26. Dallas

CHAPTER 26

DALLAS

I gun the engine, the black Jeep growling like some feral thing, as I slide it into a narrow gap between the sun-bleached boxes of abandoned buildings. Dust plumes in my wake. There's a bike parked in front of one of those buildings and I'm guessing that's what got Isaac here.

Immediately, the door to our rendezvous point swings open, and he bursts out, his face a mask of fury and confusion… My heart hammers against my ribs so hard at the sight of him I'm afraid it'll break through.

It's almost five and we still have an hour to go to Arlo's "airport." I doubt it's what it is. Probably one strip in the middle of nowhere but I'm not into technicalities right now.

"Where the hell you been?" Isaac's voice cuts through the desert stillness. It's laced with an edge that says he's half a second from snapping.

"Got held up," I say, killing the engine and jumping out. "Cops were tailing me."

He's on me in two strides, hands rough and demanding as they cup my face, his grip possessive, as if he's afraid I'll vanish. His kiss is a crash of relief and anger and he's kissing me like there's no tomorrow. My own hands yank him closer and roam his back. Suddenly the air is thick with desire and adrenaline and I forget that I'm still pissed at him for flipping on me, for lying, for never telling me about his plan to end Yuri.

When we pull back to get some oxygen into our lungs, my breath is ragged, and his dark eyes are storm clouds.

"Your Toyota? What happened?" he asks, eyeing the Jeep for a moment.

"Got burned." My words are flat, final. "Had to ditch it, get another ride."

"Did you steal it?"

"Didn't have the balls." I shake my head, feeling that dangerous thrill. "Too risky. Called Seven. Had to get another phone. Shit was crazy. Never wanted to get out of town this fast."

"Seven, huh?" A ghost of a laugh escapes him as his fingers trail through my hair, longer now than I would ever allow myself in the past. I like it this way though. "So, Agent Dallas Bradley, how's it feel playing outlaw?"

"As long as I'm with you, I don't give a damn which side of the law I fall on." It's the truth, raw and unpolished.

For a moment, we simply stand there, our gazes locked. There's a tension that zings through the air, electric and alive, a silent conversation that needs no words.

"Being on the run suits you." Isaac's voice is threaded with heat and something akin to pride.

His fingertip brushes over my lip, and the world narrows down to just us. "I can't live without you," he breathes, and for a second, I see that vulnerability I adore so much flicker across his usually inscrutable face. "In this fucked up world of darkness I never asked for, you're the only light. My light."

My knees nearly give out. My dick, on the contrary, grows happy.

Our mouths crash together. Teeth nip at lips, small gentle bites. His hands pull me inside the structure, the urgency in his grip igniting something primal within me.

"We don't have time," I say against his mouth, tasting the truth of our situation.

"Then make it quick." Isaac's command is fire, and it's all the permission I need.

Adrenaline floods my veins, a burning tide that sweeps away any hesitation. I spin him around and push him toward an unfinished wooden rail, part of a construction long abandoned by its makers. Isaac braces himself against it, his back arching in anticipation.

"Want you," he says, his voice rough with arousal. It's a plea, a demand, everything we've been holding back now spilling forth.

Quickly with trembling hands, I tug his jeans and boxers down, the sound of fabric tearing through the silence. My own pants follow next.

There's no time for niceties or preparation. There's just this animalistic urge to possess and to be possessed, to fuse ourselves together.

I spit into my hand, the crude lubrication a necessity rather than a choice. Isaac is writhing beneath me, his breaths are fast and shallow and sexy. His hand is wrapped around his cock. He's already stroking himself.

With a singular drive, I line myself up and press in. The sensation is immediate, a tight heat that envelops me completely. Isaac gasps, a raw sound that sends a spike of pleasure through me.

"Fuck," I curse under my breath as I slide home, burying myself to the hilt inside him. His ass is perfection. He's fucking perfection.

The emotional weight of what we're doing hits me like a freight train. Isaac, who doesn't let anyone touch him, is allowing me, trusting me to be in charge, to claim this intimate territory. It's not just flesh joining flesh; it's the merging of battered souls seeking solace in a world hell-bent on tearing us apart.

I start to move, each thrust a declaration, a promise, a desperate grasp at something resembling peace in the chaos of our lives. Isaac meets me stroke for stroke, a perfect counterpoint to my own rhythm.

