Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
These two things sit side by side in my chest like two horses pullin' in opposite directions.
I stand up from the vanity, adjust my hair, and then my dress.
I stare at myself.
Who are you?
I'm not sure.
But it's time to find out.
CHAPTER 10
After being kicked out of Savannah's bedroom so she can get ready for dinner, I go downstairs and use the study bathroom to clean up a little. It's not a big deal to eat dinner at the Ashbys. I did it every night for months.
But that was under special circumstances.
I was recovering from the brand infection.
Hell, I was on my way back from death.
I was here under Savannah's terms. So she could watch me. So she could care for me. So she could save me.
Which is a fine option to have when you're dyin'. But it comes from a position of weakness.
All these years, I was never welcome here. Two of the Ashby women claimed to care about me.
The mother, like a mother.
The daughter, like a lover.
And neither of them ever thought to ask me over for dinner when I was sixteen.
My stay here was not optional.
Bein’ here right now is. I'm here tonight on my own terms. And it's not a small thing. It's an inflection point.
Another clear line drawn in the sand.
Another moment in my life that changes the trajectory.
For fuck's sake, Legion. Ya always were a poet, I get it. But stop with the theater-kid energy.
Before I can laugh about my own internal spiral, my phone buzzes. I check it.
Blocked number.
A sick feelin' creeps in. The kind of feelin' that comes with bad news. The kind that doesn't announce itself, just settles into your chest like it's been livin' there the whole time, waitin' for an invitation to unpack.
I tap accept. "Yeah. Who's this."
"Well, well. The man himself. Didn't think you'd pick up that fast, Mr. President."
Mike. Of course it's fuckin' Mike. I lean against the bathroom counter and stare at the faucet because lookin' at my own face right now seems like a bad idea.
I already hate this deal. One day. That's what it's been. Not even. I dropped Savannah off at sunrise—and that sunrise was somethin', I'll give the sky that, all that pink bleedin' into gold like Montana was tryin' to apologize for what it was about to do—and now the sun isn't even down yet and Mike's already got his hand on my collar, tuggin'.
One day. Shit, it hasn't even been twelve hours.
"What do you want." I don't dress it up. I don't even bother with a question mark.
"Straight to it. I like that about you, Kane." He pauses, and I can hear somethin' rustle on his end, paper or a wrapper. Somethin' small and bureaucratic that makes me wanna put my fist through the mirror. "We got product movin' tonight. Little hiccup in the line. Nothin' that's gonna keep anyone up past their bedtime."
"What kinda hiccup."
"Just a flat tire that needs fixin'. We got a box truck," he says. "One of the rear duals went. Driver's got a spare but nothin' on him that'll lift that kinda weight. Your shop's the closest thing to civilization that isn't gonna ask questions. Just need a jack and a set of hands that knows which end of a wrench is which."
A flat tire.
I feel my shoulders drop half an inch.
A flat tire I can do. A flat tire is a Tuesday.
A flat tire isn't buryin' a body, isn't producin' a body, isn't some kind of robbery that'll put me back in Whitefall for the rest of my natural life.
A flat tire is the smallest ask a man like Mike could make, and I know that.
I know he's startin' small.
I know that's the whole point of startin' small.
But I'll take it.
"Send me the pin," I say.
"Appreciated." Then he ends the call without announcin' it.
My phone buzzes once. A little blue dot droppin' onto a map somewhere off the 200, out past where the road stops meanin' anything. I stare at it for a second. Just a dot. Just a dot that's gonna cost me somethin' I can't name yet.
I thumb over to Diesel.
Three rings.
"Well if it ain't my better half. What's the matter, Demon, miss me already? We split up what, two hours ago? You sittin' in that big ol' ranch house cryin' into a napkin without me?"
"Shut the fuck up."
"There he is."
I almost smile. I don't. "Listen, we gotta handle somethin'. Don't ask me questions tonight, OK? Not tonight. I'll be back in the mornin’, we can talk then."
"Well, shit. Now you got me worried."
"Nothin' to worry about. Well… for now. But we will have to talk tomorrow."
A beat. Then… "Shiiiit."
He knows. He knew, before I even killed Brick, that gettin' out wasn't that easy.
Nothin' has changed.
"Yeah," I say. "But again, not tonight. It's a very small ask. There's a flat tire that needs changin' out south of 200 between Terry and Fallon. Pin's comin'. Call me when it's done."