Nate

We’ve got them. The motherfucking passports.

It’s bittersweet to see my ticket to freedom clasped in Pea’s small hand. I’ve never had a passport, so I’m no expert, but this one looks legit. It has my face on it, and the identity of Christopher Delaware is real. Meaning, the poor motherfucker does exist. Only now, I’ve regressed back to being twenty-five and apparently I was born in Nebraska.

Nebraska shares a border with Iowa, the bane of my existence and Pea’s next stop.

Did I mention I fucking hate Iowa?

Prescott has her new ID. I’m glad she does, because it’s a great way to cover her ass. And what an ass that is. Speaking of, she’s been walking funny all day today, so I’m glad we spent most of it in the Beatmobile, heading north back to Stockton. I know she’s sore from yesterday, and I should feel guilty, but honestly? Couldn’t be more thrilled. She let me into her ass. That’s like code for Ask me on a date or something.

I was just about to. For a second there, when we were in the pool, I was about to throw all the fucks I give about my safety out the window and just go for it. I wanted to ask her if she’d like to go to dinner when this is all over. Not here in California. But maybe somewhere else. Maybe even in fucking Iowa, for all I care. After all, by then, I’ll be Christopher Delaware.

Then she threw the deadline in my face, and reminded me that we’re just a business arrangement with a little pleasure tossed in.

A lot of pleasure tossed in.

Still, it’s work. She wanted to know when I’d leave, and I gave her an exact date because she put me on the spot. It’s not like I’m counting the days and hours I have left with her, but I’m not gonna lie, it stings like a bee-tch.

I fling a look in her direction from the driver’s seat, watching her squeezing her stress ball, eyes trained on the road.

“We need to crash somewhere outside of Stockton. The deeper we get into their territory, the better their chances of finding us,” I say.

“I know a place in Lodi, so far away even the owner isn’t sure where it is exactly. I’ll pull the address.” She turns her body to the back seat and fiddles with her backpack. I peer down to check the time on the dashboard and see that time is on our side. It must be a sign from God.

“I’m pulling over to take a piss and pump some gas.”

“Cool.” She awards me with the same treatment as her word. She’s never been so cold to me before.

Fuck it, she doesn’t have to like me, and it’s probably even better if she doesn’t. It’ll only make things easier when she pisses off to Iowa.

I shut off the engine and stride into the bathroom while Prescott pumps gas. It’s becoming harder to leave her to do things on her own without the nagging fear of them taking her again. This time, I may not be there to release her. I take the fastest leak in the history of piss, and when I get back, I spot her standing just outside of the gas station, next to a payphone, one finger stuffed into an ear and the other ear covered by her cell phone. She’s talking to someone animatedly.

Who the fuck is she talking to and how is it more important than guarding our stupid, impractical car?

I stride in her direction, knowing that I’m intruding and not giving a damn. Our destinies are chained for the time being. This is not about acting like a jealous boyfriend.

Because I’m not her boyfriend.

And I ain’t jealous.

Right.

“Okay,” she says and nods into the phone. “Yes, of course. Whatever you want. Whatever you need. Thanks again for reaching out, I really appreciate it.”

Pea, polite and well behaved? That’s new and unbecoming. When she hangs up and slants an eyebrow in question, I fold my arms on flexed pecs. I’m tense, and not just because of this phone call. Something feels off. It’s in the air. It’s in her eyes. It’s fucking everywhere. Life taught me how to recognize when things are about to explode, and right now, I need a bulletproof vest.

“Who was it?”

“None of your business,” she chirps with a sugary smile. I grab the hem of her jacket and pull her to my body, invading her personal space.

“Spill it, Cockburn, or I’m riding your ass dry tonight.”

“I swear to God, Nate, call me Cockburn one more time and I—”

The payphone behind her starts ringing. We don’t pay attention. At first, it doesn’t even register at all. All I hear is snippets of our conversation. Some are things I tell her, some are things she tells me.

“. . .maybe if you didn’t act like a cold-hearted bitch. . .”

“. . .I’ve never met someone so self-centered. . .”

“Next Wednesday can’t come soon enough. . .”

Finally, when the payphone doesn’t stop ringing for a full minute, and the sound somehow becomes ear deafening, it dawns on me that:

A) Our car was left unattended and we’re in a fucking rundown gas station.

B) Payphones don’t usually ring, let alone for so long.

C) We better pull our shit together if we want to get out of this alive.

“Shut up, Prescott, I mean it, just shut the hell up.” I’m tired of her hot and cold behavior, and I’m really pissed with her for not letting me in on who she was talking to. It’s making me edgy and suspicious of the girl I like.

The girl I like. Great. So I did grow a bushy vagina after all.

I trudge toward the payphone, pick it up and press it to my ear. I don’t even have to say hello. The second the receiver hits my skin, a cockney accent seeps from the other end.

“Hello, Nathaniel. You know, I thought you were a lot smarter than this. Granted, not a bloody genius, but clever enough to know my game is too dangerous for you. You’re lucky you’re in the middle of a highway.”

