Blood to Dust (23 page)

And the worst part? I don’t trust her, either.

As she punches the screen, looking left and right, fiddling with an old cell phone she jammed a SIM card into and texting an unknown number, it dawns on me that I really don’t know what her next move is, and whether it involves compromising me.

In other words, I put my trust, life and what’s left of my soul in a girl I don’t trust enough to pour me a glass of water without suspecting she poisoned it.

She jumps back into the car with a pile of one hundred dollar bills in her fist, counting the money by licking her thumb and flipping through it.

“I can only withdraw one thousand at a time, but it’ll get us through today and tomorrow.” She punches an address into my GPS app and places it in its stand. “What? You’re looking at me funny.”

I didn’t even realize I was staring. But I am.

I shake my head, and my weird mood, then throw Stella into drive.

“Just make sure my fifty grand is ready by next week. I’m planning around it.” My tone lashes against her face.

We spend our journey to Hussein, her Iranian car dealer, in unwinding silence. It gives me time to think about what I’ve done. The parole officer will be knocking on my door sooner or later, and Irv is going to tell him the truth. That I ran away. By then, I’ll need to be at least out of the state, if not the country.

But no one promises me that I will be.

I break the silence. “How long will it take your guy to produce the passports?” Prescott’s face twitches, her eyes still trained on the road.

“I’m hoping we’ll have them by tomorrow morning. It depends on when we get to Los Angeles today. We still need to take passport pictures and give them to him. Why? Jumping ship already?”

She’s trying to disguise her anxiety with a chuckle. She’s nervous, as she should be. It’s going to be hard to take down three grown, pissed-off, powerful men by herself. Prescott tried once, and we all know where that brought her.

“I have a week tops to fuck around before the authorities hunt my ass down. Camden’s not in the states yet. And frankly?” I shoot her a look, partly to gauge a reaction from her, but mostly to linger on those lips. “He’s not my fucking problem. I’m not gonna wait around for him. But we’ll take Godfrey and Seb together before I leave. That, I guarantee.”

Okay, asshole, now let’s try and figure out what made you say that.

Maybe I wanted to prove to myself that I’m not so pussy-whipped that I’ll kill someone I haven’t even met just for a girl.

We all have vices, and I’m starting to believe Pea’s mine.

Prescott (I still can’t believe I caved in and called her that. I also find it difficult to stomach the fact that this stupid name’s growing on me.) narrows her eyes into slits and takes out a stress ball, clasping it like it killed her puppy.

“Don’t worry. I want Camden all to myself. You were never a part of the plan.”

Touché.

I kill the engine in front of a one-story bungalow in Concord, and a tan guy in a blue robe holding a cup of coffee saunters casually through the door.

Now that the sun is almost up, the clean morning air sweeps through my nostrils and the reality of what we’re doing sinks in. I drink Hussein in. He’s got a week’s worth of stubble on his face and a head full of black hair. When he opens his mouth, a thick accent accompanies his words.

“Prescott, you little troublemaker, how’ve you been?”

Pea unbuckles and jumps out of the truck, slamming the door in my face. On purpose, of course. She walks to his spot on the yellow grass and shoves her hands into her leather jacket.

Man, she’s got a great ass.

Focus, idiot.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” she says a little louder than necessary, making sure I’m within earshot. “Hey, Huss, I need a favor.”

“You mean,
another
favor,” he enunciates, taking a slow sip from his coffee. “I’m listening.”

“I need to trade this Tacoma for another car. Preferably something with an out-of-state license plate. Something fast, but not flashy.”

I jump out of Stella and shut the door behind me, walking toward her. She doesn’t even turn around to acknowledge my presence, let alone introduce me to the guy.

“Why don’t we change the license plate? We don’t need to replace the whole fucking vehicle.” I rage. “I can’t part ways with Stella yet.”

She spins slowly, her face still blank.

“Stella?” she repeats, tilting her chin down as she inspects me. “Think again. Your truck looks more like a Gladys. Stella is a hot girl’s name.”

I stare her down through a hooded gaze, but this time, she doesn’t budge. “And to answer your question—do you really want to run away from the baddies with your signature tinted-windowed, red Tacoma? I mean, it’s a good idea, but you might want to just walk straight into Godfrey’s office, unzip, place your balls on his desk and give him the hammer to smash them with.”

