Chapter 2 Rough, Wild, and Hot

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ROUGH, WILD, AND HOT

Gemma

EACH AND EVERY breath requires a conscious effort—it's dry and hot, heavy tufts of thick air that have to be forcefully dragged into my lungs.

There's no air conditioning. We're packed in like sardines. My fellow convicts and I are seated shoulder-to-shoulder, trapped on an old school bus that's been repurposed for prisoner transport. My face is turned toward the open window, and I'm living for the oven-baked breeze that flows through as we travel the highways on the four-hour drive from Phoenix to the fucking inner circle of hell.

Ninety-eight degrees Fahrenheit.

"Not bad for late May." That's what the officer at the front of the bus had said.

Ninety-eight degrees, my ass.

It's got to be over a hundred.

This entire journey has been a nightmare. It began with a drive from the temporary detention center in Connecticut to the airport, which took nearly ninety minutes. Another hour passed before they put me on a non-stop flight to Phoenix. I would have savored those hours spent in air conditioning and relative silence if I'd known they were putting me on this bus next.

The fucking heat.

It's making me second guess my entire plan. I'm itching, antsy, struggling against the instinctual urge to scream and fight my way off this bus at any cost. I feel like I'd rather die than spend another second sitting still as I slowly roast from the inside out.

"I'm definitely an indoor girl."

"What?" The burly, bearded man in shackles sitting beside me looks at me as though I've offended him in some way.

I track a bead of sweat as it rolls down his cheek, drips off his chin, and lands on his lap. He looks as miserable as I feel.

I give him full, unyielding eye contact. "I'm gonna fucking miss air conditioning."

He stares at me for a minute, scrutinizing my face. "Yeah," he sighs, his expression softening, "me, too."

We share a nod in mutual understanding before we look away from one another. He stares straight ahead as I turn my face toward the Kentucky fried breeze coming in through the window.

It's mostly quiet on the journey, everyone on board silently sweating and suffering as we travel along an open desert highway. We pass through a few small, remote towns along the route, but it's mostly barren, dry land stretching out on both sides of the highway. Some sparse vegetation breaks the monotony of beige dirt, which stretches into the horizon. Rocky outcrops and mountains in the distance stand tall and overwhelming, signaling the roughness of the Earth that created these monstrous structures.

Everything surrounding me is rough and wild.

Rough, wild, and hot…

Not the kind of rough, wild, and hot a thirty-year-old woman in her prime would normally be seeking, but it's not like I ever got to have that kind of life.

I was twenty-four when those bastards broke me and left me for dead. I was too focused on achievement in the years preceding to sow any wild oats, as they say. I tried to live after what they'd done, but they froze me in time. I couldn't move forward. I couldn't be happy. I couldn't date men, and God knows, I tried.

I tried to date a woman once…

I love women—glorious, life creating, powerful creatures that we are. But I couldn't give her the physical intimacy she deserved.

I'm cursed with heterosexuality.

Fucking men.

Sweat runs down my face and soaks through my vivid orange jumpsuit. I don't even have a tie to pull back my formerly bubblegum, now faded pastel pink, hair. It wouldn't matter if I did. These shackles around my wrists and ankles that chain me to the bolts in the floor would prevent me from lifting my hands to make a ponytail. I try not to think too hard about the sweat at the back of my neck.

At some point, we traverse a bridge over water, crossing state lines from Arizona into California. The officer at the front of the bus shouts a warning that we're twenty minutes out from the Transition Center in Needles.

It takes me a few moments to work out that Needles must be the name of some small town where the Transition Center is located. For a second, I imagined them sticking me with a hundred acupuncture needles before processing my Eviction through the Transition Center.

The Transition Center in Needles.

They'd have to stick me with all the needles they can find to distract me from this heat. I'd kill for a fan. I laugh because I did kill, and that's what put me on this bus to suffer the heat in the first place.

I look out at the river beneath us as we cross the bridge, imagining how refreshing it would be to hurl myself over the edge and plunge into the cool stream.

Is it the Colorado River?

Whatever it is, it feels so contrary to the land around it. A winding flow of water cutting through such a dry, barren world feels misplaced.

