She’s getting jumpy. But maybe she’s just tired.
I shove the bottle of antibiotics back in my bag and sift through the contents, seeing the medical supplies Netty tucked away. I’ll use them after I have my own shower. I zip my bag up, and then creep to the window, peering through the heavy black curtains.
The parking lot isn’t empty, but it’s not full either.
There are about ten vehicles parked along the row of motel rooms. Nothing looks out of place. No one is outside. She said the cameras were down.
Did she give them her name? How much cash did it take?
Why didn’t I ask her these details? Why didn’tIthink of them in advance?
I chew the inside of my cheek and let the curtain fall back into place. I take in the room, which is pretty bare bones, but there is a TV. I grab the remote off the dresser beneath it and turn it on.
Some kid show pops up on the screen, and the volume is ten times louder than it should be. I wince, and then start flipping through the channels, searching for something—anything—that might give me an update on what’s going on.
But there’s nothing. Nada.
We can’t stay ahead if we don’t know what’s happening with the search.
Maybe it would benefit us to have burner phones… Just a way to access the internet, so that we can keep up with the search.
“But that would be a big risk,” I say to myself.
Bullet whines at me then, and I turn toward him, tilting my head. The white around his eyes and mouth is more pronounced under the shitty fluorescent lights in the room.
Maybe it was a bad idea to let her bring him along.
Well, there’s no ‘maybe’about it. It was. I know it was. I did it so she has something to comfort her when I strand her at the border.
Or somewhere. Maricopa. That’s right.
My head feels so goddamn hazy right now.Did I not sleep enough?It’s not like I’m not used to running on shitty quality sleep. All sleep in prison is shitty.
The sound of the shower starting catches my attention, and for a moment, my mind flashes with a new idea. The kind that ends with me invading Rue’s shower space.
Bad idea right now,I remind myself for the hundredth time. I’ve had Rue. She tasted and felt like the best thing I’ve ever experienced.
And the more I allow myself to have her, the harder it’ll be to let her go.
So, I pace the fucking motel room instead, my bicep aching where the bullet went through my arm. It’s better than it was, and that counts for something. It’ll just keep healing—hopefully enough before I have to make that fucking hike to Mexico.
Unless I don’t go to Mexico.
My thoughts won’t stop racing.
My heart kicks up to join, my chest tightens, and the edge of my vision blurs.
“Hands up! Put your hands up!”
“Get on the ground!”
The marshals’ voices explode in my head, the fear of death exploding in my body like a grenade. Anyone who says they’re not afraid to die is full of shit.
Even if someone strings that rope themselves, the fear is still there. The pain is just louder.
I rub my eyes, pinching the upper bridge of my nose afterward. I squeeze it as hard as I can, until the sting flares through my face.
What life comes after this? After I drop Rue at the border and head into Mexico?