"You feel so good," I groan, my voice strained with the effort to keep a handle on the reins of control slipping from my grasp.

He pushes back against me, encouraging, demanding more. Our bodies communicate in a language that needs no words, every movement spelling out need and longing etched into our very bones.

"Harder," Isaac murmurs, his tone tells me he's close, teetering on the brink.

"Let go, baby," I rasp, reaching around to stroke him in time with my thrusts.

His response is immediate, a wail that echoes off the dilapidated walls. We chase that edge together, two halves of a whole spiraling toward an inevitable conclusion.

I press against him more, driven by a hunger that's all-consuming. Isaac's back arches, a canvas of tension and need. I pull up his T-shirt to expose the inked lion on his skin, then my fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to tilt his head back, to hear the sweet moans that spill from his lips. I love it when he loses control, when he gives it up to me, when he lets me lead.

"Let go, baby," I command, my voice rough like gravel. "Let go." I drive my cock deeper, finding that spot inside him, persisting in rhythmically teasing his prostate.

Isaac cries out, again and again, his voice uneven, wrung by a seductive combination of pleasure and pain. His body tightens around me, and I feel the tremors ripple through him as he finds release, his cum spurting all over, painting the rough wood beneath us.

The sight of Isaac unraveling under me tips me over the edge too. It's a collision of heat and heartbeats, both of us lost in the carnage of our climax.

Through the haze, I feel myself spill into him, marking him in the most primal way. Again. There's something sacred in this act, in the trust and surrender in every line of his body.

Our breathing slows as I pull out of him and allow myself a glance at his ass and my cum dripping between my legs.

"You like it, don't you?" Isaac teases. "Filling me up until I'm overflowing with you."

"You like it too. Being fucked and filled by me until all you remember is my name. My real name." I wrap my arms around him, my lips seeking the salt of his skin. "No one can tell the Proctors now they're not officially married," I whisper against his neck as if sealing our bond entirely.

He laughs breathlessly, a sound that stirs something deep within me, something in my chest that spreads to my stomach.

"You fucked the Thoreau right out of me," Isaac rasps out. "I'm someone new because of you."

And for a moment, it feels true—that we've shed our pasts, that we can be reborn from the ashes of who we once were.

But reality waits for no man, and ours is cruel.

Ours has one last thing for us to do.

The desert stretches out before us, an endless sea of sand and shrubs bathed in the dying light. All we have to do is cross fifty or so miles to get to the destination.

From there, we're home-free.

I'm behind the wheel, keeping one eye on the one-track dirt road and the other on Isaac. He's a study in contrasts—calm amidst chaos, beauty in a barren land. His expression is soft, unguarded, the wind teasing strands of dark hair across his forehead.

Not counting our usual post-sex euphoria, I only remember one other time seeing him this unbothered.

Memories flood my mind. The day Isaac handed me the keys to a Mustang. Pride and something more was in his eyes—a gift meant to be freedom, now a relic left behind in the dust of our escape. Probably stashed in the warehouse along with the other vehicles the Hellhounds use.

And that's okay.

Someone else will love that car.

I know they will.

For a while we drive in silence, each lost in our thoughts. Ahead lies uncertainty, danger, maybe even death—but for now, we have this moment. We have this moment of truth where I finally know where I stand. I stand with the man who makes me see the world for what it is. I stand with the man I care about.

We round another sandstone cliff, the Jeep now bouncing and lurching, as if telling us to slow down. But when we come to a hairpin turn, I do the opposite, I slam the gas pedal and hurl us through the wasteland. A yellow-gray dust cloud appears in the rearview mirror when I glance there. It disappears behind the cliff just as fast as it appeared.

And then I hear it—discordant sounds of the sirens, relentless in their pursuit. At first, I think my ears are ringing. That can't be. I was certain nobody tailed me. Nevertheless, my heart pounds against my rib cage.

Isaac confirms my fear when he shifts in his seat to check the side mirror. "Do you hear it?" he mutters over the rumble of the engine.

"Yeah." I nod, gripping the steering wheel harder. "Are they cops?" Isaac lowers the window, twists around, and shoves his head out to scan the horizon behind us.

I look at my own side mirror, catching a glimpse of the black SUVs.

"Nah," I reply. "Federal agents." My words come out as a growl. "Damn it."

