Bound by Obsession (Shadowed Souls #2)

19. Chapter Nineteen

I shouldn’t have done it, I already know that. Avery will tear me a new one, not to mention how my brothers will react when they find my bed empty. But I can’t shake the sense of relief filtering through me with each passing mile. My hair billows wildly, my arm casually tossed out the driver’s side window. I hold the steering wheel in my other hand, tensing and relaxing my grip periodically.

It’s the first time I’ve felt true freedom since waking in the hospital, a dressing wrapped around my chest and shoulder. That was the moment I realized none of us are safe, no matter where we went, and no one is off limits. Those masked men viewed us as collateral damage in order to get to Avery. The real Hughes child, as they called her. They laughed in Wyatt’s face, the mocking echo of it trapped inside my skull. They knew even then that we’re still playing catch-up to understand. We’re playing a game with only half of the pieces.

Approaching the small town, I pull into a street behind the main row of shops and switch off the engine. A stark white SUV isn’t ideal for discretion. Running a hand through my hair, I comb back the waves into some sort of acceptable fashion and emerge in a nondescript black hoodie, camo green baggy shorts and sneakers. An empty backpack sways on one shoulder, my head kept down for the most part. I needn’t bother trying to blend in. The street is just as quiet as the day we stopped here for gas, tourists just passing through. I hoped we wouldn’t be sitting around, twiddling our thumbs long enough to become regulars, but Garrett’s stomach isn’t built for rationing.

With a plan in mind, I head towards the bank first. The small building is disguised by a brick front, a large potted plant on the one step up to the open front door. A swinging metal sign labels it’s business, and once stepping inside, I see that I’m the only current customer.

I don’t loiter, approaching the walnut counter. Through the glass divider, a small graying man with glasses gasps at my request, quickly directing me to a side room. The woman behind the desk there, previously filling in her account books by hand, rises in a fluster. I provide her my bank card, one linked to an offshore account, asking how much money she keeps on the premises. A quick check in her ledger provides a meager sum by my standards but I understand resources are limited.

”I’ll take all of it.” Twenty minutes later, I’m back on the street, my backpack weighed by stacks of cash. While the others have been occupying their time drinking themselves stupid and playing kiss chase on the beach, I’ve been strategy planning. What account do I have that is least traceable back to me, how can I keep us afloat without drawing attention? I’ve thought about it from all angles, maintaining my promise to Nixon. Avery’s safety is paramount.

Next is a hardware store and it doesn’t take long to fill a shopping cart. Locks, chains, and a powered drill are first. This so-called ‘safe house’ has yet to prove to be anything other than a standard holiday home, aside from the lack of cell signal. At least the solar panels provide electricity. I wander down the aisle, stopping at a back counter.

Behind a man with hair the same length as mine, although thinner and darker, heavy wooden shelves line the walls. Tools hang in neat rows—hammers, wrenches, and saws, each one gleaming under the flickering fluorescent lights. On one shelf, camping gear is haphazardly stacked. Bear traps, their sharp teeth glinting, are displayed ominously beneath boxes of ammunition. The metallic scent of the traps mixes with the earthy smell of leather gloves and canvas. Faded hunting posters dot the walls, adding to the rugged, utilitarian atmosphere.

I mentally catalog each one. Pointing out items to be passed over and added to the cart, I soon have a collection from tents to ropes, and a few lanterns for good measure. Call it paranoia, but I’m not naive.

Those who want Avery will be coming, even if she’s a little harder to find now. We can’t sit in the beach house indefinitely, praying Fredrick Walters is found and sent back to prison in the meantime. He has connections at the very least, men on his payroll. His apparent fascination with our Swan won’t end just because he’s incarcerated.

Weariness bleeds into my soul. I’m just a guy who wants to love a girl. Back at Waversea, the Shadowed Souls liked to pretend they were the big bad wolves. Everyone wanted to be us or be with us, but in the real world, we’re nobodies. A bunch of unloved boys looking for solace in each other.

The aging man behind the hardware counter watches me suspiciously whilst holding onto either side of his opened tactical vest. I avoid his stare, eyeing the rows of tools. The small-town vibe is evident in the limited selection of items. No high-tech surveillance gear, no advanced security systems, and that’s exactly what I need. An escape plan, something truly off-grid.

“Need something?” Tactical Vest asks, squinting up from the counter. His voice is raspy, like he’s smoked a pack a day for the past fifty years.

I clear my throat and gesture behind him. “Yeah, I need those.” I point to the row of bear traps hanging on the wall. “Four of them.”

“What kind of animal are you hunting?” There’s a slight edge of curiosity in his voice, but I hold his gaze steady, unflinching. I don’t owe him an explanation, and the tension in my jaw warns him not to ask for one.

“The worst kind.”

