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He starts thrashing, so I pull the leash and brace my legs until the thrashing turns to twitching, and then nothing. When I’m sure his chest isn’t moving, I buckle the leash in place and attach the other end to the bedpost. I remove the bathrobe belt from his wrists. Though they are red, the terry cloth material didn’t do any damage to the skin. By the time he’s found, the red marks will be long gone.
I shove the belt in the bag along with the bloody hand towel before slipping on a black hoodie with thumb holes to cover my knuckles. I take my time putting on my wig to make sure it’s on neatly. With my transformation complete, I slip my oversized sunglasses on and grab my bag. I turn to give the room one last quick check before heading out.
I flip thedo not disturbsign and wipe down the door handle with my sleeve before casually heading to the stairwell. I don’t pass anyone, but even if I did, people would just see a woman heading to the gym for an evening workout, which is not unusual in this day and age.
Shoving the door open, I head out into the warm night and jog down to the shopping complex around the corner that’s just closing. I left my car in the section that allows overnight parking. Once I reach it, I toss my bag in the back seat before climbing in and driving away.
I drive until I come to a small, secluded beach and park facing the ocean. It’s deserted at this time of night, so I take off my wig and sunglasses, throwing them in the glove compartment. Next, I take off my hoodie and toss it behind me. On the passenger seat is a green plaid flannel I wore yesterday and stripped out of when I got hot. I slip that on and lean back in my seat. After making sure all my doors are locked, I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a minute.
Once my heart rate returns to normal, I think about what just happened. If anyone knew who I really was, they’d have sent more than some wannabe hitman. No, I believe his story about taking me out because of Calix. I just don’t think that’s the full story. I never did do well with half-truths. Like a scab, I pick at them until they bleed, even knowing that sometimes the truth is better left dead. I file it away for now, not wanting to get distracted, though I do fire off a text to both the warden and the governor, warning them to watch their backs.
I grab the lukewarm bottle of water from the cupholder and drink it all. It may not be champagne, but I don’t grimace at the taste. I smile because I’m still alive, and right now, that’s not something I’m taking for granted.
CHAPTERFOUR
The pardon takes effect two weeks from the day we got married. I’ve been moving around the area, not staying in one place longer than a night, spending my days asking questions.
It seems the families are not as popular with the locals as they may have hoped. Truthfully, I doubt any of those motherfuckers give a shit what anyone thinks of them. What that means for me is that it’s far easier to find people willing to talk than it was back in the day when Santos ruled with an iron fist. People feared him, which was the point. His reign was one of terror, and yet to hear people talk, he was the best thing since sliced bread. Stockholm Syndrome at its finest. I’m damn sure none of the fathers and brothers who idolize the man would feel the same way if they were expected to hand over their daughter or sister to him.
I didn’t learn much, but I got enough to start painting a picture of what life is like in these parts now. The police are still heavily corrupt, most owned by the families, families which have grown bitter and unsatisfied with what they have. Like most powerful, greedy assholes, they want more.
Of course, nobody is willing to offer someone else a bigger slice. Civil unrest has begun to break out in pockets, and the families are fighting with each other on a much more public scale than they used to. Before, everything happened behind closed doors in a hush-hush fashion, but something has turned the tide, and I don’t think it’s Calix’s early release. Or at least it’s not just that.
I keep my helmet on to cover my face as I sit on my bike and wait for Calix to appear, ignoring how warm I am in head-to-toe leather in this heat. The buzzing noise signals the main gates to open, and as they do, I see a lone figure walking toward me. As he gets closer, there's that damn weird feeling in my stomach again, like when you drive over the rise of a hill and, for a brief second, you feel your stomach drop.
He looks around the closer he gets to freedom, looking for who, I don’t know. I assume it’s not me since I never told him I was coming. The gates rattle closed the second he steps through them. As soon as the lock engages, a crack fills the air. A bullet hits the ground near Calix’s feet with a thump.
I swing the bike around and pull up in front of my husband. I lift my visor just enough to yell at him to get on. “Move it!”
He looks at me before looking around him. A bullet clips my side, making me curse.
“Either get the fuck on or I’m leaving you behind.”
“Sarah?”
I don’t answer, I just slam my visor down and start to move when I feel him jump on behind me. I grit my teeth in pain when he slides his hands around my stomach, inadvertently squeezing my side. I sped away from the high-security mental hospital, putting as much distance between us and the shooter as possible. I weave in and out of traffic, wanting to be long gone by the time the police show up.
We ride for a few hours, Calix not complaining once, until I pull into the parking lot of the cheap motel I booked for us last night. The room is on the far end of the building, away from the reception and the small diner. I park the bike right under the window of our room and wait for Calix to climb off. Once he does, I follow suit, fishing the keys from my pocket and opening the door. I flick the lights on and turn to find Calix behind me, looking down at his hands, one of which is red with my blood.
“What the fuck?”
“Next time I tell you to move, fucking move,” I snarl, reaching up to undo the strap of my helmet.
He steps forward, towering above me in all his pissed off glory, and moves my hands aside to unfasten the strap himself. I brace myself as he pulls the helmet free. I shake my head, my hair spilling over my shoulders, as he stares down at me in surprise.
He reaches for a strand and twirls it around his finger.
“Miss the blonde?”
“Not even a little.” He surprises us both by answering. He steps back, getting himself together.
“Strip. I want to see where you were hit.”
I’d argue just to be a bitch, but I need to check the wound. I don’t think it’s too bad. I mean, if it were, I would have bled out hours ago, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like a motherfucker.
I lower the zipper on my jacket and slide it off, biting back a grimace at the pain, not wanting to show any kind of weakness in front of this man. When I look down, my white tank top is stained red on the right side. I look back up at Calix and pull it up over my head and toss it on top of my jacket, leaving me standing in my purple lace bra and leather pants.
Calix steps forward and drops into a squat, his fingers moving gently over my hip. Goosebumps break out all over my skin, and my nipples pebble, but I ignore it all and watch him as he stands back up. He disappears into the bathroom, and I hear the water running before he comes back a minute later with a damp washcloth.
