Take It On The Run

Chapter 15

POV: Sloan

I didn't overthink it this time as I donned a light jacket over my dress and threw on a pair of sneakers. The bug-out bag beneath my bed was already packed with the essentials—proof of my various identities, a week's worth of clothing, my car keys, the Glock, a few photos, dog food, and cold hard cash.

I hadn't counted Deacon's tips from tonight, but it had to be at least a grand on top of my own earnings. Enough for a security deposit and first month's rent if I went somewhere cheap like Mississippi.

As for transportation, I had no idea if I could find an Uber at this ungodly hour, but I had to at least try.

I looked over at the floor-to-ceiling windows and saw that it was still dark outside. I'd slept less than a handful of hours, and the house was quiet as a church mouse.

I decided to scope out the first and second floors to see if the coast was still clear. But when I reached the level below, where the boys' bedrooms were, I heard someone breathing strangely. It wasn't exactly hyperventilating, but it was disconcerting.

I hid my duffle bag behind a nearby wall and padded down the hallway toward the sound. I wasn't sure whose door was open, but I knew it wasn't Deacon's.

I pushed the door ajar and found Reed sitting on the edge of his bed, face in his hands. His large body shuddered, wracked by great, heaving sobs. He was still wearing a pair of blue scrubs, which appeared to be stained with blood.

Suddenly, I felt like I was encroaching on a private moment I had no right to witness.

"Reed?" I called softly, announcing my presence. "Is everything alright?"

He straightened, swiping tears away from his cheeks and from beneath his tawny eyes. "Hey, princess. I didn't hear you come in."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to bother you." I moved further into the room, waiting to see if he'd ask me to leave.

"You could never bother me, Sloan." He patted the empty spot next to him, and as I neared, his gaze dipped to my tennis shoes. "What are you doing up anyway? It's four in the morning."

Reed was smart enough to figure out when I was up to something. He looked too upset, though, to glean that I was sneaking around, plotting my escape.

"I worked through my lunch break. Was on my way to raid the pantry when I heard you." I sat next to him on the bed, and my hand found his back, rubbing the tense muscles there. "What's wrong, baby?"

He sighed before releasing a hollow laugh, stray tears mingling with the blood on his clothes. "You've probably already gathered that I lose a lot of patients. Most of them, if I'm being honest. But today..." He shook his head. "There was a drive-by in front of an elementary school while the children were at recess."

"Oh, my god. Reed..." What could I possibly say to comfort him right now? There were no words.

"I know how counterintuitive it must seem for a trauma surgeon to own guns, but everyday I witness so many senseless acts of violence that it ended up driving me to protect myself. It helped me believe that I was somehow in control of my fate." Another bitter laugh. "That's pretty stupid, isn't it?"

"It's not stupid, Reed. You don't need to explain yourself to me," I reassured him. If anyone understood how he felt, it was me.

I'd always been staunchly against firearms, I still was in many ways. But one day I'd come to the conclusion that it might come down to me or The Collectors, and all of those morals had shriveled.

I hated them for doing that to me, hated myself even more for letting them.

There were also times when I admitted to myself that I hadn't just bought the Glock for protection. Times when I saw my mother's bloodied, battered face, when I remembered my burning lungs as I ran through the dark woods until dawn, when the echo of a single gunshot rang out, clanging through my entire body.