I look around me, trying to spot him or one of his wise guys. Where could they be? Cars flash by from each side of the highway, golden mountains fill every corner of our landscape. There are two other cars and one truck driver lazing around the gas station, so I bet wherever they are, the only reason we’re still alive is because they can’t aim straight at our heads without missing. I’m trying not to panic, but one look at Prescott, and I’m seeing red. Her eyes widen in shock when she realizes who I’m talking to. Well, technically, I haven’t spoken yet, but that’s about to change.

“Now, now, Nate. You know I’m a saint, so I’m willing to let this one go. Just this time. Go back to the car. Act as if nothing’s happened. Hand the girl back to us. I’ll be waiting in my office. I want her delivered straight to my door. Do it, and I’ll spare your miserable, meaningless life. Got it?”

The hair on the nape of my back stands up in warning, but I take comfort in one thing. God’s in Blackhawk. Otherwise he wouldn’t have directed me to his office. That means someone else is watching us. And I bet it’s his little toy soldier, Sebastian.

“Am I clear?” he repeats, this time louder. His urgency doesn’t escape me.

“Yeah,” I answer indifferently, propping a lazy foot on a step under the payphone, holding the receiver between my ear and shoulder. Purposely looking like I couldn’t give two shits. “But there’s one little problem.”

“And what would that be?”

“She’s not going to be any good for you.”

“How so?” He seems intrigued.

“Well. . .” I glance fleetingly in her direction. She’s looking at me like I’m the Messiah, shifting her weight between her feet nervously, choking the stress ball in her fist. “Because soon, you’ll be dead. And dead people? They don’t really need a companion, Godfrey my friend.”

He barks out a laugh that bounces off my ribcage, not quite reaching my heart, but having enough impact to make me shiver.

“If you’re going to shoot the king, you better make sure that he’s dead. I’m so much stronger than you, Nathaniel.”

“And I’m so much angrier, Godfrey,” I warn quietly. “You better start running, because we ain’t stopping until we play fucking football with your head. No hourglass in the world is going to stop us this time.”

Pea’s eyes are so big right now, I can see my whole reflection dancing against her irises. I’m trying to read her face, and if I ain’t wrong, I see admiration, surprise, panic, anger and confusion. It’s a lot, but it’s all there in those hazels.

“Goodbye, Godfrey.” I smirk then slam the phone with a loud bang. Prescott rubs my arm, eyes bright and wide. She looks startled, but there’s also something soft behind those brown-greens.

“I don’t know how to. . .” she mutters, looking away. Heartbreaking expressions of surprise, terror and gratitude paint her face. She can trust me, and she knows it. No more fucking around with my dagger in her panties. “Thank you.”

“Who were you speaking to?” My tone may be dry, but my heart is doing cartwheels. I guide her to the car by throwing an arm over her shoulder, mainly to shield her whole body from behind. I’m not sure why I’m protecting her life with mine.

Actually, I am. But saying it aloud, or even thinking about it makes me want to punch my own face. We practically run to the car, working our way so that we’re always close to the other customers at the gas station.

“Someone named Dorian. He says he’s Preston’s counselor.” She’s breathless, trying to keep up with my pace. “Dorian said Preston is in rehab in Vallejo. Got into a bit of trouble with booze, but he’s getting better now. That’s really good. That means that he’s alive, Nate.”

“Why wouldn’t he be alive?” My brows furrow. She lifts her shoulders. “He was always haunted by a lot of things. Our family, his sexuality, life in general. But this. . .this is a breakthrough. I need to go there, Nate. I need to see my brother.”

Alarm bells. Loud and deafening, fill every space between my ears. She can’t hear them, clouded by the euphoria of finding her only loveable family member. But it seems really fucking convenient that Preston shows up right along with Godfrey and Sebastian. In a rehab facility in Vallejo, a place we don’t know, a place with miles and miles of dead zones where they can corner us, catch us and end us.

Still, I gotta tread around this subject carefully.

“When were you planning to do that, Baby-Cakes?”

“Tomorrow,” she says. I open the door for her and shove her in, slamming it in her face. “Come on, Nate.” Her head pops out through the open window. Goddamn, does she want them to shoot her between the eyes? “It’d be quick. If we get suspicious, we’ll make a U-turn. What do you say?”

Hell to the no with a side of absolutely no chance.

“Get your head in the car, Cockburn.” I push her forehead into the vehicle. “And slide the fuck down before I kill you myself.”

With that, I jog to my side of the car. We gotta get this freak show back on the road, before one of Godfrey’s spies slays us.

Jumping into the Beatmobile, knowing full well that we’re being followed, I zigzag into small towns, populated residential areas and busy highways. There’s a RAM that’s about as low profile as a circus clown shadowing our every turn. I bite down on my tongue to stop myself from barking at her. She’s fucking insane for wanting to go after Preston when we’re being hunted like easy prey in an open field.

