who paced outside. “He’s paying for some petrol once he’s done wearing a hole in the concrete.”

  “Well…” the man eyed me before he reluctantly handed me the key, “all right.”

  Glancing through the window, I saw Chaser’s back was turned. He was scanning the road, watching cars swish past. Looking at the key in my hand, I knew this was my chance. I might have five, maybe six minutes before he came looking. If I was going, it had to be now.

  Pushing out the side door, I saw the sign hanging over the toilet. My boots crunched on gravel and the key felt like it weighed a million tonnes.

  All I had to do was climb the chain-link fence, cross the empty lot, and disappear into the ravine. A short climb up the other side and I would lose him on the road back into town. There was enough traffic headed back west that I could flag someone down.

  I hesitated. Why was I so confused? His stellar personality hadn’t put this much doubt into me.

  A gunshot rang out across the open lot and the wall splintered beside my head. Letting out a scream, I dropped to my knees and scurried behind the brick fence separating the side door from the open space beyond.

  I flung my arms over my head and my heart jack hammered when I heard boots thunder towards me.

  “She’s there!” an unfamiliar voice shouted.

  Glancing up, I caught sight of Chaser peering around the corner, and my eyes widened.

  He raised his finger to his lips. Then he raised his hand, revealing a gun plastered in it.

  He fired once, the boom echoing across the open space, and a split-second later, a man grunted in pain. It was this loud oomph on the other side of the wall that made me almost crap my pants. He’d been so close.

  “Chaser…” I cried, not knowing which way to run.

  “Stay down.” He was a handful of steps away from me, but it felt like a million miles. Rounding the corner, he moved towards me, the gun held high.

  I was such a mess. I thought I could run from Chaser and take care of myself? Fat chance. I’d turned to water the moment that bullet zoomed past my face. I was a coward, a little girl waiting for a man to save her.

  Grasping my hand, Chaser pulled me behind the wall and into the open. We took one step, and movement flashed as a man leaped out from behind the old sign where he’d been taking cover. He raised his gun and fired. Just like that, no hesitation.

  Chaser reacted instantly. He shoved me to the side, and I fell, my knees hitting the ground as the bullet flew past. He fired back. Pop, pop, pop.

  “Sloane.” Chaser held out his hand and I gasped. Blood was trickling down his arm, covering his palm and fingers.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “Get up. We have to go. Now.”

  “Where’s the other guy?”

  “Dead.” He nodded across the yard where a man was crumpled against the chain-link fence. “Do you get it now?”

  “I get it!” I exclaimed. “Okay? I get it.”

  Scrambling to my feet, I felt like throwing up, but I followed Chaser to the car, aware of the dull sound of approaching sirens. It’d been self-defence, but Chaser had still opened fire and killed two men. Suddenly, the thought of him being locked up sent a wave of nausea through me.

  That was when he stumbled and bashed against the car, leaving a smear of blood on the window.

  Chaser had been shot.

  He’d pushed me out of the way and had taken a bullet meant for me.

  “Give me the keys,” I demanded, springing into action.

  “Leave it,” he barked.

  “You’ve been shot and if you can’t hear that, those are sirens. Now give me the keys!”

  Hissing, he tossed them at me, and I caught them against my chest. Rushing around the bonnet, I got into the driver’s seat and shoved the key into the ignition. I turned the engine over the moment Chaser shut the passenger side door.

  The car roared into life, and I manoeuvred us through the pumps and towards the road. Fishtailing out onto the highway, I slammed my foot on the accelerator, and the car jolted forwards, tyres squealing before propelling us away from the servo.

  Chaser grasped his arm, tearing away the torn material of his jacket so he could check the damage.

  “What now?” I asked, my hands—and practically everything else—shaking. “How bad is it? Do we need to go to a hospital?”

  “No. No hospitals,” he hissed as he poked and prodded at his arm.

  “But what if—”

  “They can’t help me.”

  As he shucked off his jacket and tore strips out of the lining, I loosened my grip on the wheel and focused on the road ahead. When he grunted in obvious pain, I glanced back and saw he’d tied a tourniquet just above his bicep.

