Blue and red lights flash across the buildings as the police narrow in on the warehouse, and I can’t let them find us here in the open, so I text Sammy to meet us down the street. We get to our feet with Jackson cradling Alma and run as fast as we can, but the sirens are getting louder. A patrol car whips the corner, forcing us to duck between two cars. Our breaths are heavy as it speeds past us, and my chest visibly pulses with the frantic pounding of my heart. 

When the coast is clear, we get back to running and make it to the end of the block. A silver van with soccer mom stickers on the windows drives at full speed toward us, then screeches to a halt.

The door slides open with a clang, and Angie shouts, “Get in!”

“Let’s go, let’s go!” 

We dive into the back, and Sammy begins driving off with my feet still outside, so I recoil them right as Angie slams the door shut, nearly catching my ankles. 

“For fucks sake, Ang!” I bark.

“We don’t have time to dilly-dally. This place is swarming with cops.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

Sammy glances at us through the rearview mirror. “Alright, everyone catch your breaths. We’re gonna cruise so we don’t look suspicious. How is Alma doing?”

“She needs a hospital,” Jackson says, still cradling her in his arms. 

“Dr. Banaag is going to meet us at a safe house. I called her ahead of time.”

“Thank you, Sammy.” Jackson nods.

“What happened back there? How did Gino get away?”

“Don’t know, Sam. When I found Alma in the street, she was alone, but she can barely keep her eyes open, so he must have drugged her.”

“We’ll find him.” I rest my hand on Jackson’s shoulder, and Sammy’s gaze shifts to me in the rearview mirror. 

“What do you want to do about Richie?”

Fuck. In all the chaos, we didn’t get a chance to smuggle him into the warehouse. I glance over my shoulder and Richie’s ass is tied up with his mouth gagged in the backseat. We lock eyes and the arrogance that used to be there is gone. Now he looks pitiful. Maybe he’s even pleading for me to put him out of his misery.

So much has happened that I’m not even sure if he’s worth all of this trouble anymore. Yet, I can’t cut him loose because he’ll go straight to his cop friends and rat me out, and there is no way in hell I’d ask Augusta to set bail. Lord knows what she would have me do to make up for it.

Pinching the bridge of my nose with a deep sigh, I say, “I’ll drive him out to the sulfur mines in Nevada. Take care of him there. Bury the body.”

“Maybe we should bury Gino out there too,” Angie grunts.

“Christ!” Sammy slams the brakes, and the van screeches to a halt. None of us in the back have seatbelts on, so we fly forward. 

The engine ticks as the van idles and as we all adjust back into our seats, some tattooed fucker is in the middle of the road pointing his gun at us. He slowly approaches Sammy’s window, and then I laugh.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Gino."

“That’s him?” Sammy snorts. “I’ve got this. I’ll handle this scumbag.”

Gino bangs on the window. “Get the fuck out of the van!”

“No.”

But Gino doesn't like that and bangs on the glass again. “I don’t think you heard me old man. I’m taking this van.”

“Don’t think so.”

Sammy whips the door open, and it slams into Gino, causing him to stumble back. In a matter of seconds, the old guy hops out, and whacks that tattooed fuck in the face with his Glock, knocking him out cold like timber collapsing in a forest.

“Let’s load him up!”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” I jump out, and together, we scoop Gino’s rag doll body and toss him into the back of the van with Richie.

“Looks like I’m joining you on the road trip to Nevada.” Angie grins at me.

∆∆∆

The safe house Sammy took us to is like a sanctuary hidden in the North Beach neighborhood of the city. It’s a renovated two-level Victorian, with a living room that spills into a garden full of fruit trees, and a pool ready for someone to take a dip. The only thing that doesn’t belong are the armed Italian men standing guard at the exits, and the security room with surveillance flashing across multiple screens. Dr. Banaag is tucked away tending to Alma in the master suite upstairs overlooking the pool. Jackson hasn’t left her side, but he should at least clean himself up. We look like we rolled in a crime scene. 

“Missed a spot,” Angie says from the bathroom doorway, so I glance in the mirror and wipe the smudge of blood at my hairline. 

“I’d take a shower, but I don’t have a change of clothes.”

Removing my shirt, I find little cuts along my arms and torso, then run the hand towel under the faucet. However, as I dab at them with the damp cloth, I can’t help but watch Angie through the mirror. She fusses with the hem of her shirt, twisting it like an anxious tick while staring at the glossy bathroom tiles beneath our feet. 