“I can see the bastards,” she swallows uneasily, her eyes narrowing into slits. Her gaze clicks with the young black man in the RAM, who drives behind us, through our rearview mirror. There’s a fat white guy next to him, grinning like a crocodile. If I get my hands on him, he’s going to look like he’s been mauled by one.

Pea’s knees are shaking. Probably seconds away from fainting. I’m just glad we’re in a place so populated, they can’t pull out a fucking rifle like the AB.

“Check for traffic jams,” I motion toward her cell phone with my chin. “I want to get into a standstill from hell where we can lose them.”

Prescott looks for the most congested roads, the ones marked in red on her GPS app, and that’s where our car heads. They can’t do shit with busy traffic surrounding us.

Two hours later, when we’re sure that we’ve lost the intruders, we’re back on the main road, heading north. Both Prescott and I are watching all of our mirrors, making sure we’re spy-free, for long minutes before she opens her mouth again.

“I know what you think,” she starts. “But the number connects straight to a rehab center. I called again and hung up when I got the receptionist. It’s legit, Nate.”

It’s no big deal to dial from a number that doesn’t belong to you. There are a lot of ways to hack through it, and I’m sure Prescott knows that full well. She doesn’t want to think about it right now, and I ain’t going to taunt her with the truth.

“Look,” she exhales. “This is not a part of our plan, and not a part of our arrangement. You don’t have to come with me.”

“I want to.” My words cut the tension in the air. Do I? No. I know it’s a trap. But I also know that if she’s walking into the open arms of Godfrey and Seb, I’m walking in with her. She’s not doing it alone. Correction—she’s not doing it at all. “But you need to do your boy a solid, Cockburn. Give me a day. One day’s all I ask. We’re going for Seb tonight. Let’s get him out of the way then visit your brother. Cool?”

Time.

I’m trying to buy as much of it as I can, but right now, it’s goddamn expensive. After Sebastian, I’ll ask for one more day. Then we’ll kill Godfrey. Then we can go wherever they want us to go, because none of it will matter anymore. They won’t be able to hurt her. Us.

Prescott considers it before nodding once. “Okay, but promise me that we will?”

“Baby-Cakes,” I warn. “You know I only promise things I can deliver. By the time tomorrow rolls around, I’m not sure you’re still going to want to do it.”

Knowing that Godfrey is going to be stalking every single motel near Stockton, we decide to blindside him and check into a Marriott in Santa Clara, some long miles away from Godfrey’s wise guys and snitches. The Marriott has top-notch security, and when we check in, we specifically ask for our room to be located in the middle of a hallway. The receptionist looks at us like we’re complete freaks but doesn’t ask any questions.

Prescott’s one-thousand-dollar piggy bank is running thin, and when I carry her backpack to the room, I tell her it’s time to go downtown and get some more dough. She fidgets with the hem of her tattered red dress, looking down, looking guilty, before her gaze glides back up to meet mine. The deflated smile on her face tells me everything I don’t want to hear. I just saved her ass, telling Godfrey I’ll kill him before he gets his hands on her, and all this time, she’s been keeping something from me.

“Nate.” She sniffs and stops walking, avoiding my face. “Please don’t be mad.”

But it’s too late, I already am. We stop by the door to our hotel room. It’s hard to stay calm under the stress of our current existence.

“What now?” I grunt.

“There’s something you should know before we. . .before we go to the bank.”

Fuck, no. More complications? This chick is like a fucking infection. She spreads inside you, fast, then before you know it. . .boom, you’re dead.

“Spill it.”

Her eyes are hard on the floor. We don’t have time for this shit.

“Prescott.”

She just sniffs. Fuck!

“Prescott, are you broke?”

She doesn’t answer, just shakes her head, fat tears dropping from her lower eyelashes.

Fuck me.

“Prescott!” My voice notches up. An impending storm passes through her eyes. My peace is collapsing. How can this girl ruin yet make everything better at the very same time? I knew the little witch was a fraud, but my dick dragged me into her mess.

And now an entirely different organ is keeping me from smashing my fist into her face.

She conned me. Fucking set me up. She can’t pay me, can’t help me, and I’m about to run away penniless, with not a dime to my name. I have about five hundred bucks in my bank account, and I need to withdraw them before my parole officer realizes I favored a crusade against drug lords to sitting pretty in my crumbling house, playing nice.

“How much money have you got?” I pin her to the wall by the neck. Not erotically. Not longingly. But not too painfully either. My eyes play her a horror film that’ll become her reality if she doesn’t comply, and she quickly settles back into her role as a captive and a victim, pinching her lips together. I squeeze harder. “How much? In all of your bank accounts. Altogether. What’s your funds situation? You better not fucking lie to me.”

“About two grand,” she whimpers, looking scared beyond belief. And I hate it. And I hate her. My skin is burning with anger. “Probably, like, two grand.”

I pick up her backpack from the floor with one hand and clasp her arm with the other, leading her back to the elevators in a bruising grip.

“We’re withdrawing everything we have right now.”

“Why?” she questions. “I can take it out whenever I want. The police aren’t after me.”

