Rogues on the Run

 Prologue - Rogues on the Run.

         Two weeks. 

Two weeks since we ran away from a still-alive Beckett and a still-angry Purgatory. Two weeks of driving around aimlessly and desperately trying to escape away from our problems.

But I should of known from the start that we couldn't run away from our problems. They followed us now, even with us being miles and miles away from Portland. Because that was evidently the only thing that was constantly on our minds.

Alpha Beckett, the ominous Purgatory, Adam, and the overall the danger that lurked around us.

Even though we had escaped from Portland, it still didn't mean we were safe from other packs. Other packs didn't know Stella, Jeremy and I, but they knew Liam. Every pack knew Liam.

Because he was just that. The infamous Liam Farley who formerly - and occasionally now - terrorized other packs, all because the Purgatory ruined his own.

Therefor, Liam is a wanted man. And since we're along with him, we're made targets as well. Not to mention, we are technically rogues now. And every pack knows that rogues simply bring trouble along with them.

Either way, we would get attacked. So that's why we kept driving. Stopping occasionally only for sleep and food and basically to regenerate and then we were off again.

We'd drive for hours, simply staring out the window and making small comments about how hot it has been lately. Yeah. The only time we do talk is about is the weather. 

You could say things have been tense. Well, not between Jeremy and Stella - they're still arguing as much as ever - but between Liam and I. And maybe it's because we're unsure of what to say to one another.

I mean, I had driven away from Portland while staring out the window, watching my own father bleed to death and not being able to do anything about it.

Even after we officially drove past the "Come back to Portland soon!" sign I was still sobbing. Sobbing and thrashing and crying out for my dad. I had begged Stella to turn the van around and go back. Go back and get my dad and help him instead of letting him die because of the trouble I stirred up with Beckett.

But, of course, Jeremy, Stella, and Liam didn't listen to my desperate and erratic pleas. They had bigger worries on their hands, anyway. Like me bleeding in back seat of the van and trying to get away from Portland as quick as  possible before another attack was sprung up on us.

It seems that Liam had taken the role of both the leader and somewhat the healer of the group, because it wasn't long that Liam was in the back seat with me, cleaning my wounds and stitching and bandaging them up so I wouldn't lose any more blood. 

I wanted so badly to ask them why Adam had decided to help us at the last moment and perhaps get some answers on to where we were going and what we were going to do, but once I got a good look at each one of their faces, I knew that they didn't have the answers to my endless questions. They were just as confused and worried as I was.

And so no one said a thing for a long time. Not even Jeremy, the usual jokester of the group, made a comment about the whole situation. He had sat perfectly composed and although he appeared calm and collected, his eyes told me otherwise. 

And so did Stella's. The only one's emotions I couldn't read were Liam's. He didn't even glance at me. At least not until I muttered a complaint about how tight he had bandaged my leg. 

He had met my gaze, giving me a warning look as I reached to perhaps unwrap it. And it wasn't till my eyes met his that I realized he was somewhat angry at me. Angry at me.