"Shit," Isaac curses under his breath, the veneer of serenity cracking. "You think we can lose them?" There's panic in his voice no matter how hard he's trying to mask it and something in me—deep in the pit of my stomach—wants to tell him it'll be fine, wants to protect him, to keep him safe.

"Keep your head down," I shout, swerving to dodge a half-buried rock. "We're close. I can try and get rid of them. Once we're in the air, it won't matter."

Isaac rolls up the window and draws a long breath.

"Get the map!" I toss the command like a grenade, and Isaac's hands dive into the glove compartment. Paper rustles frantically. He unfolds the map that's been creased and smoothed what seems like a hundred times over. Truth be told I asked Seven to get it along with the Jeep. When you're deep in the desert, you can't rely on reception and if you intend not to leave any digital trace, then you don't bring a device. All you have is your wits and some tools Gen Z probably don't know how to use.

"Find me a detour," I tell Isaac, my voice somewhat gentler. "Something off the beaten path."

"We are off the beaten path!"

"Just look. I want to confuse them a little."

"Here!" His finger stabs at a loop on the paper several seconds later.

"Tell me when to turn."

"A few hundred feet." We continue on with the distant noise of the sirens and the growl of the engine being our only companions.

Isaac warns me moments before we reach the detour.

Without hesitation, I wrench the wheel left, tires skidding on the loose road.

The next time I look in the mirror, I see no lights. There's still the noise of the sirens but it's weak. Disappearing along with sunlight.

We keep driving until the land begins to rise. The ascent up the hill is hazardous, each bump a disaster in the making. But I consider myself a skilled driver. Besides, I need to get us, or at least get Isaac, to the plane by the agreed-upon time.

And then for just an instant, as we crest the sharp peak, there's silence—pure and peaceful.

The Jeep begins to coast down the road and I lift my boot off the gas.

Only our relief is short-lived.

Below at the very foot of the hill, unmarked cars are scattered like ants. Men spill out, guns drawn, as if summoned by the desert itself. Isaac's voice slices through the eeriness, clearly laced with fear. "What the fuck is this?"

"They can't be cops," I shout back, mostly to myself. My eyes examine the vehicles and the guns. They are still too far down, but every second we pass is every bit closer to the impending doom.

"Shit!" Isaac barks out. "They are Toro's men!"

My heart is heavy with dread. My gut is all twisted up. I can't let Isaac get mixed up in this. "Fuck. I thought your buddy Vlad was supposed to handle this problem."

"I guess it didn't get handled."

"Why can't we get a fucking break?" I try to get my emotions under control. "Do you think they know about the Feds following us?" I can't keep the panic from seeping into my voice.

Isaac shakes his head, a lost boy masquerading as a king. "No clue."

"Okay," I mutter into the void, gripping the wheel until my knuckles whiten so much that my arms start to hurt. "I've got it."

With barely a thought, I ram my foot down hard on the gas pedal, urging it to obey. The Jeep's engine bellows back in response—a monstrous, bone-rattling roar that'll likely scare off any critter in a mile radius.

Suddenly, we're hurling downhill, the grimy terrain racing past us like stars at warp speed. It feels dangerous and reckless, as if we've let go of gravity itself. The taste of adrenaline fills my mouth—bitter and metallic—in sync with the whipping dust against my cheeks when I lower the window. The strong scent of burning rubber assaults my nostrils with every rotation of wheels against unforgiving soil. Any slight twitch out of line could seal our fate here in this sun-scorched wilderness—another forgotten notch on its belt, another nameless car wreck in the Nevada desert.

But I won't let this happen. I won't let the badlands claim us. My brain's working overtime, my mind counting targets below, calculating, my hand going for the gun tucked into my belt beneath my T-shirt.

"Take the wheel, Isaac!" My voice is an order, not a suggestion.

He looks at me from his seat, eyes wide as I unbuckle. I think it's the first time I see him truly scared. But it's either die trying or giving up. And giving up isn't in our vocabulary.

"Take the fucking wheel!" I shout, yanking out the Glock, its weight familiar in my grip. We are like old friends now.

Isaac snaps back to reality and hurries to unbuckle his seatbelt, then stretches his body to my side of the vehicle. His hands latch onto the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity.

"Keep it steady, baby!" I plead before pushing myself halfway out the window, my hand brushes over his cheek briefly before seeking purchase to grasp. The desert air slashes at me like a thousand blades, but my focus narrows to the figures below. Once I was a soldier, a killing machine for hire. I don't like that man, but I must become one now. For our sake. For Isaac's sake.