“Yet,” I snap. “We don’t know what Godfrey has in store for us.”

Ten minutes later, we cancelled our room reservation, got a full refund and are walking into Bank of America. We take out her money, almost $2,500. I do the same. I end up having $780.

With the money in my pocket—Prescott doesn’t argue or asks any questions as she hands over every penny she has—we drive north, looking for a hideaway. We can’t stay where we withdrew money. It’s too risky.

We wander into a small motel in Martinez an hour later, and the reason it appeals to us is because no one speaks English here and there’s no way we’ll get ratted out. It looks a lot like our Los Angeles hotel, only not under the haze and charm of doing this together, Bonnie and Clyde style. I haven’t spoken to her since I found out she’s almost as poor as I am.

Locking the door to another dingy shithole behind us, I give her a warning: “Stay here. Don’t move. Don’t fucking breathe. I’m getting in the shower. Watch the window and holler if you see anything fishy.”

The minute the cold water hits my skin, I hear a screech. Ignore it. She probably sat on the crumbling bed. Better yet, she probably opened the door and took off again. This time I won’t be chasing her. It’s her funeral if she wants to keep wandering alone when kingpins put a bounty on her head.

Another screech.

I’m suddenly aware that Prescott may have company outside. Company she hasn’t invited.

Pulling my jeans over my wet thighs in a hurry, I jump out and kick the door open. A horror scene plays before my eyes.

There’s the guy who drove the RAM earlier today sitting on top of Pea. She’s pinned under him against the dirty mattress, and he’s throwing punches at her. She dodges some of them, clawing into his eyes with her nail-less fingers, screaming and kicking. She’s hurting him. He’s yelling, twisting his head violently, trying to escape her fingers. My storm is blinding him with her strength. A ruthless bitch. My ruthless bitch.

Then I notice a huge, pink and fresh bruise on her left cheek, and a little blood trickling from her nose.

My nostrils flare and my jaw tightens. I blink my eyes open, and it’s like I’m watching everything through a first-person shooter video game and I’m about to die. The edges of my vision are splattered with red and everything darkens. In a few seconds, I won’t be able to see anything at all.

He hurt Pea, and he’s going to pay.

I jump onto his back and peel him off of her, dragging him by his neck and throwing him against the wall. He’s not going to die. He’s going to live.

Too bad for him.

Pinning him until his body molds with the exposed bricks, I signal her with my index finger to come closer behind my back. Her figure appears next to me in no time. My fingers sink into the flesh of his neck, cutting off his air.

“What’s your name?” I ask the young guy. He looks to be in his early twenties, fat, thuggish and ugly. There’s a red handprint of her small palm across his cheek.

“I ain’t telling you nothing,” he hisses out, along with whatever oxygen’s still left in him, and then spits blood. Prescott hands me my dagger, and I shove it deep into his thigh, until I hear the tear of his pants as the edge pokes through the other side of his leg.

“All right, let’s go through your options”—I shrug, sporting a polite smile—“Tell me what your name is, and you’ll live, plus, I’ll let you go. I got a little message to send Godfrey, anyway. However, if you do not cooperate, I will kill you, find out who you are, then go and butcher your family. Seeing as you know who I am, I trust you’ll go with the sane, user-friendly option number one. Now, I’ll ask again—what’s your name?”

“T-T-T-Tony,” he sobs, snot running down into his mouth. What a fucking wimp. It makes what Prescott went through with her chin up so much more admirable.

“Listen to me carefully, T-T-T-Tony,” I repeat mockingly, yanking his cell out of his pocket. “Call your backup downstairs and tell them you need help dragging our bodies down. When he gets up here, we’re going to sit down and discuss your next move. Am I clear?”

He nods frantically and follows my instructions. Three minutes later, another guy walks in. He’s black and tall, and looks like he’s seen a ghost when he enters the room. Prescott points with her stress ball to the corner where T-T-T-Tony sits.

“Please, sit down. Would you like anything to drink?” Her upper-class manners kick in, and our new guest’s mouth hangs open.

I drag the dagger out of the first guy’s thigh, slowly as I possibly can so that it’ll hurt more than necessary, and bring the dagger to the black man’s throat, the blade stroking the pulse in his neck.

“You know you’ve been playing for the losing team, right?” I poke at his skin, producing a pea-sized dot of blood, before withdrawing it and admiring the blood at the tip of the blade from all angles. “The good news is, you can still atone for your mistake.”

The dagger flies down the guy’s T-shirt, and I tear it almost completely, letting the blood on it stain the cloth. I squat down to his legs and slash his pants. Then I go back up and punch him in the face, so that it’ll look like he’s been in a fight. All while Tony is still slumped against the wall, staring at his thigh wound in horror while holding his leg like it’s about to run away and leave him behind at any moment.

“Here, that looks better. Now, as the lady said, please sit down.” I throw him head first to collapse next to his injured friend and then bend down.

