I point toward our cheapest TV. It's a small box from a decade ago, but it has been refurbished.
“Fifty bucks for that one.”
Her nose wrinkles in distaste. “That doesn't look worth more than a dollar.”
“It's an antique.”
“It looks better suited to host a bonfire,” she retorts without hesitation.
I' m full-on smiling like a fucking fool.
“It probably is, but be careful, my employee might hear you. That's his pride and joy.”
She raises a brow. “My condolences to his wounded ego.”
Damn. I think I love her.
She clears her throat, realizing we've been staring at each other with stupid grins on our faces.
“So, uh, do you take payment plans for putting out fires?”
I lean my arms on the counter, now looking up at her from beneath my brows. I can feel how wicked it is, but I'm unable to hide it.
“First, tell me your name. Mine is Cage Everhart.”
She narrows her eyes, seemingly suspicious.
“You’re telling me you don’t know who I am? Legion didn’t tell you I was coming?”
I grin, appreciating her observation.
“Legion actually didn’t warn me, the fucker. But while I do recognize you, I wanted to be careful in case you go by something else.”
She hums, then answers, “Molly. You can call me Molly.”
I hold out a hand for her to shake, which she grabs timidly. The second her skin touches mine, it feels like tiny electrical currents zapping between our palms.
“Nice to meet you, Molly,” I rasp.
If I had to hold her hand forever, it wouldn’t be long enough. However, she releases me and pulls out a black card from the back pocket of her dark blue jeans, appearing unsure. “Legion?”
She says it like it's a question, though the gold letters say just that.
I've seen this card a handful of times. And every time, the person handing it over is someone who desperately needs an escape.
It also means Legion is completely covering their fee. And my prices are steep.
“Do you know where you want to go?” I ask, brushing my thumb over the foil letters. Usually, I keep the card, but I slide it back to her for reasons I can't explain. Hesitantly, she grabs it and tucks it in her jeans again.
“Alaska.” The answer seems to burst from her throat, as if it's been imprisoned behind her teeth.
I raise a brow in surprise. Most people try to go to the beach, where it's warm and makes them feel like they've escaped to a tropical island. I could send people to places like that, but most can't afford that hefty fee.
Ultimately, they go where I send them, though I do try to find somewhere they're happy with. Especially if they deserve that peace.
“You like the cold?”
She shrugs, and it seems as if she’s battling with her next words.
“If I'm out in the wilderness, just me and the wolves, no one will find me. No one will recognize me. I've disappeared once. This time, I want it to be for good.”
My tongue forms the words to ask what happened to her that day. Who was chasing her? Did they put that haunted look in her eyes? How did she escape? And what is driving her to stay hidden from the world?
“It's going to take my team a good twenty-four hours to obtain everything,” I tell her.
Her fingers tap on the counter, and she chews on her lip nervously.
“Does this happen to come with accommodations before I leave?” she questions, her cheeks beginning to flush red with embarrassment. “I, uhm, I don't really have anywhere to go while I wait.”
Legion will cover all her expenses, including food and necessities. If she has that black card, she might as well have his credit card.
But I don’t tell her that part. Not yet, at least.
“Sure,” I say. “We’ll help get you set up in a hotel. Legion will cover you.”
Her shoulders fall in relief, but mine tighten.
It's a feeling I can't name. One that probably has some fucking obscure word to describe it. But knowing this may be the last time I see her before she leaves doesn't settle right with me. In fact, it makes me downright desperate to ensure it's notmy last moment with her.
Not because of who she is and what happened to her. But because, for some indescribable reason, she feels like mine.
“Give me a second to get some things sorted. Stay put, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she croaks, casting another glance around.
She's uncomfortable, and I decide immediately that I really fucking hate that.
It's not easy pulling my gaze away from her, but I force myself to turn and head into the back. Silas is standing in front of a stack of boxed TVs, a clipboard in his hand as he sorts through inventory.