“What was it like in there?” she asks.

“Chaos. Complete uncontrolled chaos. I don’t know how I didn’t get shot.”

“Did you kill any of them?”

“Yeah…” I wince at a cut that stings as I clean it. “I think so.”

“What’s it like to kill someone?”

“Why do you want to know?” I set the towel down.

“Because I want to murder Gino.”

“That’s not your call. It’s Alma’s.”

“That fucker shot me as I was clinging to Alma’s feet and getting dragged by a van!” 

“I know.”

“No, you don’t!” Angie’s fists are clenched at her sides, and her body starts trembling. “Do you realize that if Gino had shot a few inches over, I’d be dead?” 

“Angie…” I reach out, but she slaps my hand away.

“No. That asshole deserves to die, and I want the pleasure of stabbing the fuck out of him and looking into his eyes as the lights go out. Ok?” 

“You don’t want that.” I shake my head.

“Yes, I do!”

“No, you don’t.” I place my hand around the back of her head, and pull her in close, forcing her to look me in the eyes. For several beats, we hold gazes, but Angie looks away. “If you can’t even look me in the eyes for more than thirty seconds, then how do you plan to look into Gino’s as he dies?” 

“That’s different.” Angie wriggles free from me. “I hate that fucker. I want him dead.” 

“You want to know what it’s like to kill someone?” I reel her back in by the waist, causing her chest to bump into my stomach. 

She tries to wedge her forearms between us, but I grip the back of her hair, forcing her to look at me again. However, Angie’s stubborn ass tries to break free, and I bet she’ll let me rip her entire damn scalp off just to prove a point. So I lock my arms around her because she needs to hear this.

“From the moment I grabbed the baseball bat, everything went silent, and when I struck my stepfather’s skull, it’s like my soul left my body. It floated somewhere up by the ceiling, and I watched myself hit Chuck again and again. I could feel the bat’s woodgrain against my palms, and the thump each time I hit him. Yet, it didn’t feel like me at all because that night, anything pure and innocent that made me who I was, vanished. I became what I am now. Someone angry, who fucks up every relationship, and would fuck Augusta for money. My soul is rotten. Do hear me? Rotten. That’s what killing someone does to you.”

"You didn't have sex with Augusta for money. She manipulated you."

"And I liked it," the words fall from my mouth before I can fully comprehend them. Maybe this is why what happened makes me so sick. "I'm rotten."

“You’re not rotten,” Angie whispers, her brows furrowed.

“I am.”

“You’re not,” she barks.

 “Ask Chloe how killing Barry has changed her. I guarantee she’ll say something similar. So if you think I’m gonna let someone I love stain themselves with murder, then you’re dead fucking wrong! I’m killing Gino, and you are not coming with me to Nevada. Your pretty ass will stay here with Alma.”

I release her with a shove, and she tumbles back, but Angie latches onto the towel rack steadying herself, then looks at me puzzled, her lips parted in a gasp.

“Did you just say you love me?”

“What?” I contort my face with a headshake and think back on the last few seconds. 

“You admitted you love me.”

“That’s all you heard! Are you fucking kidding me? You’re not killing Gino.” 

“Listen, you stubborn asshole! You are not rotten, and that cunt of a woman messed with your head, but you don’t have to carry these burdens on your own. I’m willing to stand by your side and help you, but you’re too much in your way to see it.”

“Angie,” I growl. “You’re not coming with me.”

“No.” She steps forward, and slaps her hand around my neck, yanking me down to her level. “This is me telling you I fucking love you. So stop with your dramatic bullshit. I am going with you and that’s final.”

Despite my attempt to argue, she swats her hand over my mouth, then kisses it, and I reel back shaking my head.

“Did you… did you just kiss me with your hand in the way?”

“I had to shut you up somehow.” She shrugs.

“And what about the part where you said you love me?” 

My heartbeat is thunderous. Although I don’t know why. We haven’t had sex in forever, and we’ve both played dirty games on each other. Not to mention how we fight like a couple of deer during mating season ramming their antlers for dominance. There is no way we actually love each other. Yet, I really want her to say that she does.

I need to know that even someone as broken as me can still be loved.

“Maybe,” she huffs.

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe I do love you.” She folds her arms and raises her chin. “And what about you?”

“Maybe I love you, too.”

“What about Mindy? Do you maybe love her, too?” 