“Gentlemen, driver’s licenses.” I open my palm and wait for them to slap their IDs into it. I’m starting to think that this is the best thing that’s ever happened to us, being discovered by two of Godfrey’s wise guys. Prescott writes down their names and addresses on the back of her hand with a pen we stole from the motel. As if she’d ever use ‘em.

“Caleb,” I go through the black guy’s wallet, walking back and forth in the tiny room that’s now crowded, with three grown men and my girl inside it. “I see you’re a baby-daddy. She’s cute. I’d hate to fuck her up, ya’ know? Look at that smile.” I pass his wallet to Prescott. There’s a toddler, around two years old, in a photo behind the dirty plastic of his wallet. A big, innocent smile adorns her sweet face, pink flowers in her braids. Pea tsks and shakes her head, playing along with my game. “We can make a good buck selling her across the border. Too cute,” she agrees, straight-faced. I almost snicker. I’d rather slit my wrists than hurt a kid, but he doesn’t know that. He thinks like a scumbag. And sadly, a part of me, the fresh-out-of-San-Dimas part, thinks like one, too.

“What about this guy?” Prescott nods her chin to Tony. “Who has he got to lose?”

“Please,” Tony gulps. “No.”

“Yeah,” I reply, throwing Caleb’s wallet into Pea’s hands and flipping through Tony’s paperwork. “We know everything about you. But you only need to know one thing about us—to Godfrey and Seb, we’re dead. Go there. Tell them you killed us. Take our clothes with you. Take some of Prescott’s hair. Tell them you dragged our bodies out at night, to avoid drawing attention. Make them think they’re not in danger. Disobey, and I will slay each and every one of your relatives.”

Tony lives in Stockton, and judging from the screensaver on his phone, he’s got a girlfriend. One he wouldn’t like to see in a coffin.

“How can we be sure they won’t rat us out, anyway?” I hear Pea enquire from behind me. That’s a fine question, with a very fine answer.

“They’ll have us on speaker phone the whole time. From the moment their asses hit the seats in their car, to their point of destination in Godfrey’s office. Try and signal to him, scribble something down or warn the old man—and I’ll know. I’ll go straight to your families. I’ve got the addresses.”

“Godfrey’s order was to bring you in alive,” Caleb jeers, rubbing his swollen cheek.

“We put up a good fight. It was a life or death situation. He’d rather us be dead than still on the run.” Bullshit. Godfrey will kill them, they’re deadweight, collateral damage, the minute they come back empty-handed.

But they don’t need to know that.

“You sure?” Tony’s shiny, crooked eyes glance over to Prescott, who stands behind me. She nods.

“Positive.”

We escort Tony and Caleb back to the RAM and press the call button. We hear everything, sitting on the bed and listening to their every move. They drive silently, grunting and whimpering the whole journey. We hear the noisy road and the bell of the elevator to Godfrey’s office building, which I recognize, and we hear them delivering the news we put in their mouths.

Nothing to worry about.

Nate and Prescott are dead.

The bodies will be retrieved soon after dark falls.

“Why should I believe you?” Godfrey’s voice is dripping doubt. There’s shuffling over the line, presumably the sound of the men producing the chunk of Prescott’s hair which we plucked out of her skull—from the root, we simply had to—smeared in their own blood. And I know they must be showing him one of her stress balls and a slice of my black jeans. “We’ll go back up to Martinez and get the rest at night. We couldn’t do it in broad daylight.”

“My people will handle it,” God growls. “You better not be lying.”

More whimpers. “Godfrey, we’d never.”

“I know, because then you’d be dead.”

No, motherfucker. By the time you figure out we’re alive, they’ll have already packed up their shit and their loved ones and have run away from your claws, I think to myself.

The phone conversation doesn’t end until they crawl back to the hole where they came from, but I’m not worried about them coming back to warn Godfrey. He may be powerful, but not as powerful as their love for their families. We disconnect the phone call that had us sitting in thick silence for hours, our only form of communication was our eyes. The minute I click the line dead, Prescott turns to me, pink on her cheeks.

“I was going to tell you sooner,” she mumbles, staring at her hands resting on her thighs. “About being broke. What was I supposed to do? Let you hand me over to Godfrey?”

I shake my head. It’s not an answer, but it’s the only thing she’ll get right now.

I’m about to head into the bathroom to try and finish that shower I started a few hours ago. Prescott flings up to her feet, standing in front of me. I scan her, my lower lip pulling my upper one in frustration.

“You’re in my way.” I warn.

“Baby. . .” It’s the first time she’s called me that, and her hazels are two pools of misery. They beg me for something. I’m not sure what, but know that it’s already hers. “When this is all over, I’ll give you everything I’ve got left. I’ll walk out of this with nothing but my bag. I promise you, Nate. Just please forgive me. I can’t bear the thought of you hating me.”

That’s another problem I’ll have to deal with. I can’t let her walk away penniless. She’s a lone, beautiful girl in this dark world, and she’s as poor as my fucking social skills. She’ll have to pay her way through her next meal somehow.

I know exactly how.

And I’d never let it happen.