  “Where do we go from here?” I asked, checking the mirrors, thankful the road was empty behind us. On the edge of the outback, there was nowhere to go but back the way we came or down to the coast. Going forwards wasn’t an option.

  “South,” Chaser said, settling back into the seat. “Go south.”

  Chapter 10

  Sloane

  I drove with no destination for a long time.

  The sun was on our right, which meant it was mid-afternoon. Without a watch, I was flying olden-days style. You know, navigation by celestial bodies and all that shit…and road signs. Ahead, a green slab of metal told me it was ten kilometres to Esperance.

  Chaser had said nothing since we left the BP. He hadn’t lost consciousness or kicked the bucket; he’d just not said a single word. It wasn’t reassuring considering the amount of blood he’d lost and the lack of direction he’d given other than south. So I just drove with one eye on the road ahead and one behind.

  The fact we weren’t being followed meant nothing. It was only a matter of time before someone caught up with us. That’s what worried me the most. We were still on the west side of the country, and there were a lot of kilometres, cops, and bad guys between Melbourne and us. A lot.

  After a while, Chaser reached up and untied the tourniquet around his upper arm. Slowly at first, then he untied it entirely and tossed it onto the floor.

  I eyed him, trying to see if more red stuff was pouring from his arm.

  “Has the bleeding stopped?” I asked after a moment.

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  “For now.” He narrowed his eyes, giving me a suspicious once-over.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I need to look at it when we stop.” He glanced out the window. “Where are we?”

  “Esperance.”

  “Esperance?” he groaned.

  “You said south, so I went south,” I shot back. “There isn’t anywhere else to go out here, Chaser. There’s only one road.”

  The city limits loomed in the distance. Streetlights turned on as the sky darkened, and I saw a sign for a motel coming up on the left. The thought of having to sleep in the car wasn’t appealing in the slightest.

  “I’m pulling in,” I declared, veering off the road.

  Chaser didn’t argue, which was a boost to my confidence. This must’ve been the first smart thing I’d done since this chaos began.

  Stopping the car by the main office, I turned off the engine and held out my hand.

  “Give me some money,” I demanded.

  Chaser grunted and went to get out of the car, but I reached over him and jerked the door closed.

  “You’re not going into that office with blood all over you,” I said.

  “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not. Blood means questions, and we don’t need any of those right now.” Straightening up, I cupped his cheek and forced his face towards mine. “For once in your life, trust me.”

  For a split-second, I thought I felt him open up a little, but he jerked away. Reaching into his back pocket with his good hand, he presented me with a fistful of notes.

  Snatching the cash from him, I slipped out of the car before he changed his mind.

  I got us a room at the back of the motel, convincing the lady at the reception desk we preferred not to deal with the road noise. Eighty bucks with a twenty change later, I got back into the car and drove us around to the rear. I found a spot by the door to our room, and luckily for us, it was away from any prying eyes. A blood-soaked man was exactly the thing people called triple zero to anonymously tip about.

  The room wasn’t much to look at, but they never were—not in recent experience, anyway. There was a double bed, a table and chairs, a sink with a kettle and microwave, a TV, and a separate bathroom. Ironically, even with the awful mustard-colour scheme, it was larger and way more furnished than my studio apartment.

  Chaser sat at the table and checked his arm. In the disgusting lighting, he looked really sick. Now that I had time to study it, I realised the bullet had grazed his arm to the point it had carved his flesh apart, straight across the surface like a stone skipping over water.

  “Do you need a Band-Aid?” I asked, not knowing if he needed stitches or something sticky to keep the cut together.

  “There’s a first-aid kit in the boot of the car.”

  “I don’t think that’s—”

  “Sloane.” He glared at me and pointed toward the door.

  I held up my hands. “Fine.”

  Reaching for the keys, I stumbled as his hand caught my wrist. He gave me a pointed look that had everything to do with this being a test, and I shook him off.

  Stalking outside, I popped the boot and fished around in the half-light. My duffel was there, and so was his.

  A familiar feeling of temptation reared its ugly head.

  I could jump in the car and vanish. It would be easy with Chaser inside and me out here with the keys. I’d been planning on dumping him that morning. I could still do it…

  I hesitated.

  But...

  Maybe...

