“I’ve never paid that way before.”

“Well, today you learn something new.”

The car rolled to a stop and June fumbled with her ticket and then her credit card, mumbling prayers under her breath as she paid.

At least she’d obeyed and hadn’t stopped at an attended lane. He didn’t want to kill an attendant, too.

Finally they were moving again. “I did what you said,” June said pitifully. “You said you’d let me go. You promised.”

Like that meant anything. Ephraim had made millions of promises in his life, none of which he’d ever intended to keep.

“Just drive,” he ordered, risking a peek through the middle window. She’d mounted a shade over the window, which had been a godsend. It kept anyone from seeing into the minivan’s interior and allowed him to peer out, also without being seen.

June obeyed, then said, “Where do I go? We need to go north or south on I-5.”

“Go north.” Once they went far enough, he’d have her pull over and dispose of her. The van was old enough that it might not have GPS, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. He’d dump the van as soon as possible and steal another car. He needed to get away so he could think.

Ephraim was rattled and he didn’t like it at all. Everything had been going so well. He’d had Mercy in his hands. In my fucking hands. He unfolded his body from the floor and sat in the seat behind June. Much more comfortable.

Until a car came from the other direction. He blinked hard, the oncoming headlights making his headache worse. Fucking asshole, hitting me with a goddamn cane.

He’d seen the blond man sitting in a wheelchair all by himself, but he hadn’t given the guy a second thought. He was in a wheelchair, for fuck’s sake. He had not anticipated that the guy was going to have freaking ninja skills.

The whole evening had been a clusterfuck. I should have pulled my gun. That crack on the head had jostled his brain for a few seconds, and before he knew it the blond bastard had pulled his own gun. By the time Ephraim could have pulled his, there were too many people surrounding them. He would have had to shoot his way out and he didn’t have that many bullets.

His gun was old—thirty years old. He’d procured it shortly after they’d started Eden and had kept the gun a secret all this time. It didn’t make sense to advertise that he owned a weapon, even to his fellow Founding Elders. Especially to the Founding Elders, because they were all lying bastards. Takes one to know one, after all. Hell, the others probably had secret guns, too.

Unfortunately his gun wasn’t a model kept in Eden’s gun locker. Those were all hunting rifles, their use closely monitored by Brother DJ. Ephraim had only a few rounds of ammo left, all as old as the gun itself. He’d have to get more.