“Where the fuck did all your money go, huh?” I push her away, angry heat rolling from my body. “You sure as hell were able to afford a glitzy-ass apartment in Danville, and last time I checked, the crack business ain’t exactly in recession.” She looks away, embarrassed. Her eyes catch a glimpse of the outside through the filthy window, following the graceful movements of a tiny bird.

“Private investigators.” She swallows. “I wanted to find out what happened to my brother.”

“Goddamn,” I groan, rubbing my face with my palms.

“They all came back with the same conclusion, either he left the states or he’s dead.”

Whimper. Sniff. Less storm. More heartbreak.

I have to tell her.

“Look, I didn’t bring it up until now because I didn’t think it meant shit, but when I was working in Blackhawk, I bumped into your old man at a grocery store. He’s been telling people your brother went to college on the east coast.”

Her brows knit together. “My brother dropped out of high school,” she tells me, and I nod. That’s what Mrs. Hathaway said as well. There’s a second in which her eyes flicker with understanding, and she realizes what this means.

“He’s covering up something.” Her jaw clenches. I drop my forehead to meet her blonde little head. She knows the drill. Plot threads connect. Pieces fall together. He’s probably not alive, and if he is—he’s not well.

“Whatever happened to him, my father knows.”

I tug at her blonde locks softly, planting a kiss on her head. “What else did he say?”

I’m not going to tell her what he said about her. The way I hurt her. . .it’s different. I don’t want to break her, I don’t want to cut deep. I just want her body to feel what I feel when I see her come alive in my hands. No. Inflicting real pain on her, the kind that stays under your skin, is something I’m incapable of doing.

“Nothing,” I lie. “Overheard him making small talk with some dude in a bowtie.”

“Mr. Simpson,” she gasps. “How did he look? My dad?”

“Like a sack of shit who created something beautiful and doesn’t know how to take care of it.” Raw truth leaves my mouth. “Forget about him, Cockburn. He’s a nobody. But what else are you hiding, Pea? Godfrey said something about you having a kid.”

Her eyes narrow and she takes a step back. “I don’t.” She shakes her head, fighting more tears. “I don’t have a kid.”

“Another lie?” I tilt my head down, inspecting her. She’s hiding something.

“I swear, I’m not a mother,” she finishes quietly, looking away.

I make a move, resuming my quest for the shower, but her hand ghosts over my abs, stopping me. Then she goes and does something completely unreasonable. She hugs me. Straight up embraces me with both her arms. I don’t think I’ve been hugged in, well, ever? So I just stand, rooted to the ground, not sure what to do, my arms flailing at the side of my body. She squeezes harder, burying her face in my chest, the scent of her coconut shampoo drifting into my nose.

“I’m sorry. And I’d completely understand if you abandon ship. You have a fake passport, you have the Beatmobile. I’ll give you my money. All yours. Just please. . .forgive me. That was before.”

Before we found out we were more than just fugitives with the same hit list.

I peel her away from my body, keeping her a step away from me by holding her shoulders.

“You fucked up,” I grunt.

“I know,” she murmurs, but her chin is up, liquid fire in her eyes. Still my fucking fighter, ready to break some bones.

“But here’s the thing, Pea,” I rub her split lower lip, the one that keeps healing and breaking again and again, before I plant a kiss on the dry scab. “You’re a shit person. You’re a liar, a con and a witch. You’re a storm, and you want to hurt those who hurt you. You’re bad. And when you’re mad? You’re even worse. Capable of lying. Of deceiving. Even, I suspect, of killing. And I love you. I’m wholeheartedly, desperately, unapologetically in love with your sorry ass.”

Her mouth falls open, probably because I just made an already complex situation even more explosive, but I continue, undeterred. “You know why? Because you pulled laughter out of me like no one else has. You made me smile more in three weeks than I’ve smiled in my entire twenty-seven years. That’s enough payment, in my opinion.”

“You love me?” she whispers, pointing to herself, disbelief coloring every corner of her face. I nod once.

“I do. I love you.” I love her.

“Say it again.”

“I love you,” I say louder, understanding her need to hear it.

No mom. No dad. God knows where her brother is. She needs it. She’s getting it. I’m going to give her everything she wants before we say our goodbyes.

I erase the space I created between us—I hated it anyway. “I love a chick named Cockburn,” I admit, “and even more embarrassing, I love a girl named Prescott. I love you, Pea. I love you, Miss Burlington-Smyth. Who else?”

Her arms circle around my neck, our bodies sticking together. There’s that smile. That beautiful, confident smirk that even Sebastian couldn’t wipe off with his fists and pointy shoes. “I’m sure you can think of a few other things to call me. Words are your trade.”

“I love you, Hot Ass.” I grab her butt and crush it, until she flinches in pain, and release slowly, knowing that she clenches from the inside every time I hurt her. “I love everything about you. The sun-kissed freckles on your shoulders and your taste in books and music and the way you laugh, that angelic blonde hair, and the way you let me lick your crack when you know I’ve had a long, stressful day.”