  I glanced at the door to the motel room.

  The only thing that stopped me was the dull ringing in my ears from the gunshots and my aching knees. Sighing, I grabbed the first-aid kit and slammed the boot closed.

  Going back into the motel room, I made sure the door was locked behind me. I dumped the kit onto the table, eyeing a shirtless and bloody Chaser.

  He wasn’t… Ugh, I wasn’t sure I wanted to see this.

  Still, I couldn’t look away as he took the kit and opened it.

  “Do you want any help with that?” I asked, edging around the table and sitting beside him.

  “No.”

  He picked up a pair of tweezers, and without even blinking, shoved the tip inside his torn flesh and began pulling something out of the path the bullet had carved across his upper arm.

  My eyes widened as he wiped bloodied splinters on the towel. “What is that?”

  “Wood.” He shoved the tweets back in and began digging into his torn flesh.

  He’d been shot with wooden bullets. Why would someone want to shoot at us with wooden bullets?

  Staring at his chest and torso, I could now see several other scars. Pink, puckered lines that’d been sewn together by someone who had zero finesse. My mind went back to the gunfight at the service station, and I realised something important about him. He knew how to shoot. It wasn’t just the simple point and fire kind of bullshit. No, he knew how to shoot to kill.

  “Who are you?” I whispered, my stomach rolling.

  Ignoring me, he continued to work until he was satisfied that he’d found all the splinters. Then he wiped the blood off his skin with a piece of cloth from the kit.

  Without a word, I reached over and cleaned up the mess on the table. A blood bag, wooden bullets…things were getting weird.

  “Sloane.”

  “What?” I picked up the tweezers and wiped them off before putting them back inside the first-aid kit.

  “I dropped the ball today.”

  Freezing, I looked up, our gazes meeting. Something had changed. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I murmured. “We got out of it.”

  “We shouldn’t have been in it at all.” His eyes were sad, his mouth curved downwards.

  Chaser admitting that he’d made a mistake? He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who owned up to anything unless it was winning.

  Leaning closer, I picked up his hand and grabbed the cloth. Wiping at the blood on his forearm, I sighed. What a mess.

  “Sloane…”

  “Shut up.”

  “Sloane.”

  Glancing up, I sucked in a deep breath as I realised how close we’d actually gravitated towards one another.

  “There’s some things you need to understand,” he murmured, pulling my hand away. “But…”

  “But what?” I demanded.

  “Orders…”

  “Here we go again,” I snorted. “I have no allegiance to Fortitude.”

  “I do.” He stared me down, his eyes burning with anger or desire, I wasn’t sure which.

  “Is it voluntary?”

  He glanced away.

  “Chaser…”

  “Don’t push me, Sloane.”

  “I see the way you are when you talk about them,” I went on. “Your lip curls and your mood goes south…big time. You hate them.”

  “You don’t know anything.”

  “I know you were shot with wooden bullets and your arm…” I grabbed his wrist and jerked him towards me. “You—” The words died in my throat as I saw the wound on his arm was gone.

  It was gone.

  I snatched my hand back, my gaze flying up to meet his.

  “Like I said,” he muttered, “you don’t know anything.”

  I swallowed hard, all my cocky abrasiveness gone. I was raw and questioning my entire existence, my entire being.

  Jerking upright, my knees trembled so bad, I fell against the wall. “It’s healed like nothing ever happened,” I managed to get out. “What are you?”

  “It’s best you don’t know.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I refuse to believe that. Not after today.”

  Chaser remained tightlipped and zipped up the first-aid kit.

  “Give me something,” I pleaded.

  “I took a bullet for you.” His expression softened. “I took a bullet for you, Sloane.”

  The phantom sound of the bullet ricocheting off the brick wall echoed in my ears, and my resolve cracked. He’d been shot because of me. That bullet was meant for my head. They were hunting me like a feral dog behind a dumpster.

  A sob escaped my lips as the gravity of the storm I was in the middle of hit me. My knees buckled, and I slid down the wall.

  I’d almost been killed. I’d almost had my throat slit. They’d tried to get me in my apartment. They’d shot at me. Who were they? Faceless monsters that I wasn’t sure were human. They could be anywhere or anyone.