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“We could run him over.” Nero offers.
I shake my head. “I’m not denting my Suburban.”
“Well, I’m not chasing after him.” Nero crosses his arms. “And he’s getting away.”
My lungs heave out a groan as I shove my door open and climb out.
With measured paces, I circle around to the back door. With it open, I lift a piece of the flooring, exposing a storage compartment, and haul out my long-range rifle.
Lifting it so the stock is against my shoulder, I move around to the passenger side of the vehicle.
As I lower my eye to the scope, I hear Nero’s door open next to me.
“How many of those do you have back there?”
I close my left eye. “Only need the one.”
With the crosshairs lined up, I let out half my breath, and squeeze the trigger.
I can feel Nero watching from beside me, and as a red mist outlines what’s left of the man’s head, I exhale the rest of my breath.
“With all those bullets flying…” Nero quips, “you never can tell who’s shot who.”
My sights move to the side door, but when no one else runs out, I lower my rifle.
“Feel better?” Nero asks with a smirk.
“A little.”
“Good. Now let’s get out of here so you can go home and try to get your dick wet.”
CHAPTER38
Savannah
My foot depressesthe brake as I pull into a spot in a mostly empty motel parking lot.
The place is exactly what I was looking for. Off the beaten path. Low profile. Cheap.
I swallow. Because it’s also scary.
Now is not the time to start being a chicken.
I remind myself to be brave once more, then I reach forward and turn the key to shut off the engine of my brand new, super old, Toyota something.
Maybe I would’ve been better off keeping my van, and sleeping in the back like one of those YouTube campers. They always make it look so cute.
But that’s not me. I’m completely unprepared, and sleeping in the back of my van would not have been cute. Not that it matters now anyways, because as soon as I left King’s house I drove straight to St. Paul, to a sketchy-looking used car dealership I’d driven past before.
It was surprisingly easy to just swap one set of keys for another, and I’m fairly certain my new car is stolen, but that’s not my problem. Or at least it’s not my biggest problem. My biggest problem is the fact that I just pulled up to a lodgings that, from the look of it, should be named Murder Motel, on the outskirts of Chicago. And I still don’t have a phone, or a plan, or a giant guard dog.
My lips press together, but my chin still trembles.
It’s just a dogI try to tell myself for the hundredth time. But it still doesn’t work. I’m not kidding anyone. Duke was the only real friend I had over the last few days, and I’ve fallen in love with that damn beast.
“Just go inside,” I urge myself.
I eye the little bundle of clothes in the seat next to me, and decide to leave them here, and get my room key first. Not that I really think someone who works here would bat an eye at me carrying around an armful of clothes. But it would make me feel uncomfortable.