I offer her a long, middle finger, but she’s got a point. Hussein behind her chuckles into his mug.

“You guys are cute.”

“Shut up,” we both say in unison, still staring each other down. I really want to kill her, and really, really want to hit that shit. I’m not going to lie, though, part of her charm is the fact that she’s fearless, no matter my size and track record, even though she’s been burned by men before.

Tough cookie, but delicious all the same.

“This truck’s in good condition,” I grit. “Whatever’s left from the trade ends up in my pocket.”

“Fine,” she shrugs, turning her attention back to Hussein, who is grinning from ear to ear, still planted on his front lawn. His unkempt grass is the opposite of Mrs. Hathaway’s lush, green one. It reminds me that on a normal day, I would’ve hit the road by now on my way to her house to avoid traffic. It’s not like me to not show up. I’ve never taken a sick day in my life. But I won’t risk my neck in the name of etiquette. After all—Godfrey hooked me up with the job. I’ve no idea how tight he is with Stan Hathaway and how far his accountant is willing to go for him.

Prescott and Hussein exchange words while I continue staring at the back of her head, wondering how the hell I got here and why I am placing my future in the manicured hands of a twenty-five-year-old blonde from suburbia. We’re going to trade Stella for a beat-down, black Corvette. Tinted windows. Nevada license plate. Rough state. When Hussein leaves for the back of his lot and rolls around the corner with it, I snort out a laugh. I’m not sure what year the car is, but suffice to say we’re about the same age.

Hussein slaps cash into Pea’s hand and she gives me the difference without counting the bills, before awarding the middle-aged man with a hug and a tap on the shoulder.

“Take care of yourself, Prescott,” he says, eyeing me suspiciously. I nod a goodbye at him and climb into the driver’s seat. I can barely fit into this low, small car with my height and width. My knees touch the steering wheel and I need to bend my neck if I don’t want my head to hit the roof. Shit, my nose is almost touching the windshield.

“Good choice, Prescott. Next time, why don’t you fix us up with a fucking unicycle? That’d be fun.”

“Hey!” She throws her bag to the backseat. “It’s not my fault you’re the size of a Costco warehouse. This is a great car. Looks like the Batmobile.”

“It’s beat-down and old,” I retort.

“Beatmobile,” she concludes. “We shall call it the Beatmobile.”

“I liked you better when you were blindfolded and locked in my basement,” I murmur, starting the car, the rumble of its engine roaring to life.

“And I liked you better when you were locked in a cell in San Dimas, watching your youth waste away.”

Yeah. I fucked up bad by telling her I would ditch her after this week. The worst part about it? I didn’t even mean it.

Shit, I didn’t even
think
it.

Planning ahead requires attention, and right now, the only thing I’m focusing on is staying alive and killing Godfrey and Sebastian before they kill us.

Where am I going after this murder crusade? Canada? Mexico? What am I going to do in Mexico? My Spanish isn’t good enough to live there. Unless I plan on sticking to ordering food and swearing at soccer teams for the rest of my life. Then, I’m good.

No. I’ll move to Canada, which will give me the language advantage. But fuck, the weather. It can get real cold. Although, I’d be one state away from Iowa. Prescott could visit me all the time. . . Wait, what the fuck am I thinking? Visiting me in. . .whoa. Slow down there, stud. She’s just a brat who’s using you to get ahead in the game. You should be doing the same. Get your head out of your ass, Nate.

Thankfully, Miss Fucking-off-to-Iowa smacks me out of my reverie. She throws the stress ball at my forehead and it bounces back into her hand.

“Earth to Nate. This is the direction we’re heading. And it’s jammed as hell.” She points at the GPS with the hand that clasps the ball. “We won’t get to Los Angeles for another six to seven hours, if we’re lucky.”

“We’re good. We’ll just have to stop at the first L.A. mall we get to, take photos for our fake IDs and get some more money. We’ll hit downtown L.A. before dinnertime, give your guy everything he needs, check into a motel and wait it out.” I signal the blinkers and swerve onto the highway, rolling down the windows and letting the hot, dense summer air breeze into our car. The noise of the outside swallows Prescott’s delicate voice, but I can still hear her yelling through the wind.

“You’re a shithead for not sticking around for Camden, Nate.”

