Blood to Dust(70)

“Say it,” I demand, collecting her hair into a ponytail I let loose over her left shoulder. “Again.”

No mom. No dad. No siblings. I need it. I’m getting it. I’m going to take everything she’s willing to give me before we say our goodbyes.

“I love you, Nate Vela. And it scares the living hell out of me. Why’d you have to go and steal my heart like this?”

I don’t answer her with words. They won’t do justice to what I have to say. I kiss her sweet lips that are just starting to heal from splitting open again yesterday. A deep kiss that’s not at all sexual. I wouldn’t call it romantic or soft, either. But it’s intimate. Lazy. Content. Happy. And it’s got our names on it.

I pull her into the bathroom with me, and after a quick shower together, we’re out of the room and back on the road. We still have a few hours to burn until show time, but we won’t spend them like sitting ducks in the apartment where Godfrey’s people found us and a bunch of horny bastards watched us having sex. I stop outside a Walgreens and Pea jogs in to buy some stuff for our operation tonight. The automatic doors swallow her but I can still see that bright red mini dress as she walks up and down the aisles.

While staring at her through darkened windows, I come up with a plan. Something that will help us out of the quicksand we’re drowning in. It’s going to be even harder to face myself after I do it, but I have to do whatever I can to make sure that we’ve got the best chance of getting out of this shit alive. When Pea is done getting the syringes and nail polish remover, she walks straight out of the Walgreens and inside a neighboring Dollar Store. I punch the steering wheel and curse her silently for making a stop she didn’t inform me about.

They think we’re dead. Nobody knows what we’re up to, I keep reminding myself. But I don’t know that for a fact. Wanting to chew my nerves away, I grab the backpack she left here to look for my peach-flavored gum. I find it buried at the bottom of her bag, along with something else I didn’t even know still existed. Something I forgot I even had.

I pluck out my red notebook and stare at it, moving it in my hands like it’s some sort of magic f*cking wand. My prison diary. My words. She always says they’re so pretty, but these are my ugly words, the ones she shouldn’t be exposed to.

Has she read it? Of course she’s read it. Goddammit. She knows my story through and through. The horrid bits and the painful parts. My jaw clenches so hard it almost snaps and pops out of my mouth. I don’t even notice when she gets back into the car, falling into her seat in a fit of wild, youthful laughter. The giggles die down quickly the second she sees the diary in my hand.

“Shit,” she gulps, swiveling her whole body to face mine. I don’t look at her. I’m still staring at my old diary. Violated is not the right word for what I feel. Disgraced comes close, but it’s still not quite there.

Her hand grips the door handle, ready to run away, but I dig my fingers into her thigh.

“Five seconds to explain. It better be good.”

“I’m sorry I took it without your permission. I tucked it into my dress when you carried me from the basement before we. . .”

Before we f*cked like animals. She knew everything about me. And she still wanted to do it.

I love her.

“It didn’t feel right to leave a part of you back in that awful place. Your words deserve freedom, not that dingy basement. Besides—” She hesitates.

“Besides?”

“That red diary made me fall in love with you,” she finishes.

A few seconds pass before I hand her the notebook and motion with my chin to the nylon bags she’s holding.

“Got everything?”

She nods. “Can I take your diary with me when we’re done? You were going to leave it behind anyway, and I want to carry your words with me everywhere I go,” she says quietly, not meeting my eyes.

“Take whatever you want.” I rub my face in frustration before looking away. I mean it too. If she wanted my balls, I’d hand them over in a heartbeat. But man, it’s hard to talk about the day after we part ways. “Just keep it safe.”

“It’s yours. Of course I’ll keep it safe,” she says. I believe her.

In a lot of ways, she’s already saved me.





When night falls, our guards go up.

It didn’t surprise us that Seb arrived at the club clad in a dapper, checkered gray and red suit, accompanied by two bodyguards.

Sebastian may believe we’re dead, but he knows there’s still a chance we’re after him. And him? He’s after young boys. Sex is a drive just as powerful as revenge. Tonight, he is going to find that out.

We sit low inside a white Tacoma Nate broke into earlier tonight. He said Seb might recognize the Beatmobile and besides, he missed Stella. We made a stop in West Oakland, where he strode into an alley, yanked an antenna from one of the parked cars, wedged a space in the door and effortlessly hit the unlock button.

“Looks like you’re an expert when it comes to breaking into cars,” I said in hushed disdain when he slid into the driver’s seat.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t look out of your element yourself when you broke into your apartment.” Touché.

We watch Sebastian breeze through the doors of Think Pink, a gay nightclub just on the curve of Mission Street, without even coming face to face with the bouncer. I recognize the two muscle men who plucked me out of that Oakland alley the night he found me and handed me to Nate.