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His offer. To secure a house for me somewhere in the Caribbean. No ties to me. No ties to him. His price. The rest of my life and a lower fee than Gabe. One low enough, it basically fucks me. “Yes.”
“And I have another offer. One free of charge.” He takes a drag of his cigar then spins to face me. “I can find Tom Campbell. I’ll string his guts over the powerlines.”
While he’s offering this for free, nothing concerning the cartel is ever free, just like nothing about this agreement is benevolent. I’m a commodity to him, which is the only reason he wants Tom dead. He wants to make sure I stay alive, which is why I believe, regardless of whether I take him up on his offer or not, he’ll find Tom. But the thing is, I want to be the one to kill the motherfucker.
“You find him,” I say. “And I kill him.”
A deep grin sets on his face. “Vengeance, hombre? I like you even more.” And when Garcia holds out his hand, I shake it.
_____
The drive home is spent in thought. I have to bide my time to tie up a few more loose ends, to wait on Garcia to come through with the house, but like hell I’m going to play sitting duck. Marney has an old cabin in the Appalachians, and that’s where we’ll go until I can get us the hell out of here for good. Until then, making Tom think I’m dead is a pretty damn good option.
Marney is on the porch, smoking a cigarette when I pull up and get out. “We’ve gotta go,” I say on my way up the steps.
Marney lifts one of his graying brows. “You don’t say.” Then he flicks the butt of his cigarette over the railing and hitches his pants around his gut. “Well, let’s get to packin’ then.”
I go inside and send Tor upstairs to gather some clothes, and Marney and I spend the next half hour ransacking the house for the money I have stashed all over the place—any good criminal knows his house is the best bank. We bust up walls and rip up floorboards until every last dime is crammed into suitcases, and Tor is packed in the car with Marney. I’m on autopilot, fueled by adrenaline when I grab two tanks of gasoline from the shed. This will buy us some time; Garcia swore to me that, although I’m not sure how much.
I start across the yard, stopping when my gaze lands on the headstones in the woods. This is where I grew up—where Caleb, Grace, and I grew up. It’s the only place I’ve known, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sometimes picture my mother in the kitchen or my dad in that office. I feel them here, and I’m about to have to let that all go.
My chest tightens as I walk toward their graves, tanks still in my hand. I read over their names, remembering each day they were buried. Then I stop at Caleb’s. “I’m so sorry, Caleb. But I promise you, I’ll take care of her.” That black emptiness creeps into my mind, threatening to take me under, and I redirect my attention to Tom, to the anger and rage.
Then I head back to the house and douse every single room with gasoline, tossing the empty tanks beside the gas heater in the basement. By the time I come outside, Marney’s truck is backed out of the driveway, engine running.
I strike a match and hesitate.
I'm about to set fire to every tangible memory I have, burn down everything my family owned, and leave. But I have no other choice. A sharp pain cuts through my chest when I drop the match to the concrete. I wait until the blaze snakes up the porch steps and begins to eat away at the door before I turn and rush to the waiting truck.
Tires squeal as Marney takes off, speeding down the long driveway. It feels like everything left inside of me is on the verge of fucking breaking as I watch my house shrink in the side mirror. It’s almost out of view when a loud boom rattles the windshield. An orange glow flashes behind us, and a plume of black smoke lifts above the trees. Tor leans against my side, pressing her face into my shoulder.
“I’m sorry you had to leave everything behind.”
I cup her cheek, focusing on her. It’s the only thing besides this rage that can make me feel anything but complete despair. “I have everything right here.”
We drive until the sun sinks below the horizon, winding through foothills and tiny mountain roads until we reach Marney’s cabin. A sense of nostalgia washes over me for a moment when I set foot on the wooden porch. My dad used to bring us here when we were kids. It’s where he taught Caleb and me to shoot.