Fuck. I haven’t spoken to Mindy since the night Angie got shot. It feels like ages ago, and so do my feelings for her. I release a breath as it processes. There will always be a part of me that cares for her deeply, but standing here in this bathroom, my love has shifted, and I’m now realizing it. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Angie whispers, and her gaze goes to our feet.

“What? No.”

But Angie sighs, and her entire body sags with the exhale, then she exits the bathroom. 

Shit.

Fuck.

Shit. Fuck. Shit.

Why am I so terrible at expressing how I feel?

∆∆∆

Driving through the desert can be a lonely ride. It’s nothing but long stretches of dusted highways, mountains with shrubs, and a rundown gas station every few miles. But unlike other deserts, the sulfur deposits in Nevada paint the earth bleach white, and the sun bounces rays off the dirt, making everything so blinding. You have to have good sunglasses.

Next to me, Angie slurps from a straw, with her feet resting against the glove compartment. She looks like a child contorted in the passenger seat with a sippy cup and snacks. 

“Chips?” She holds out the bag for me.

“I don’t want Dorito dust all over my fingers.”

“Open your mouth, and say, ahhhh.” 

“Huh?” I glance at her, and she’s awkwardly extending her right arm across the gap between us, with a chip in hand, since her left arm is still out of commission. 

“Open your mouth.”

“I’m not a toddler,” I snort. “I can feed myself.”

“Fine.” She's about to pop the chip into her mouth, but I snag it from her and bite it with a crunch. She gasps, "You thief!"

“This isn’t supposed to be fun, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah. But this is fun.” 

“What is?”

“Being on a road trip with you. Even if we do have two people tied up in the back.” She glances behind us at Richie and Gino. 

“Really? Because I’m stressed the fuck out.”

“You don’t look it.”

“Well, I am. We’re driving into another state with two dudes tied up. So, if we get pulled over…” I grip the steering wheel, but Angie laughs. 

“I doubt anyone gets pulled over in a soccer mom van.” 

“Never say never,” I sigh.

For the next hour, we drive in silence and the sun baking the window lulls Angie to sleep. I turn off the highway onto an unpaved path and follow it for a few miles. The sulfur mines are a perfect place to get rid of bodies. It’s a no man’s land, with rocky terrain, and abandoned mines stretching as far as the horizon can reach. From space, it probably looks like the moon peppered with craters. The van rolls over potholes, stirring Angie awake with a face-contorting yawn, while glancing around at the landscape. 

“Where are we?”

“This is a good spot. We can toss them into that big hole when we’re done.” I ease to a stop. “Time to get this done. Are you ready?” 

“Sure.”

But judging by Angie’s jagged exhale, she’s not mentally prepared for this. It’s one thing to want to kill someone, and it’s quite another to do it. Perhaps it’s better when it’s provoked by instinct, the way I did to protect my mom.

Hopping down from the van, I slide the side door open and grab Gino’s legs. He wiggles like a worm to make it difficult, so I give his ankles a good yank, causing his body to thud onto the dirt with an oomph. A mini cloud of dust forms as I drag him toward the small crater in the ground, and he attempts to kick free but he’s tied too tight. 

“This is your final resting place.” I point to the hole and rip the duct tape off his mouth. “Any last words?”

“Fuck you.” He spits.

“You’re pathetic. “Look at you.” I motion over his fugly prison tats then grab him by the shirt. “You think having your kid’s names on your skin makes you a good father?” I slam my knuckles into his face. “Good fathers don’t kidnap their wives.” I punch him again. “Good fathers don’t fuck them over so that they lose custody while you’re in prison getting butt-rammed.” This time I whack him twice. “And they especially don’t sell them off to human traffickers, you sick fuck!” 

“Let me have a turn!” Angie says behind me. 

“We already talked about this. No.”

“Damn it, Miguel! This fucker almost killed me. I need to do this.” 

“And I’d do it again, you whore,” Gino snickers, his mouth bloody as he smiles. “I should have sold you too.”

“Shut up!” I backhand him, but he keeps heckling.

“I bet that pussy would go for top dollar."

"I said, shut up."

"We could have sold you as a package deal with those dick-sucking lips.”

“Miguel, please,” Angie roars. “Let me kill this asshole.” 

“Fine.” I dig into my pocket and hold out a jagged knife to Angie. “Stab him. But only once, and that’s it.”

