Chapter Thirty-Five
The drive back to the compound was conducted in a suffocating, heavy silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers against the glass. Jake drove Marcus’s truck, his hand resting heavily on my knee, his thumb tracing slow, reassuring circles over my denim-clad skin.
In the backseat, Amber sat huddled against the door, her hands bound tightly behind her back with the very same plastic zip-ties she had used on me. A young, stone-faced prospect sat beside her, his hand resting casually on his holster to ensure she didn't make a single sudden movement. She had stopped crying. Instead, she stared out the window into the rainy dark, her jaw clenched, her mind undoubtedly spinning a thousand desperate webs to save her own skin.
When the truck finally
