Chapter Eighteen
An involuntary tremor snapped across Callan’s back when the cold barrel touched the base of his neck. A hand encircled Aileen’s throat and squeezed.
‘Drive as I tell ye or yer sassy little wench is dead.’
It was Hussey.
The barrel left Callan’s neck and touched Aileen’s head instead. She whimpered.
Callan grasped the steering wheel tighter. His first goal was to keep Aileen safe.
‘Move down the Highway.’ Hussey ordered.
Quenching the unusual heaviness in his heart, Callan did as he was told. Hussey wouldn’t keep them alive any longer than it would take to dispose of them. Doing something stupid now would endanger the few civilian cars on the road.
Callan drove awhile, Hussey still breathing down his neck. Aileen sat petrified by his side.
Light painted the inky sk