Is that right? The girl’s still keeping a fucking dagger in her panties. My dagger, by the way, and she’s pissed off about me not throwing myself under the bus for her?

“Let me ask you something,” I start. My nostrils flare, and I slide the shades I retrieved from Stella up the bridge of my nose to cover my eyes, because I can’t chance her seeing what’s behind them. “If your sensitive soul is so crushed about me not sticking around, why don’t you come with me to Canada when we’re done? Didn’t we say something about a blood oath?”

“You might want to rethink that incident, because, if I remember correctly, that’s around the same time you fucked me and bailed on me for oh, four days or so?”

“I came to my senses.” I crush my teeth together. I wanted to fight it. Us. Whatever this fucked-up thing was, I didn’t want to be a part of it.

The Beatmobile slows down to a stop, and we’re stuck in traffic, moving south from Concord to Los Angeles. I check on Prescott through my darkened sunglasses and know that she’s just as uneasy about this as I am.

Standing still is not an option in our situation. There’s a police car five vehicles away, and if they decide to stop us, my life is over.

“I’m not coming with you to Canada, or Cabo, or wherever the hell you’re going after this is all over,” Pea whispers hotly, licking her lips. “I’m going to Iowa, just like I said. You held me hostage, for crying out loud.”

“Give me my dagger,” I fire at her.

“No. You still haven’t convinced me you’re trustworthy enough not to stab me in the middle of the night.”

I wrench my eyes back to the road, shaking my head. We spend the next four hours in silence. I use the time to mull over the whole Mexico versus Canada debate. I’m leaning toward Mexico. Closer and less chance of me being handed back into the open arms of the US authorities.

When the afternoon rolls around and I hear Prescott’s stomach complaining loudly, I pull in at a gas station. I need to stretch my limbs. This car is fucking killing me.

“Would you like to hear our specials for today? We’ve got Twix for a starter and glazed-BBQ Lays for an entrée,” I stick my head into her window. The blonde spitfire bounces the soft stress ball off my nose a couple of times as she speaks.

“Two Red Bulls and a sandwich. And chips. Oh, and something sweet. Chocolate. I’d like a Diet Pepsi, too.”

I come back with approximately sixty percent of the convenient mart’s goods and switch on the ignition. Prescott pumped gas while I was inside. I groan when my knees hit the steering wheel again. I shouldn’t have let her shake hands on this car. By the time we’re done, I’ll shrink to half my size in this thing.

“I miss Stella. The Beatmobile sucks ass,” I say, pulling back onto the main road. Prescott throws her hands up in despair.

“Would you stop moping? I hate to break it to you, but there’s probably another guy deep inside Stella right now, riding her like there’s no tomorrow.”

“Bitch,” I drone, creamy clouds move away to make room for the blues and pinks of the sun. This day is turning out to be fucking stunning. Maybe it’s the weather.

And maybe it’s the girl.

“I’m joking, Nate. Would it help if I gave you head?”

My neck heats and my eyes water with the possibility.
Okay, it’s definitely the girl.

“A little. Let me lick your crack when we get to the motel. That’d put a smile back on my face.”

She rolls her eyes on a smirk. “Fine. In the meantime, I’m unzipping you.”

I don’t dare move my gaze from the road. My blood is pumping so hard in my veins, I’m surprised I’m not bursting like an overcooked wrapped meal in a microwave. I’m not even sure I’d like her to give me head. I’m liable to throw us right into the ocean with those lips on my junk. After all, we’re passing beach towns. It’s damn likely I would.

“Here?” I ask coolly.

“Why not?” She pushes her hair up off of her face, angling closer. “Tinted windows, and I’ve been meaning to see how much of you I can take. I have a suspicion it’ll be just the tip.”

I suck in my cheeks so that my mouth won’t break into a shit-eating grin of the douchebag variety. My left hand is still on the wheel, while I use my right one to grab the back of her head roughly and pull it into my lap. She unzips me and I help her by lifting my ass from the seat to give her better access. My dick is swollen, stiff and ready to get to know those pinks up-close. She reaches for my boxers and strokes my cock in her hand. It jerks its appreciation in response. I’m still not sure why she’s doing this. We weren’t on good terms when we left Hussein’s house, and I was under the impression she’d let me sweat before letting me into her pussy or mouth again.