Defy (Brothers of Ink and Steel Book 3)(29)

“Sorry.” I wince, then spot the five words that are given a prominent place on his upper left rib. “I am my brother’s keeper.” Yeah, I can believe that.

“Tell me about you,” he says, interrupting the reading.

“Um . . . there really isn’t much to tell.” He’s so much more interesting. I want to ask, Can’t we just talk about you? “My family comes from Charleston. You already know I’m a Tulane student.”

“What are you studying?” His voice is gruff with pain.

“Speech pathology, psychology and theatre.”

“That’s an intriguing combination.”

“Intriguing, huh?”

“How many years left?”

“Now you’re just being nosey.”

He throws a frustrated look in my direction.

“Fine. I’m working my way through the master’s program. This is my final year before going on to my doctorate.”

“And then what, Farrington?” he grits through pressed teeth.

“Then I’ll work with special needs children and adults, incorporating therapy and theatre to help them build confidence and skill.”

“I like you,” he states decidedly, before squaring off the floss stitch knot and sliding off the table. “We’ve got to go.”

He likes me? Who talks like that?

Ryder swipes down the mirror and the table before asking, “Where’s the dress you had on?”

“I threw it in the trash.” I nod my head in the receptacle’s direction.

He paces over and dumps some of the Everclear over it before carrying the plastic pail outside and dropping a lit match into it. The cloth erupts in flames.

“What did you do that for?”

“Did you want it back?”

“No.”

He shakes his head. “People grossly underestimate search dogs.”

We climb into the stolen vehicle, and Ryder drives us north on Route 96.

“Here.” He passes me a burner phone. “Call your parents and let them know you’re safe, but that’s all you can say. Tell them you’ll call them again in a few hours and that you’re en route to a government safe house.”

If I had any shred of doubt left about Ryder, it dissipates and dissolves in this moment.

I hastily dial, barely waiting for an answer before I exclaim, “Mom!”

“RACHEL?”

I can’t hold back the sobs that rip through my chest at the sound of her voice. “I’m safe! I’m okay! I’m not hurt. MOM!” Like mother like daughter, she’s in hysterics.

She can barely get out the words. “Where are you?”

“I’m so sorry, Mom. I love you so much!” This—talking to my mother—was the greatest gift Ryder could have given me. “I can’t talk or tell you where I am. But rest assured, I am safe and in good hands. I’m being brought to a safe house.”

“That’s not good enough!” she yelps. “You were supposed to have been safe before. I need to see you!”

“I know, Mom, soon. I’ll call you back as soon as I get there,” I tell her. “Tell Lemy I miss her and love her.”

She cries, “I’m so relieved. I thought—” her words cut off and her voice breaks.

“I know. I know.”

“I love you, Rachel.”

“I love you, Mom.”

I hang up quickly but reluctantly. Gripping the phone in my hand, not wanting to let go, as if the hunk of plastic parts were actually my mother, I wipe my eyes with my fingers and blot the tears on my cheeks with the back of my hands.

“I’m a f*ck-up,” Ryder declares. “I never thought of buying tissues.”

For some reason, that simple statement makes me burst at the seams. I let out a gale of laughter through the mess of tears. “Fucking Rambo forgot Kleenex . . . I think you’re excused.”

But I am a hot mess, so I open the glovebox, hoping the owner has a few I could steal. I mean hell, we did have his car, right? What are a few tissues among friends?

There are none.

Next thing I know, Ryder is pulling off his shirt and throwing it at me. “Use this. Never had much use for the Longhorns anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

He shakes his head like he can’t believe I asked him and looks out the window.

I wipe my eyes and blow my nose several times in different clean parts of the t-shirt. When I’m relatively confident I’m finished I hold the shirt back towards him.

He laughs. “You keep it, Farrington.”

I grimace. What is wrong with me?

“You and your mom close?”

“The closest,” I confirm.

“Brothers and sisters?”

“A younger sister.” I smile with the thought of her face.

“Where’s your dad?”

“He died of cancer when I was younger. It’s been just me, my mom and my sister for over a decade,” I say. “Thank you for thinking of that, letting me call home.”

“Of course.” He takes back the burner, punches in some digits and sets it up to his ear.

“Hey, Briggs,” he says. “Yeah, well, I’m not dead and neither is she . . . Yup . . . Fuck, why? Snake piss!” He listens to the voice on the other end of the phone, albeit impatiently. “Okay, shut up already. We need a rendezvous safe point. I’m thinking Shreveport. Send in some suits, we’ll be there in a couple hours.”