I find myself thinking about the river long after we've crossed the bridge. Sometimes I feel like a river finding its way through an unforgiving world…

We turn off the highway, transitioning from pavement to navigate desert back roads, bumping along dirt paths. The wheels kick up dust, which floats in through the open windows. The cloud of dust dries out my eyes, mingling with the air to make each oppressive breath more stifling than the last.

I'm approaching a breaking point, where the intense need to escape the heat consumes me, threatens to send me into a panic. The last few minutes of this trip feel like the longest. Anxiety claws at my chest, makes me itch with the urge to scream.

Then, finally, the bus slows.

We come to a stop.

I peer out the window, watch the cloud of dust slowly settle to reveal a gray, unassuming building in the middle of the desert. A wide concrete canopy stretches out from the roof of the building to shade the entrance.

"Attention upfront." I look toward the voice to find one of the officers at the front of the bus, stepping out from his seat, turning in the aisleway to face us. "Listen carefully. We've arrived at the Transition Center, and yes, this is your final destination. In just a few moments, we will direct you off the bus in a quick and orderly fashion. You will form a single line, standing shoulder to shoulder, and parallel to the bus. You will stand quietly and await further instructions.

"We are bus number three arriving today, and five more are coming in behind us. The Center will be processing just under three hundred and fifty of you outlaws for Eviction over the next three hours. While that may sound like a large number to you, I assure you, it's not. We've averaged processing just over five hundred outlaws on each monthly Eviction Day over the last six months.

"Why do I tell you this? Because I want to make it crystal fucking clear that we are well-equipped to control each and every one of you. You may think that stepping off this bus is your opportunity to run, but let me assure you, it is not. There is only one Center that processes outlaws for Evictions, and that, right there," he stretches his arm, pointing toward the building, "that's it. This is a well-funded federal operation. Do not delude yourself into thinking you can run. Our officers are granted permission under federal law to use any means necessary against fleeing or combative outlaws, including the use of deadly force.

"Make no mistake, ladies and gentlemen, you will be processed and Evicted today, despite any futile plans you've made to try to escape your fate. There will be plenty of opportunity for you to run out into the desert and do whatever the fuck you want once you've entered the Territory, so please, hold your half-baked, stupid plans until that time. Thank you."

He quickly turns and steps off the bus as two other officers in the front and three more in the back stand, moving into the aisle and barking orders. I wait impatiently as they visit each seat to work one person at a time, carefully unlocking a portion of the chains. The cuffs remain tethered between wrists, but they're detached from the ankle chains, which are bolted to the floor. Then, the ankle cuffs are removed, and those chains are left behind. One outlaw at a time, the officers unshackle us from the floor and lead us off the bus.

At least fifteen outlaws are ahead of me, forming a shoulder-to-shoulder line when it's finally my turn to escape the oven on wheels. I step into the line and turn my back to the bus like the others, facing the entrance of the building. We're feet away from the shade provided by the awning, but shadows from my left and right block me from direct sunlight all the same—it appears I'm sandwiched between two tall men.

I look up at one, then the other, then look all the way down each side of the line before I come to the realization…

"Am I the only woman in this group?"

Someone down the line says, "Sure are, princess."

Someone else whistles as a few others chuckle.

"Quiet!" an officer, who's probably younger than me, barks the command.

He closes in on the line, heading in my direction, and I notice then that there's at least a half dozen new officers who came out from the facility when we arrived. He makes a beeline for me, swings his rifle back over his shoulder so it hangs strapped to his back, wielding his unearned power in the same way he probably flings his dick around with vulnerable women.

The fucker moves right in front of me, stops and stands with no more than a foot of distance between us, invading my personal space. I can already feel my lip snarling, the rumble of a warning growl looming in the pit of my stomach. I can sense right away that he's not well-intentioned, but I still raise my eyes to meet his without fear.

He plasters a wide, shit-eating grin across his face. "Are you feeling a sense of pride for being the only one with a cunt on that bus full of degenerate losers?"

I hear a couple of snickers from a few who must think that's a gut-punching insult to a girl like me. It isn't, and their response doesn't surprise me. But I am surprised to hear a few of those so-called "degenerate losers" speak up in protest on my behalf. I even see one of them take a step forward, out of line, before being ordered back by another handsy officer.

That was… nice.

I don't ever recall a man standing up for me. I'm not really sure how to process that.