The Jeep rattles beneath me as I take my aim.

One shot, two shots.

One of Toro's goons staggers back.

A sharp retort of bullets answers. No surprises there. But I know they won't get us that easy. We are moving at breakneck speed. My own bullet finds its mark again, and another one of Toro's lackeys bites the dust. Literally. Through quicksilver flashes in the fast-approaching dusk, I catch a silhouette crumpling into the sand.

More hostile bullets shred through the air toward us, their piercing whines filling my ears before they dent and puncture the hull of the Jeep.

I'm numb from the waist down, my legs cramping from the uncomfortable position. I need a breather I realize. Before I break myself in half.

A red-hot pain sears through my arm as I hastily slide back into the relative safety of the vehicle.

"Shit!" I curse to distract myself from the burn. It's immediate, fire racing all the way to my fingers, making it difficult to hold the gun.

I drop the weapon onto the seat between my thighs and ignore the pain. Instead, I relieve Isaac of his driver's duty and grab the wheel.

We start free-falling—damn physics—as bullets weave past us. The glass shatters. Pieces of it are now spilling across the dashboard.

"Your arm—" Isaac's face is a mask of terror when I spare half a glance at him, his eyes fixed on the blood that's already soaking into my shirt and the seat I'm in.

"Just a scratch," I grit out, clamping my hands over the wheel harder to counter the pain in my biceps with the pain in my knuckles. "I've been hit before protecting your pretty ass." I force a laugh. "Just another day at the office, right?"

Isaac opens his mouth, protest written on every line of his face, but he knows better than to argue. "Let me drive," he offers instead.

"We can't stop now, baby," I shout. "And we can't do the trick we just did." This stretch of the road is worse, too steep, more dangerous. "We're almost there."

The Jeep is an arrow, driving through the bullet rain, ignoring all danger waiting for us ahead at the bottom of this hill.

In between spiraling disorientation and dull throbs vying for attention from every direction, my frazzled mind lets out a loud incredulous: Are we still breathing? But sometimes gut instinct drowns out reason: pedal to the metal, Dallas.

And then I see it when I glance at the mirror—the black SUVs with flashing lights up on the top, behind us, trying to catch up. I've never been this happy to be chased by my former co-workers. I bet they didn't expect to meet the cartel soldiers.

I have an idea as I watch the trucks ahead blocking the road.

"Put your seatbelt back on!" I tell Isaac, my eyes on the makeshift wall of weapons and steel up ahead. "Ever played chicken?" I shout at him, my mind full-on manic.

"Fucking hell, let's do it!" he yells back, matching my own crazy.

Adrenaline rushes through me as I nearly ram the Jeep into the trucks, but at the last minute, I wrench the wheel and swerve into the sand, spilling it all over Toro's guys. More shots are fired but with the Feds now clearing the hill and dust clouding the air, those shots are nothing but empty promises.

The Jeep jerks, tires fighting against the shifty terrain as I slam on the gas with all the strength that I can muster up. My head is dizzy, possibly from the blood loss, but we have one more hill to overcome and we're at the meeting point Arlo set.

Isaac rolls down his window, pulls out his own gun, and sends several bullets back to where we left Toro's goons who are now squaring off with the new enemy.

For a moment we're forgotten.

Then we start going uphill, cresting the top, and there it is—the airport. It's exactly how I imagined it. Nothing but a strip of tarmac and a lonely hangar. If not for the lights, it would pass for another abandoned building in the middle of nowhere, but to me, it looks like salvation.

"More company," Isaac yells, pointing to his right.

My eyes follow the movement of his hand.

I catch the sight of the police cars in the distance, a swarm of blue and red lights barreling toward the airstrip from an opposite direction.

Immediately, adrenaline starts working its way through my brain. I mentally measure the shortening distance between us and the spec that's Arlo's plane. Then I measure the distance between the plane and the colorful convoy trying to intercept us. If we stick with the lightning-fast speed, we have the advantage.

I slam the pedal down harder until it hits the floor of the vehicle, urging every ounce of power from the Jeep's battered frame. Let Toro's thugs and the cops tear each other apart—if Isaac and I can reach that plane, we won't be here for this mess.