She laughs, but her face coils in agony. We’re either not getting out of this shit alive, or if we do, we’re going our separate ways. I can’t stay in the states and she has nothing to do in Mexico. Besides, I know her by now. She’ll try and find her brother, dig until the truth hits her in her pretty face with a fucking shovel.

Her hands roam my chest and when she looks back up, her eyes are menacing.

“I miss the feeling of your cock filling every space in my body,” she admits.

“It misses you too,” I breathe, pulling her to the bed and yanking her into my lap. She sits on top of me like I’m Santa and she’s a shy kid, but my plans for her are the kind of shit children under eighteen aren’t supposed to see.

“Maybe it’s time him and I get together again. Release some of that tension. Tonight is a big night.” She wiggles her brows. I pat my junk.

“Show me what you’ve got.”

“Prepare to be amazed, Mr. Delaware.” Her husky voice trails downwards, kissing its way from my throat to my chest. She stops with her lips on my neck and pushes me back, until I’m lying down, then continues her journey south.

“Just don’t suck Delaware Jr. You’re terrible at giving head,” I warn when she unbuttons my jeans. Who am I shitting? I’m dying for those pinks to meet my dick again.

My jeans are tossed aside and she peppers my groin with wet, starving kisses, her eyes are closed, and she looks pained. Not the kind of pain I want her to be in; not the kind I can control.

I play with her hair, admiring the view under my chest. She doesn’t stop kissing the swollen flesh of my cock, dragging her tongue and treating it like a lollipop. This is actually pretty good.

“I love your monster cock,” she sighs and I groan, letting my head fall back to the flat pillow. Her hand snakes under me, and she caresses my asshole with one finger while massaging my balls with her thumb. Fuck.

“Actually, I love this whole area.”

“It thinks of you highly, too,” I reassure. Her mouth finds my balls. I’m so turned on I might blind her with a shot of cum. She spends a minute or so sucking on them, licking them slowly, tickling, creating tension that’s begging for release, before I yank her up and throw her aggressively, her back slamming into the mattress.

“I love it when you’re rough with me,” she continues, but I shut her up with a kiss. “It reminds me of Beat. That’s who I’d like to have sex with tonight.”

I throw my head back and laugh. I’ll humor her if she wants Beat. Hell, I kind of miss him too. He liberated me from a face that’s been a distraction and objectified me like I’m a fucking Playboy Bunny for years. I prop myself up on one elbow and send my arm to her backpack on the nightstand, pulling the mask out.

“You sure about that? Nate was in the mood for slow, fun sex. Beat’s an angry motherfucker.”

She nods. “He has good reasons to be. You don’t let him loose too often. Tell him I want him to destroy me.”

“Message received.”

I hear the snap of the rubber against my skull as I put the mask on and arrange it so my eyes meet hers through the tiny holes. She curls into herself, looking scared in the best possible way.

I roll on a condom with one hand and pull her hair to yank her up with the other. My voice, which is always dry and low but is somewhat forgiving when directed at Pea, looms into something beastly.

“You scared?”

“Yes,” she says breathlessly.

“Good. At least your instincts are still in check.”

I drag her by her hair until she falls on the floor, her knees hitting the wood with a loud thump. I stand above her, my erection in her face. She whimpers in pain, rubbing her injured legs and looking up at me for further instruction.

“Take off your dress. Without standing up.”

She worms out of it quickly, her eyes still trained on the floor, too scared to look up.

“Now crawl to the window and sit your naked ass on the sill. Facing me.”

She starts crawling seductively, rolling her hips, a glitter of wetness sparkling at me from between her thighs. Her pussy’s already peppered with some hair that’s grown back. I kick her ass with a growl. “Faster, Country Club. We got business to attend to.”

By the time she waits for me with her legs wide open, sitting on the windowsill, her naked body pressed against the glass, with everyone in the fucking neighborhood watching her milky white ass, I’m just about ready to burst. The pink of her pussy peeks at me demurely between her dark blonde patch. I stride, completely naked except for my mask, in her direction. Every step I take, she shrinks into a smaller version of herself. Petrified. I love that. I crack my neck and my fingers like I’m getting ready for a fight. When I’m inches from her, I stop.

“You really did a number on me, didn’t you, Silver Spoon?”

Her gaze travels up and her chin sticks out. “Please hurt me.”

I allow her a small moment of silence and anticipation—and then I do.

I slam my sheathed cock between her thighs, finally feeling home again, and slap her ass with a whip that sounds like a scream.

Time.

I wish it’d freeze right now so I could have her this way forever. Nothing in the world will ever live up to this moment. I fuck her against the window and peek through the curtain of her soft hair as she moans Beat’s name again and again and again, digging my dirty fingers into her ass. There’s a small crowd forming under our window, a few Mexican men back from their day of work and two black teenagers. One of them sticks his hand inside his pants when he catches a glimpse of my girl rolling her head sideways, exposing those full pink lips and long lashes behind her long pale hair. With every thrust she bangs against the window, her silky flesh pressing against it for all to see and admire.