The officer glances sideways, then tilts his head. "Did you suck that guy's cock on the bus or something?" He smiles again, and it makes me want to vomit on his bullet-proof vest. "Come on now. Give us a smile. I'll bet you're pretty when you smile."

Though my hands are still cuffed together, I'm able to lift them between us to show him both of my raised middle fingers. I use the tip of each one to push up the corners of my lips, forcing my mouth to curve up into a sarcastic smile.

His hand floats up, then lands too gently on the chain attaching my handcuffs. Slowly, he pushes my hands down, then takes a step forward, leaning in so close that I can smell the mix of aftershave and sweat on his cheeks.

He lowers his voice. "I know who you are."

"You have no idea who I am."

"I watched your live stream."

His nose touches mine and I jerk my head back, my face scrunching in disgust, but my movement only encourages him to inch closer, to further invade my space without permission or invitation.

"I saw what you did to those men."

Glancing through my peripheral vision, I see that other outlaws from both ends of the line are being dismissed. The other officers move quickly to identify, check in, and filter each person into the building. Yet a lone guard stands in front of me, far too close and threatening.

"You're a filthy little cunt, and you deserve everything that's coming to you out there. Pretty little bitch like you won't last twenty minutes."

Anger claws in my chest, scratching to get out of its cage, but I fight it. I keep it caged, keep it as fuel to add to the fireball of rage I'll unleash when I find Seb.

Instead, I keep the sarcastic grin plastered on my cheeks, hold his stare, despite all the ugliness I see behind his eyes, and remain silent. I won't give him another word because that's what he wants. He gets off on a reaction, and I won't give him that satisfaction.

"Do you have something to say to me? You had a lot to say on social media, but you're awfully quiet now, aren't you? Do you wish you could sing me a little song and cut me open, too?"

I remain silent.

I give him nothing.

And then, he collides with me, pushing me backward until my spine hits the metal side of the bus.

"Come on, Siren. That's what they call you, right? You sing your little songs and men come crawling just so you can hurt them?"

I turn my head just enough to keep his face from touching mine, but I keep my eyes locked on his, holding him to his quiet commitment to threaten me. "Seems like it worked on you. Crawled right on up out of the sewers to find me, yeah?" He slams his hand so hard against the bus beside my face that I can't help but flinch. I recover quickly, though, managing a small laugh. "Go ahead, officer, put your hands on me. Hurt me. I dare you."

His eyes show the exact moment when he decides that accepting that dare is worth the risk—though maybe it's not a risk at all for him. Who's to say whether anyone would care if an officer hurt an outlaw on their way to Eviction?

"Hey!" Another officer suddenly appears at my side, latching onto his arm. "Step back, Officer Smith."

"Officer Cruz." Smith backs up with haste, taking two quick steps backward in compliance. He gives me a contemptuous look before dragging his hateful stare from mine and addresses Officer Cruz directly. "Sir, I'd like to request permission to do a cavity search on this outlaw. I have a reasonable suspicion that she's attempting to smuggle drugs into the Territory."

"Gemma Rose Hadley?" I turn my head to look at Officer Cruz when he calls my name.

He's an older gentleman—probably in his fifties—with a hardened expression and kind eyes. He looks down, and I follow his gaze to the electronic tablet in his hands. "Gemma Rose Hadley, correct?"

"Yes."

"Please hold still." He lifts the tablet, holding it in front of my face as though he's going to take a picture. "Both eyes open wide for a retinal scan."

I hold still and wait.

"I apologize for the delay you seem to be having here with Officer Smith." He lowers his tablet when it beeps, then taps the screen. "We'll get things straightened out for you right away."

Pinned to the bus and caught in a power struggle, I wouldn't have noticed that I'm the only remaining outlaw left standing outside.

"Your identity has been confirmed, Ms. Hadley." Officer Cruz tucks the tablet between his arm and waist, pinning it there with his elbow as he turns to Smith. "Okay, Officer Smith. I'm listening. Please tell me about your reasonable suspicion that she's… what did you say, smuggling drugs into the Territory?"

"Well, she's a violent felon, Officer Cruz." He puts on that nasty smile I know he thinks is charming. "Isn't that reason enough?"

"No." Officer Cruz is sharp and serious with his response. "Anything else?"

