Travis stares at me, eyes huge. Beau watches him calmly, like this entire conversation is a mild inconvenience.
“And John is not alone,” I add. “He is working with Detective Grant. And there’s a group of other masked psycho fucks who helped stage the hotel massacre.”
“Jesus Christ,” Travis whispers.
“It’s all tied to Nick and Amber’s families,” I continue. “The entire thing is connected.”
Travis presses both hands to the wheel, his voice climbing. “What the fuck is this, Seth? Why is every rich psycho in California part of some murder cult? And why would they want Brooke? She didn’t do anything!”
I push myself upright again, ignoring the pain ripping through my shoulder.
“We’re going to Fresno, John probably took her there.”
Travis chokes on his own breath. “You’re still bleeding! Shouldn’t you—I don’t know—lie down before you go full Rambo? You’re dripping all over the seat.”
“Get me to Fresno,” I snap. “Right fucking now!”
“Seth, it is an eighteen-hour drive! You are going to bleed out and die in the back seat, and then I will go to prison because they will think I killed you!”
“I’m not dying,” I snap. “I’m getting Brooke back.”
Beau glances at me, an almost approving look passing over his face. “He’s fine. He’s been more injured than this.”
Travis shoots a look at him. “How is that comforting?”
Beau looks over his shoulder at me, calm as ever. “Plane?”
“You still have it?”
“Yep.”
Travis makes a strangled noise. “You two have a plane? Like a real one? Since when?!”
Beau doesn’t look up from loading a magazine. “Since always.”
“Here’s the directions to the hangar. You’re an accomplice,” he adds dryly. “And if you don’t want to be someone’s bitch in prison, you better floor it like the man said.”
Travis makes a dying whale sound and slams his foot on the gas.
I slump back and close my eyes, pressure throbbing through my shoulder, but my mind isn’t on the pain.
It’s on Brooke.
Her face. Her voice. The way she looked at me right before Grant’s bullet hit.
I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve crawled after her if I had to. I shouldn’t have passed out. I shouldn’t have—
Beau glances back at me. “Stay awake.”
“I’m awake.”
“Good. Because if you die, I’m not babysitting Shaggy here.”
“HEY!” Travis shouts.
I grip the door handle hard enough it creaks.
“We get to Fresno,” my tone hardens, “we tear that house apart.”
