26. Pit stop

TWENTY-SIX

PIT STOP

CROSS

I make one pit stop on the way out of Springfield.

It’s quarter after two in the morning. The only store I could find that might have what I need is this rundown big box knock-off that has bars on its windows, three cars in the lot, and a maybe eighteen- or nineteen-year-old manning the only cashier lane that’s open.

He was scrolling his phone when I jogged through the door, my bare feet slapping against the sticky tile. I can’t tell if it’s the noise that startled him, or a lack of usual customers coming in at this hour, but he glances up with a sneer—and quickly loses it when he meets my eye.

The poor kid gulps. “Hey. Um. You need any help?”

A ton of it, I’m sure.

I shake my head. “Nope. Know exactly what I came in here for.”

“Oh. Cool. Well… if you need anything, I’ll be over here.”

As far away from me as he can get, I bet.

I nod, then look around. I’ve never been here before, but these stories are basically the same. Ducking down the aisle of men’s clothing, I keep going until I hit the shoe section. I find the first pair of boots in my size I can find, grab the price tag, and tug them on. I do up the laces so I don’t trip, then go jogging for housewares.

In less than five minutes, I have everything I need—and no way to pay for any of it. So instead of heading toward the check-out, I go right for the exit.

I know what I must look like. I definitely smell like smoke. I walked into this store without any shoes on, only to have a pair on my feet now. My knuckles are swollen. I’ve got blood spatter dotting my face, my arms, my neck. It’s hard to pick it up on my inked skin or my black t-shirt, but you can’t miss it on my face.

I look like a deranged guy who just might have an unconscious man in the trunk of his stolen car—which is exactly what I am.

The kid from before gets this expression on his face like he’s going to shit his pants as I bear down on him. I almost regret it, but then I remember the way Mickey threatened Genevieve. He tried to burn down my place, and that would’ve earned him an early grave as it is, but for threatening my butterfly?

I’m not going to make it quick.

For so long, I’ve kept my trauma behind a cage inside my chest. What happened to me as a kid fucked me up. It fucked me up so bad, I’ve spent twenty years pretending it didn’t happen. I don’t know if it was Mickey’s intention or not, but by setting that fire, by trying to burn me alive just like what happened to my family… he’s unlocked that cage, and now he has to deal with me .

I buried Carlos when all that was left of Ana Lucia, Rafe, and my poor mother were scattered ashes and bones. He was a scared, angry little boy who became a guarded, impassive man who only found any hint of joy in the art he created with a little ink and a tattoo needle.

Until Genevieve. Until her flames thawed out the icy remains of a battered and bruised heart.

If I had lost her, well and truly lost her and her love, I would’ve let the flames consume me tonight. I know that. After what happened in Hamilton, I was on a collision course with the death I narrowly escaped when I left the apartment after the last time my stepfather hurt me. Having known what it was like to be loved by Genevieve Libellula once, I don’t think I could’ve survived much longer without her.

But she’s mine now. And there isn’t anything I won’t do to keep her.

So, yeah. I regret that I’m probably scaring the shit out of this poor overnight clerk, but it can’t be helped.

I show him the rope I picked up. The knife I snagged from the housewares section of the store. The shovel I have tucked under my arm. The price tag from the shoes I shoved my feet into.

“It’s an emergency,” I tell him. “I forgot my wallet, but I can come back and pay for these in the morning if that’s cool.”

Then, just in case he missed it on my way in, I not-so-discreetly tap the devil on my arm.

Either he thinks I’m some insane man trying to steal from his shop, or he’ll recognize the devil and know I’m a Sinner. I’m leaving with this shit regardless. I just hope he has the good sense not to get in my way.

“Yeah, no. Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.” He gulps again. “Besides, we don’t, like, have cameras or anything. So, uh, you can just go and it’s like you were never here.”

Smart kid. “Thanks. Appreciate it, man.”

“You, too,” he says quickly, and I swear I can hear his knees knocking from where I’m standing by the open door. “Have a good rest of your night.”

I grin, and he blanches. “Oh. I will .”

It’s a shame. I screwed up that poor kid for nothing.

Well. Not really. I needed the boots to go marching off into the woods where I planned on burying Mickey Kelly when I was done with him. Same thing with the shovel since I wasn’t about to dig up the dirt with my hands. But the knife and the rope? Damn it. I had plans for those.

Too bad that Mickey had the indecency to die before I could get to them. He made a hell of a mess in the trunk of the car, too, which I feel a little bad about; the owners are gonna be in for a surprise when I return the car and they see the dried blood in the back. If I hadn’t just watched my life’s work go up in smoke, plus everything I own, I might feel worse, but as I glare down at Mickey’s corpse, I only wish I could’ve gotten more information about what exactly he planned to do to Genevieve if he’d managed to off me first.

He’ll never get the chance now. Dumb fuck wanted revenge for what I did, then to go after my butterfly because she had no choice but to take out that other prick who lorded over us the entire time we were held as Winter’s prisoner.

Mickey’s dead. Noah’s dead. I don’t know about Baker, and between Devil and Damien, Winter’s days are definitely numbered. The leader of his gang of Snowflakes seems to be a pro at hiding—especially, technically, he doesn’t even exist as he and his brother were playing one part at first, before Johnny took over the operation on his own—but I have faith that he’ll get what’s coming to him, too.

Just like this asshole did.

At least I know that there’s one target off of Genevieve’s back. Underestimating Mickey was my mistake; after he left the compound to get his cock reattached, I figured I’d never have to worry about him again. I’m just grateful that he decided to come for me first, but I know I won’t be able to end this night until I have Genevieve in my arms again, assuring myself that she’s alright.

After that, this staying apart shit is done . Her brother doesn’t want me staying at her place, and because of her studio, there are times she can’t stay at mine, but keeping us apart at all? No fucking way. My place is gone now. Sinners & Saints? Destroyed. I had to leave the fire behind me after I too off to get Mickey, but that’s just stuff. I can replace it.

If anything happens to Genevieve… there’s no replacing her .

I need to see her. To hold her. To see that she’s okay. I can’t call her. Like everything else I owned, I left my phone in the fire. My keys. My wallet. None of that mattered before, but that just means I have a stolen car, stolen shoes, and a dead man I need to get rid of.

But once I’ve got Mickey Kelly in a shallow grave, I’m taking one more joyride before I return the car where I found it. It’s the middle of the damn night. So long as I bring it back before dawn, I should be fine, especially since there’s gotta be fire trucks blocking the street by now, dealing with the inferno I ran away from.

Hmm. In that case, maybe I’ll abandon the car a couple of miles out and hoof it. Let the cops deal with the missing car and the blood in the trunk, and I’ll just stroll up to the charred remains of my old life after the fire’s gone.

Who needs the past when I have a future with my butterfly to look forward to?