Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
I smack his arm. “Don’t fucking laugh at me. Yes, I’m being serious and thoughtful.”
He takes my hand in his and lets his laughter settle. I watch as the possibility of what I’m suggesting settles in his brain. His eyes lose their spark and he unconsciously grips my hand tighter. Then…
“What… what makes you even think that?” Danny now asks with hesitation and concern.
“The way Alec’s been talking. The way he seems almost… apologetic. The way he clearly put us together back at the hotel and didn’t join in, exactly. It all feels like…” I’m having a harder time getting these words out than I like. “It almost feels like… he’s trying to say goodbye.”
Danny looks at me.
I look at him.
His brow furrows.
“We need a car,” Danny says, marching into the warehouse.
“What?” Russell responds.
“A car, a van, a truck, what’s around?” He’s trying to keep the urgency out of his voice but not quite succeeding.
“What are you on about?” Eliza asks, walking over from where she was kneeling by one of the doped-up Lynch boys, applying a fresh bandage to the place where she shot the kid. And even though this is a bizarre thought and absolutely the wrong time to have it, the thing that passes through my brain is, That’s probably a maternal instinct thing. I’ll bet she’s a good mom.
I’m too young for my brain to be this scrambled. But here we are.
“Why do you need a car?” Eliza continues.
“Just,” Danny starts, “I’ve got a bad feeling. We don’t have fucking comms, Alec’s all alone, and I think we’re all too swept up in the emotion of shit to have been thinking clearly. Letting him go by himself was a dumb fucking idea.”
Eliza studies Danny for a breath and then says, “You think we’re all too swept up by emotion.” It’s a half-question, half-accusation.
“What-the-fuck-ever. Alec did what he does and somehow got us all to sign onto some idea he had about, I dunno, chivalry or some shit. Whether it was genuine or not on his part, we still kind of got played.”
Eliza’s eyes harden and her jaw tightens. If Alec manipulated us before, Danny’s now also manipulating her emotions to get what he wants. It’s just what we do, I guess. It’s who we are.
At least we’re trying to use our powers for sort-of good now.
“Eliza,” Danny says, taking on a kind of reasoned tone, “Alec doesn’t know Brasil. I do. And, frankly, it’s Christine he’s pissed at. It’s Christine he wants.”
I try to hide my shock but, not gonna lie… what the fuck?
“It was Christine who took the shot that killed David. That note Brasil left? He’s never going to let that go. And he’s the kind of asshole who won’t feel satisfied until he’s hurt every single person who had anything to do with it. That means that until both Alec and Christine have paid whatever price he thinks they owe, this won’t be over. Me? I’m just… I’m just collateral damage to his particular vendetta. Yeah, he’s pissed at me. But he’s only pissed because of my relationship to the people who he feels did him dirty. Which means… which means that if I make like I’m handing him over everything he wants, Alec and Christine, I might stand a shot at getting back Theo and Andra without anyone else getting hurt. Maybe.”
Eliza continues staring at him, jaw tight. She looks at Russell. She looks over her shoulder at Charlie and Brenden, who have been watching from the side. She looks at me. She looks back at Danny.
There’s no way she’s going to be cool with this. And she shouldn’t be. It’s a stupid fucking plan. No way in Hell that—
“Fine,” she says.
Jesus fucking Christ, the surprises just never stop around here, do they?
“Russell?” she asks by way of an order.
Russell sighs, nods, and points to the back of the warehouse. “Uh… yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay. You can take that.”
I look where he’s pointing.
Okay.
Well.
Here we go.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I check the kill switch, flip the ignition on, grip the throttle, stomp down, and the Bonneville rumbles to life. It’s a beautiful sound. The bike is so old and covered in so much dust that I wasn’t sure it would start. But the old Triumph’s sturdy, British-engineered motor pulls through.
I have no idea how long it’s been sitting here or whose bike it is or what the fuck the meaning of my life is anymore, but it’s funny. As soon as I’m seated on a bike that has roared into action and I breathe in the fumes and get that oily smell and taste circulating through my nose and mouth, all seems right with the world, even if for only a moment.
Christine grips me tight around my midsection, the feel of her body pressing against mine giving me even more of a sense of comfort. Of familiarity. Of home.