“Huh, bear trouble I take it?” Tactical Vest turns his head, revealing a thick mangled scar on his neck. It tugs on his skin from beneath his hair to shoulder in angry, pink welts. I swallow hard and just nod. He retrieves the traps and places them on the counter with a loud clunk. The metal teeth gleam under the store’s harsh fluorescent lights, and for a moment, I imagine those same teeth sinking into one of the masked men who dared put Avery’s life in danger. The thought is fleeting but satisfying.

“You’ll also be needing this then.” Reaching beneath the counter, he produces a length of thick chain. Each link is the size of my open hand, as if this guy actually expects me to wrangle the imaginary bear and ride it like a bull. He chuckles to himself, almost manically.

“And if you happen to come across a grizzly with a slash across his nose and a limp, tell him I want my ear back.” He whips his head, hair parting to reveal that he is definitely missing an ear. Continually nodding, I take the chain and head directly for the cashier, my steps too quick to be considered casual. An older version of Tactical Vest rings me up without much fuss, and I slide the cash over to him. He eyes it suspiciously but counts it anyway, his wrinkled fingers working through the bills.

Shouldering my backpack, the weight of the bear traps and chains presses down on my shoulders, but it’s a comforting weight—solid, real. Something I can control, unlike the chaos swirling around us.

An hour later, I’m back at the SUV for the second time, unloading an ample amount of grocery bags into the trunk. I’ve been lenient with the alcohol supply too, knowing everyone needs their own escape. Nestling the glass bottles between a tent and several layers of tarp, a sense of grim satisfaction settles over me. For the first time in too long, I feel prepared, and it feels damn good.

Once finished, I’m pleasantly surprised to feel my stomach rumble. A faint tremor, but I felt it nonetheless. I‘ve been trying so hard over these past few days, nibbling on a sandwich or attempting some soup a few times a day. I barely taste any of it, nor do I feel the desire to eat, but Avery flashes me the proudest smile every time she catches me. As if I’m a child who deserves a gold star.

Keeping my bag of cash with me, I stop by a cafe. There are a total of four tables, each with a singular flower sprouting from a thin white vase in the center. I take a bench seat in the back, giving me a sweeping view of the window and door. The young waitress, a girl no more than fifteen, asks for my order. I inhale the scent of coffee, asking for a caramel latte. She returns in no time, after the woman training her has filled the small space with the grinding sound of the machine, and places a cup and saucer before me. The tiny packeted biscotti on the side causes me to smile. That I can manage.

I wait for the waitress’ attention to be back on her boss before opening my backpack and taking out the only item left in there from the compact local supermarket. A burner phone. It takes several minutes to set up and find a signal, and my heart judders when those tiny bars appear. Thank fuck. I’m immediately typing in the phone number I memorized, hoping for this exact outcome. The ringing is music to my ears. His phone is on at least.

“Come on, you bastard,” I mutter under my breath. “Pick up. Pick up.” I curse as the voicemail starts to play, yet I can’t bring myself to hang up. Hearing his voice steals the air from my lungs, my hand clenching on the edge of the table.

“ You’ve reached Wyatt. I’m either busy or I don’t give a fuck about what you have to say. Leave a message if you want but it’ll be a waste of time .”

I cling to the phone as Wyatt’s voicemail plays, my pulse racing. The familiarity of his voice stings more than it should. I don’t know how the others can forget him so easily. They’re too wrapped up in what’s new and exciting. After everything Wyatt has done for each of us, he deserves better than that. My thumb hovers over the “end call” button, but I don’t press it. Instead, I swallow hard, trying to gather my thoughts. I need him to hear me. I need him to understand.

“Wyatt, it’s Hux. Look, I know you’re pissed. And I get it. But I just wanted you to know, we miss you. I…I miss you. There’s a huge chunk of me missing and I know it won’t be right until you’re here. I really hope you’re on your way. I don’t know how much longer I can hold the fort. You do it so effortlessly.” I pause, biting my lip, the weight of the distance between us physically aching.

“I need to stay close to Avery, I made a promise.” My throat tightens. “But it would be so much easier if you could help me. I can’t keep carrying the boys alone. And when you do get here, all I ask is…” I blink hard to keep the tears at bay. “That you don’t shut me out. We can handle this together, like a te-”

The beep sounds as the message ends, leaving a hollow silence in its wake. I lower the phone, staring into my untouched latte. Outside the window, the sun dips lower, casting long shadows over the quiet street. I’ve been gone too long. I’ve enjoyed my freedom enough to contemplate if anyone would miss me if I didn’t return at all. Even so, I take the small packaged biscotti and place a few notes of cash on the counter, far more than the amount of my bill, and exit. It’s time to head back to my brothers, to my Little Swan, and to deal with the consequences of leaving without an explanation.