What Lasts in Us

CHAPTER FOUR

Fuck.

Nate tugs on my jacket the same time I duck back down, and suddenly I'm cushioned against him, uncomfortably close. He smells like gunpowder, and dare I say it, blood.

"They're close," I whisper. "We should split up."

Leaning against the car, Nate strains to look over his shoulder, over the hood, with me nestled to him. His arm comes awfully close to being a noose around my neck. Our proximity is stifling.

"No," he replies, voice low, when he moves back down. "You'll run the first chance you get."

Okay, so maybe that's the reason behind my suggestion – but also because splitting up makes it less likely for us to actually get caught, and the last thing I want to do is get caught by a group of men.

But Nate has my gun and pack – and there's no way he's going to give them back. He doesn't trust me. I'm unarmed, vulnerable.

A violent shiver runs up my spine at the thought of what could happen next, and it's enough to make Nate look at me. Head is cradled in the crook of his elbow, his arm around my neck in a possessive hold and his hand on my opposite shoulder, tt feels too close, too intimate; his face is close to mine as he cocks an eyebrow.

The moment's broken when there's a yell, a holler, and a bottle flies from over the hood and smashes into tiny pieces right in front of us. I jerk at the proximity, as shards of broken glass shower over me, into my hair, onto my face. I can feel tiny pricks of blood, but thankfully, as I look down, the puppy has burrowed deep into my jacket, looking to be sound asleep.

I take a deep breath and swipe at my face. "I'm going," I say, my hand coming back bloody. I wipe it on my pants. "I'm not going to be their plaything."

Nate hesitates – he actually hesitates – and his uncertainty will be his downfall and my gain. When there's another sound – much closer this time – of metal against metal, then of metal hitting glass, I use the distraction to my advantage.

Or try to, anyway. Nate's reflexes are much quicker than I'd anticipated, and he pulls me back to him before I can even break his hold. His arm is a thick band around my waist, and this time, I can't even move an inch.

"You're not going anywhere," he says, lips right by my ear. A promise. "I can't protect us both if you run off."

Like he wants to protect me. Like he can protect me. It's six versus two. The odds are definitely not in our favour.

I play along with him though, because as soon as the chance comes, I'm out of here.

And it looks like that chance is sooner rather than later: a man appears right beside us, golf club in hand, and as our gazes meet, he opens his mouth to let his friends know.

Nate springs to his feet. He grabs the man by the throat and throws him to the ground beside us. He stomps hard on the man's throat, crushing his windpipe. Having released me, I take my chance and dart forward, out into the open, and risk being seen.

I don't look back. I stay low, my knees cracking as I try to weave my way through the cars, through the wreckage. The further away I get away, the harder it is to stay in a crouch, and my knees start to ache. But with the encroaching darkness, with the last dregs of sunlight centimetres from dropping below the horizon, I'll be safe.

With so many different thoughts running through my mind, I grab hold of the one that seems the most reasonable, the most sane. Well, the most sane according to a panicked mind.

I drop the pretence of hiding and make a beeline for the trees, just as a shotgun goes off.

Navigating through the trees is a problem I didn't think of. The ground's uneven, and though it's still technically light out on the highway, nothing penetrates the trees. I feel like I'm running with my eyes closed.