Blood to Dust(55)

Fuck it.

I swing onto the shoulder of the freeway, inches from the concrete divider, and lift the handbrake quickly.

“Yo, Pea, what’s up?”

I know she cries. A lot. Over the past few weeks, I saw her pink eyes, the puffy skin beneath her lashes. She cries, but never in front of men. Always alone and in the dark. So why now?

“This is stupid.” She shakes her head, wiping away a tear using the sleeve of my hoodie. Even now, she looks sad, but not helpless. “We need to move. We still have to take pictures for the new IDs.”

“Why are you crying?” I insist. Fuck the f*cking pictures.

“It’s stupid, just start the car. We’re running out of time.”

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

She looks out her window, tapping it with her fingertips, obviously embarrassed.

“I’mscadyo mighsto likee me,” she mumbles.

“What?” I move closer, which rewards me with another hit from her stress ball, right into my groin this time.

“I’m worried you might not like me anymore!” She yells, throwing her arms in the air. “What if you decide to ditch me before we get to Godfrey and Seb, or the minute you get your new passport?”

I take her face in my hands without thinking much of it. The need to touch this girl is overwhelming in a way that f*cks up every single working cell in my brain. Carefully, I bring my nose to hers, my lips hovering over her pinks, staring right back at her.

“If you think I’d ever bail on you, you’re out of your beautiful, twisted mind. And if you think just because I didn’t come, I don’t find you attractive anymore, you’re a psycho. Because there’s nowhere I’d rather be than between your legs. And if you think that you’re damaged goods because of what those lowlifes did to you, then you’re an idiot. It’s just the opposite, Pea. They built a woman who’s untouchable. So many people have tried, me included. But you’re stronger than anything, which is why we’re sitting in this stupid car right now, chasing freedom. You think I don’t like you?” I breathe into her mouth.

I’m f*cking crazy about you.

It’s a depressing realization, not one that I’m willing to admit out loud. But the thing about the truth is, sometimes you don’t need to look for it. Sometimes it finds you.

I wouldn’t have killed Godfrey and Sebastian. But she asked for it, and, well, what she asks for, she’ll get. At least from me.

“I do like you,” I finish quietly, not stupid enough to entertain myself with the possibility of giving her the whole truth. “I like you, all right.”

“I like you too.” Her nose brushes back and forth against mine in an Eskimo kiss.

Breathe, assclown. Fucking breathe.

I pull away and look back at the highway while I rev up the engine.

“But I didn’t say I was damaged goods.”

“You think it. Which is even worse. Now, repeat after me: I’m not a victim, I’m a goddamned survivor.”

“I’m not a victim, I’m a goddamn survivor.” She rolls her eyes. I hit the accelerator and speed south, determined to get to our destination before night falls.

“Lift your head up, Baby-Cakes. Don’t let your crown fall. And just for the record, I didn’t come because you were using your teeth like my dick was dental floss. Trust me, I’m so hard for you, the thought of checking into a motel tonight makes my mind work overtime.”

“Who said we’re sharing a room?” she asks with a sly smile.

That’s my Prescott.

“We’re sharing a room. And I’m licking your crack. You owe me one for the Beatmobile and the loss of Stella.”

“Nate Vela, you’re a vile man.”

“And I’m going to violate every hole in your body tonight.”





Great. I cried in front of him.

I’m a crybaby. During my captivity, I made sure I cried when no one saw, because I remember what Camden told me all those years ago. Never let your enemies see you break. Your indifference disables their victory. So by the time Beat came for me, my eyes were always dry.

Nate is wrong. I’m not untouchable. I’ve been touched too many times. Each handprint left a scar. It would take years to scrub off the marks and dig out my true self again.

I fall asleep curled into myself, next to him, while he eats up the rest of the journey to Los Angeles at an absurd speed. The minute we hit La La Land, we walk into the first mall we hit, take the passport pictures and get out with our fingers laced together. I’m not sure who makes the first move, it kind of feels like our hands just magnetically connected. The silence between us is comfortable and accepting, and most of all—content. But I’m keeping secrets from him, at least two that’d make him walk away from this arrangement, and I hope to God he doesn’t find out before we split.

Nate has his hoodie over his head to hide the tattoos—although it’s hard to go unnoticed when you’re a six-foot-five pile of muscles and hotness—and I wear my best innocent expression.

It’s time to get down to business.




Is actually a hot shot in the Department of State. Fortyish years old. Neat hairstyle. A real life Walter White, only less relatable. You’d never guess what this suited, respectable man does to make an extra buck. But the extra cash is needed in order to pay for his dark little cocaine addiction.