Without hesitation, Angie swipes it from my hand and gets on her knees next to Gino. He’s still rambling on, trying to get under her skin, but she raises the knife into the air and screams as she drives it down into his chest. Gino screeches and mumbles incoherent insults.

“Alright. Now you’re done,” I say, but Angie yanks out the knife and stabs him again. “I said that’s enough!”

“This is for Alma!” Angie goes for a third strike. “This is for shooting me.” 

She drives the blade again, sinking it into Gino's flesh, and blood spits from his mouth. Scooping her up, I tear her away, but she’s kicking and screaming that she’s not done. 

“I said enough!” I yell and set her down. “No more.”

“I need to finish,” she roars, and tries to rush past me, but I lift her off the ground, forcing her to stop. 

“Angie, enough.”

“He needs to pay!” Tears are streaming down her face, but her body goes limp in my arms like she’s giving up. “He needs to pay.”

“And he will, but I don’t want you to carry this next part. This kind of darkness isn’t for you.”

So I set her down, and hold her face with my thumbs swiping the tears from her cheeks. Unlike me, Angie can still recover, and go on to be a better person. I kiss her forehead and remove the gun from my waistband then face Gino. He’s coughing up blood, and halfway dead, so I pump the trigger until the clip empties. 

Dust floats passed us in the wake of the silence that remains, and Angie’s shoulder brushes my arm as she moves to stand beside me.

“Oh, God…” 

Turning away, she bends at the waist, and vomit splats onto the dirt. I don’t blame her. What’s left of Gino’s skull looks like Swiss cheese with the number of bullets I punctured him with. He’s unrecognizable.

Rubbing Angie’s back, I say, “Go back to the van. There’s some water in the cooler.” 

She gives a nod, then stumbles towards the vehicle, and I push Gino into the crater in the ground. His body tumbles down the jagged rocks and disappears into the darkness of the old sulfur mine. 

But this afternoon isn’t over.

It’s Richie Reddy’s turn, and I’m tired. I just need to get this done.

So, I return to the van, slide the door open, and pull the pillow cover off his head. His eyes search wildly, and I know he heard me execute Gino, but after a few blinks, he’s calm. 

“Time to go, asshole.”

Lifting him, I fling him over my shoulder, and he’s become so much lighter compared to the first time I kidnapped him. Angie is in the passenger’s seat as I round the front of the van, slowly sipping water with a dazed look on her face. The shock is setting in, and she’ll probably spend the next few weeks with sleepless nights. I did warn her, but sometimes you have to let people figure things out the hard way. 

I flop Richie down, and he screeches when I tear the tape off his mouth.

“Any last words before I pump a bullet into your skull?” 

“You’re making a big mistake. You think you can kill me and walk away unscathed?”

“Yeah, I do.”

 “Hah! You’re playing for the wrong team.” 

“What the hell are you talking about,” I scoff. 

“You think Augusta gives a shit about you?” he laughs. “You should have taken Jocelyn’s side because when shit goes down at the gala, you’ll be sorry.”

“And what’s going down at the gala?” 

Richie raises his chin and stares me down like I’m beneath him. “Fuck you. You don’t deserve to know.” 

“You’re bluffing. When Rohan takes over, you’ll be obsolete so you’re clinging to whatever you can.”

“Rohan?” Richie cackles. “Rohan? If you think he’s better than me, then you really did bet on a rotting horse. I knew you were dumb, but not this dumb.” 

“What’s happening at the gala.” I press the gun to his forehead, but Richie just laughs and laughs.

“You have no idea the shit you’ve stepped into. Rohan is like cancer, and what’s worse is he’s a politician. But go ahead. Pull the trigger and sign your death sentence because they’ll come for you.”

“Who?” I press the barrel harder into his forehead.

“Fuck you. I’m not helping you.”

“I’m going to ask one more time. What’s happening at the—”

“Let me see Mindy, and I’ll tell you what you want to know,” he says.

“Hell no.”

“All I need is an hour.”

“You don’t deserve to see her even for a second, you wife-beating piece of shit.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to live the rest of your life looking over your shoulder…”

“Damn it!” I retract the gun. “Fuck!” 

The sun is baking against my back as I pace the dirt in front of Richie, and as much as I want to call bullshit on what he’s saying, my gut is hollering that he’s telling the truth. 

Stomping up to him, I slap the tape back onto his mouth. 

“I guess you get to live another day, ass face.”