Blood to Dust(82)

But I can’t have Godfrey walking around free and happy, and I definitely can’t leave without knowing what happened to my brother. Life wouldn’t be worth living that way.

“He still has a piece of my soul,” I say, not daring to lift my eyes to see what’s in his. “And my brother is the only reason I didn’t give up on life.”

There’s a brief silence before he nods.

“Then let’s get them.”





Archer got Sebastian’s head, the hourglass and most importantly—the message.

Godfrey’s smarter, or at the very least, more aware of our abilities, than Seb was. I know that because his Danville mansion is crowned by guards. And not just any guards. Pigs with pink, alcohol-swollen faces and tattoos inked on their foreheads.

The Aryan Brotherhood.

Ten, maybe twelve, brothers lean against their bikes and vans, arms crossed, watching the plush neighborhood through narrow eyes. They’re waiting for us, no doubt. Godfrey figured it’d be nice to kill two birds with one stone.

They’re the stone—we’re the birds.

Archer lives in a European-looking mansion, rising from loose gravel. It looks like it was freshly planted by evil, watered by fear and grown into something dark and dangerous, standing out like a sore thumb against the California landscape. The light in his front terrace is on. He’s home. I know where he lives because I’ve had to visit him a few times since we got out, mainly to deliver him drug-related shit. I never dabbled in drugs, but on occasion, when his contact people in Stockton weren’t able to make it, I’d do him a solid and move stuff from point A to point B.

Prescott’s swiveling toward the backseat, her shoulder pressing against mine as she recovers the backpack and our masks.

“We have to get rid of them,” she says, referring to the AB. “You can be the bait.”

I snap my head around to face her. Either I didn’t hear her right or she’s drunk. The latter is less than likely since we haven’t left each other’s side in f*ck knows how long.

“Say that again, louder now, so I’ll have a good reason to bend you in half against that tree over there and spank your ass until your skin sheds.”

“I’m serious.” She licks her lips, turning to face me. “Get rid of all of them, and I’ll take Godfrey myself. I have the gun and the dagger. I can do this.”

“He’s got more weapons than you can dream of in his house, and even if, hypothetically, I was able to get all those sons of bitches out of the way, there’s no telling who’s waiting for you inside. And in case you’ve forgotten”—I yank her by my hoodie, our noses crushing together—“you’re carrying around the heart of the girl I’m f*cking in love with. Be more careful with her life.”

I shake my head. “This is out of the question. You’re not going in by yourself.”

“Nate,” she starts, her voice spikes with an edge, and I grind my lips against hers. I’ve f*cking missed them. We’ve been too busy dodging the police over the past few hours to fool around.

“Pea,” I breathe into her mouth. “Screw this. Let’s turn around before they see us. We have our whole lives to live. Who cares about these f*ckers?”

“I do,” my girl says, eyes traveling to meet mine. “I’m sorry, Nate, but I do.”

She swings the passenger door open and runs out of it before I get the chance to blink.

Without the gun.

Without the dagger.

But with my f*cking heart.

She runs straight to the gated entrance of Godfrey’s mansion and the air is trapped in my lungs as I fumble to get my own door open before my hand freezes. If I walk out of this car, I’m dead. They’ll shoot hundreds of holes in me without even flinching, like in Gran Torino. I won’t be much help to Prescott if I’m dead. I tuck my head low and watch as Pea crosses the road, running straight into the arms of the Aryan Brotherhood, and I know, I just f*cking know that my nerves are not going to survive the next few minutes.

The moment she rounds the corner, the tall oak trees that cover our car hide her from my vision, and I’m in the dark.

Pulling on my hair until patches of black are left in my fists, I fume. Crazy bitch.

I’m staying in.

I’m coming out.

Fuck.

Whatever I’m doing, suffice to say—I’m going mad.





He exhales into my ear, his white moustache tickling the curve of my neck as he brushes a strand of blonde hair off of it. It’s something Camden used to do a lot and I hated it. It’s corny as hell.

“This is going to be our little secret, isn’t it, my darling girl?”

“I always thought you were asexual.” My gaze is lingering on the weather report dancing across the flat screen TV. It’s going to be a glorious week, but of course, I won’t get to experience it. I know what’s to come, but I have to keep it together. I won’t let him see me break. “I thought Camden was a fluke. That maybe you tried * one time and it resulted in a kid. You don’t have a wife and you’re not divorced. Who’s Camden’s mother, anyway?”

I don’t actually care. I just want to taunt him. In all the time I’ve been with Camden, he’d always kept silent on the identity of his mother. Said he never wanted to talk about her, that she was off-limits. I know that he and Godfrey are very close, but if his mom is alive and well, there is no way that they’re in touch.