“Beat,” she wails, touching the mask, and I feel my cum making its way to the tip of my dick. I swat her hands away and use the base of my palm to bang her head against the window as a warning. “No touching.”

“But, Beat,” she sighs again, a little frustrated, her pussy clenching around me in a death grip. She’s about to explode on my cock. Pea thrashes and bucks, rolling her hips frantically, her inner thighs soaking and dripping with her want for whatever form of me she’s calling to. Neither of us answer.

“Bring me Nate again,” she pleads and bites into my skin, trying to claw the mask away from my face, but I don’t let her. Every attempt to peel the mask off is rewarded with a loud spank. She comes hard, tightening with a force that almost traps my cock in her pussy. “I need to tell Nate something important.” Her mouth almost drips with ecstasy.

I wait for our releases to subside, throw another look to our audience and yank her off the windowsill. She trips into my chest and finally peels my mask away, almost tearing the rubber in the process.

“Nate?” her uncertainty almost makes me laugh.

I’m drenched in sweat and bliss, but I know I need to get my ass into this shower and bolt out of this room before the police end up nailing us for indecent exposure. Wouldn’t that be ironic?

“Yeah?”

Her face battles surprise, her eyebrows knitting together.

“I love you. All of you. Your perfect face. Your beautiful soul. Your ugly deeds.”

“Say it,” I demand, collecting her hair into a ponytail I let loose over her left shoulder. “Again.”

No mom. No dad. No siblings. I need it. I’m getting it. I’m going to take everything she’s willing to give me before we say our goodbyes.

“I love you, Nate Vela. And it scares the living hell out of me. Why’d you have to go and steal my heart like this?”

I don’t answer her with words. They won’t do justice to what I have to say. I kiss her sweet lips that are just starting to heal from splitting open again yesterday. A deep kiss that’s not at all sexual. I wouldn’t call it romantic or soft, either. But it’s intimate. Lazy. Content. Happy. And it’s got our names on it.

I pull her into the bathroom with me, and after a quick shower together, we’re out of the room and back on the road. We still have a few hours to burn until show time, but we won’t spend them like sitting ducks in the apartment where Godfrey’s people found us and a bunch of horny bastards watched us having sex. I stop outside a Walgreens and Pea jogs in to buy some stuff for our operation tonight. The automatic doors swallow her but I can still see that bright red mini dress as she walks up and down the aisles.

While staring at her through darkened windows, I come up with a plan. Something that will help us out of the quicksand we’re drowning in. It’s going to be even harder to face myself after I do it, but I have to do whatever I can to make sure that we’ve got the best chance of getting out of this shit alive. When Pea is done getting the syringes and nail polish remover, she walks straight out of the Walgreens and inside a neighboring Dollar Store. I punch the steering wheel and curse her silently for making a stop she didn’t inform me about.

They think we’re dead. Nobody knows what we’re up to, I keep reminding myself. But I don’t know that for a fact. Wanting to chew my nerves away, I grab the backpack she left here to look for my peach-flavored gum. I find it buried at the bottom of her bag, along with something else I didn’t even know still existed. Something I forgot I even had.

I pluck out my red notebook and stare at it, moving it in my hands like it’s some sort of magic fucking wand. My prison diary. My words. She always says they’re so pretty, but these are my ugly words, the ones she shouldn’t be exposed to.

Has she read it? Of course she’s read it. Goddammit. She knows my story through and through. The horrid bits and the painful parts. My jaw clenches so hard it almost snaps and pops out of my mouth. I don’t even notice when she gets back into the car, falling into her seat in a fit of wild, youthful laughter. The giggles die down quickly the second she sees the diary in my hand.

“Shit,” she gulps, swiveling her whole body to face mine. I don’t look at her. I’m still staring at my old diary. Violated is not the right word for what I feel. Disgraced comes close, but it’s still not quite there.

Her hand grips the door handle, ready to run away, but I dig my fingers into her thigh.

“Five seconds to explain. It better be good.”

“I’m sorry I took it without your permission. I tucked it into my dress when you carried me from the basement before we. . .”

Before we fucked like animals. She knew everything about me. And she still wanted to do it.

I love her.

“It didn’t feel right to leave a part of you back in that awful place. Your words deserve freedom, not that dingy basement. Besides—” She hesitates.

“Besides?”

“That red diary made me fall in love with you,” she finishes.

A few seconds pass before I hand her the notebook and motion with my chin to the nylon bags she’s holding.

“Got everything?”

She nods. “Can I take your diary with me when we’re done? You were going to leave it behind anyway, and I want to carry your words with me everywhere I go,” she says quietly, not meeting my eyes.

“Take whatever you want.” I rub my face in frustration before looking away. I mean it too. If she wanted my balls, I’d hand them over in a heartbeat. But man, it’s hard to talk about the day after we part ways. “Just keep it safe.”

“It’s yours. Of course I’ll keep it safe,” she says. I believe her.

In a lot of ways, she’s already saved me.