I count every foot we clear, my heartbeat so fast, I'm terrified it'll exhaust itself and stop altogether before I get on that plane, before I get Isaac to that plane.

The tarmac is near. The Jeep jumps on it, the asphalt underneath feels like we've entered a civilization that's just a mile long. The cavalcade of the police cruisers is closing in, their lights throwing dancing colors across sand and cacti. We'll be surrounded without a way out if we don't hurry the fuck up.

I charge until I nearly crash the Jeep into the back of the plane, taking a sharp turn at the last moment. We're tossed to the side, pulled by the gravity.

Isaac's seatbelt is off before the vehicle even stops moving. Finally, the Jeep skids to a halt in a cloud of dust, gravel crunching beneath the worn tires as we are thrown off the tarmac and into a cluster of low bushes.

The airstrip is a ribbon among the twilight descending upon the desert. Arlo's frantically waving us from the front of the idling plane.

Isaac reaches back to grab the gym bag filled with money we still need to give to Arlo. He leaps out. I push myself from the seat and stagger out, my world tilting dangerously. For a moment, I think my face is about to meet the ground.

"Come on!" Isaac shouts, rounding the vehicle. He catches me before I face-plant, strong arm wrapping around my waist. "Come on, asshole. Move your fucking feet," he grunts out.

But my legs are lead, every step an epic struggle against the trespassing blackness at the edges of my vision.

I can hear them—the sirens, growing louder and brighter now. Gunshots stitch the air and I wonder if those are Toro's men, if they put down all the guys in the black SUVs. I wonder if us, getting through the cartel's henchmen, was just a fluke. One in a million.

"You're fucking heavy," Isaac mutters as he literally drags me toward to plane. "Get your ass moving."

I can't see very well. The sky and the mountains are spinning. The rumbling plane is just a few feet away, a darting dot in front of my eyes, propeller blowing dry air in my face.

That's when I hear her voice slicing through the noise.

"Agent Bradley!"

I pivot, almost losing my footing and knocking Isaac off in the process. And there she is. Nicole. Standard-issue Glock is drawn directly at us, her gaze flitting between me and Isaac. Her eyes are full of all the emotions I can currently think of—anger, betrayal, even concern.

I push Isaac to stand behind me.

"Don't move, Agent Bradley or I'll shoot," she warns, though her voice trembles like a leaf in the wind. "Not one step."

"Would you?" My words are a whisper carried on a desert breeze and I'm not certain she hears it over the roar of the plane, but she can probably read my lips just fine.

"Surrender your weapons. Both of you."

"Fuck off!" Isaac growls, attempting to pull me over to the plane by hoisting my arm over his shoulder but Nicole inches closer. One step, two steps. Our gazes lock.

"It's not too late to fix this mess." She dares a quick glance at the approaching pursuit. Maybe too brief for us to do anything about this goddamned stand-off. Her gun remains pointed at me.

"I'm lost to the Bureau, Nicole," I supply, my tongue hardly listening to me. "This is not something that can be fixed."

"Because everyone thinks you turned." Her gaze darts to Isaac, who's the only support I have now. My legs gave out a long time ago. I'm a fucking bag of rocks tied to his neck. He could be on that plane right now. In the sky.

"Turned?" I scoff, tasting copper as I speak. "The Bureau betrayed me. Sent me on a fool's errand—someone else's vendetta. Used me like a pawn. You know this. I told you this. You know this, Nicole. You know me."

"Doesn't change facts." She stands firm, but her arm wavers just enough to reveal doubt. "Solovey is dead and you two are on the run."

"Fact is," I press on, the pain in my arm a distant echo to the ache in my chest, "Isaac's got more integrity than half the Bureau suits I worked with."

Her finger hovers over the trigger, a dam holding back a flood of consequences. Behind her, the sirens crescendo. A warning that time is a luxury we don't have.

"The law is never on the side of the underdogs," Isaac shouts, adjusting his grip to make sure I don't slip to the ground. "The law never cares about kids being sold and bought on the streets or in the casinos. When the law is like this, it's fucking broken."

Somewhere behind us, Arlo's screaming at the top of his lungs, "You boys gotta make up your mind now! Because I'm leaving if you don't get on."

"We're coming!" Isaac yells at him. "We got your money."

"Just go," I whisper into his ear. "Just leave me."

"I'm not fucking leaving you, you self-righteous, self-sacrificing piece of shit."