"I don't trust her."

"Has she given you a reason not to trust her?"

"She murdered—"

"Has she given you a reason today ? Since she's stepped off that bus, what has she said or done that's given you a reasonable suspicion that she's somehow managed, not only to access drugs, but to place them in a body cavity since being searched at the last security checkpoint?"

"Female outlaws are—"

"I'll stop you right there. Request denied, Officer Smith. You can move along now. Another bus comes in twenty, and you have tasks to complete before then."

Smith looks me up and down with a clenched jaw. "Yes, sir." He takes his time turning away, then finally heads inside the building.

A relieved breath rushes out of me.

"Apologies, Ms. Hadley. I'll ensure you make it safely through processing to the Red Zone, but I'm afraid that's the best I can do for you." He looks at me squarely. "I'm afraid you're going to find yourself staring down a lot of angry men for the rest of your life."

"I'll be fine."

"I'd suggest you make fast friends with the right people."

I feel like I'm dying from the heat, sweating buckets, especially after Smith's invasion of my personal space. "Can we go inside now?" All I can think about is taking two steps forward into the shade.

But Cruz steps in front of me, blocking any escape. "There are places in Lawless Land that you don't want to find yourself." His voice is quieter than it was before, like he's telling me something he doesn't want anyone else to hear.

"Lawless Land?"

"Stay away from the Reborn. Don't let them convince you that they'll take care of you. They won't. Avoid major roads and highways. If you hear an engine, hide—"

"An engine? Like a car or—"

"Sometimes. Cars, motorcycles, dune buggies… There aren't a lot of them out there anymore since usable gasoline is scarce, but there are some pickers with access to resources, some who look for women coming through on Eviction days, and they usually have vehicles."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Just listen. The Reborn will target you. Pickers will target you. There are going to be a lot of pissed off men who will target you, and that's going to start as soon as you enter the Red Zone. Find women who know you as the Siren, who appreciate what you did. Seek them out the moment you go through those doors and make friends with them. Connection is how you survive."

I don't need to tell him that I'm not interested in survival beyond the time it takes me to find and kill Logan Sebastian. Instead, I ask, "How do you know all this?"

"Officer Cruz?" We both look at an officer standing at the entrance. "Do you need back-up?"

Cruz waves a hand to signal he's okay. "I don't know anything." He says it in a way that suggests he knows more than he should. "Let's just call it wild speculation and leave it at that. Now, go on." He jerks his head over his shoulder toward the main entrance. "Head on in. Might be the last time you experience air conditioning… Unless you can make it to the city."

Maybe he really is spouting wild speculation about the Territory, but I'm not going to stick around to ask. The moment he confirmed the building was air-conditioned, my feet started moving me toward it. I take a step to move past him, but he gently taps my arm.

I stop beside him as he leans sideways, close enough to speak in a soft voice. "I know it's a long shot, but I have to try. If you ever meet a girl named Nova Cruz, would you… Could you maybe just tell her that her dad said hello?"

Ah, that's it, then…

His daughter was Evicted.

His child was banished to the Territory.

She may be dead.

For obvious reasons, I'm curious. Naturally, I wonder what crime this cop's daughter committed to wind up with a life sentence in the Territory.

"She's a quiet girl. A good kid," he tells me. "She got mixed up with a bad crowd and made some mistakes—one life-altering mistake. For what it's worth, I wouldn't call what you did a mistake. You're a strong woman, Ms. Hadley. If my girl's still alive out there, I'd hope she could find a friend with some backbone. Someone like you."

"I'm not planning to be friends with anyone out there." I soften my expression and tell him a lie, a promise I can't keep. "But if I happen to come across her, I'll tell her."

He gives me a tight smile and nods his gratitude. "Okay. That's it then. Meet Officer Johnson at the door."

I finally step into the shade created by the awning, and it's glorious. It encourages a quick stride toward the air-conditioned building. I pause before going through the door Officer Johnson holds open for me, stealing one last look at Officer Cruz. He's lost in thought, gazing off down the dirt road we traveled in from.

I scan him, waiting for a stab of instinct, a knowing feeling of his deception, but it never comes.

Maybe his kindness was genuine.

Maybe he does know things about the Territory.

Maybe his guidance is worth following.