"Just drop your weapons, you two!" Nicole shouts. "Drop your weapons and don't make it worse."

"Worse?" Isaac replies. "How much worse can it get? You take an innocent man and send him on a mission that's someone's personal witchhunt."

"There's no proof of that, Thoreau."

"Because you didn't dig enough. Because you gave up. You gave up on him, gave up on all those kids whose passports he gave to the Bureau."

Nicole's eyes, hard just seconds ago, now flicker with uncertainty, the barrel of her gun lowering ever so slightly. My pulse is loud and sluggish in my ears and the world has turned into a picture of slow motion.

"Leave," I mutter into the void. "Just leave."

Isaac's response is his arm tightening around my torso. From the corner of my eye, I can see his gun pointed at Nicole.

"He's coming with me." His voice fills the air around me. "And you're gonna have to shoot me dead, Agent, whatever your name is, if you try to stop me." The ground beneath me moves. No, it's my feet that move. Not the ground. My boots scrape over the rough surface.

"Thoreau, stop!" Nicole orders, but her hands are trembling.

"Nicole," I shout, my words all wobbly, "if you want the truth, look into Russo, talk to the Hellhounds. They'll tell you who Isaac really is… He's a good man. Just got a shitty hand dealt to him, that's all. He doesn't deserve prison."

Her resolve seems to crumble like a cliff face after years of erosion. The sirens wail louder now, their red and blue lights staining the horizon and dancing along the metal body of the plane. It's close, so close that I can touch it.

Over the cacophony, I hear Isaac's voice, ragged and urgent. "Fuck, Dallas! Move!"

Everything narrows down to a small picture—Nicole's fingers slacken around the grip of her gun, and it lowers, inch by reluctant inch. Her jaw clenches tight, as if fighting the war within. There's a softness there, an admission that maybe—just maybe—the world isn't as black and white as her badge demands.

"Fuck, Dallas! You're going to get me in trouble."

"He won't," Isaac interrupts and shoots. She shrieks but the bullet never gets her, just the asphalt right next to her feet.

"Now, you're in the clear, Agent," he yells over the racket of the plane while yanking me up the rickety pull-out ladder and inside the cabin.

My mind is in overdrive. Blood loss, adrenaline, spinning lights, the rattle of the engine. It's all just chaos inside my head.

Isaac's hands grip me, steady and sure, as he steers us toward the seats. I risk a glance out the tiny window to where Nicole stands alone, a solitary figure against the approaching sirens, her gun now hanging limp by her side. Our eyes meet one last time—a silent exchange of a thousand unspoken words.

Then I slump into my seat.

It's fuzzy, the here and now. Isaac's worried frown, the smell of fuel and anticipation, the sweat across my back and forehead, the whirr of the engines spooling up. Everything else fades to a distant hum, the past and future blurring into insignificance.

"Let me see," Isaac insists. He sounds as if we are underwater, his voice torn from all the screaming and muffled. He reaches for my wound, but I bat his hand away gently. Or at least I believe that's what I do.

"Later," I manage to choke out, feeling a stupid smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. A pale imitation of the bravado I wish I felt.

"Don't be a fucking boy scout." Warm hands cradle my face. Those brown eyes swim into focus. His touch burns through the numbness, a reminder of everything we're fleeing, everything we are leaving behind, and everything we're going to encounter soon.

As the plane lurches forward, reality tilts on its axis. The ground falls away, and with it, the life I knew.

The hands over my cheeks disappear.

"Arlo, man!" I hear Isaac shouting over the racket. Through the blur in my eyes, I see him shoving the gym bag with whatever cash we promised toward the old man. "Get us to Panama and we'll be forever in your debt."

"Fasten your seatbelts, boys. It's gonna be a helluva ride," Arlo grunts, his gnarled hands working the controls with practiced ease. "There's a first aid kit under the seat. I'd appreciate it if you could keep my bird as clean as possible."

"We'll do the best we can!" Isaac responds, then turns back to me. His eyes hold mine for a moment, then his gaze drops to where blood seeps down my arm, staining my clothes. "Will you fucking let me look at it now, Dallas?" he demands. "Didn't you hear what the old man said? I gotta keep our ride clean and you're a fucking bloody mess."

"Okay. I'll let you take care of me now," is the last thing that comes out of my mouth before the blissful darkness swallows me up.