I opened my mouth to respond, but the words carried no sound, no weight to them. I was so desperate to get back what had happened I was trying to use Owen as a proxy.
But the truth was becoming as painfully evident as the Phoenix heat, as the refusal of Owen to engage with me for more than a line or two.
I would need to start living life without Ash.
And what would that look like?
The click of the pump momentarily distracted me. It was like the firing of the gun at a track meet to tell Owen to get on his bike, who was ready to go before I’d even holstered the damn pump. I didn’t mind him anymore; he might as well have been as invisible as the other highway drivers.
But whatwouldlife look like now?
Well, strange as it sounded, moving to Phoenix, even though it was done with the express intent of being closer to Ash and finding him, was almost certainly better than going back to Vegas. Phoenix only had a few places, a few instances of emotional tugging at the heartstrings; Las Vegas was almost only that.
Granted, when I went on future dates…when?It was still surreal to think like that, still kind of embarrassing to admit that I didn’t want to think of when but if. But I had to. I had to move on.
I had to do what Ash had asked of me long ago.
I had to treat Ashton Miller as dead.
The thought seemed…impossible, but also impossible to ignore. It only seemed appropriate, when I looked in my rearview mirror, that a black van appeared a couple of cars behind me, like one of those funeral home vans that transported caskets.
Sometimes, life really had a shitty way of just slamming the metaphor in your face.
I stared out at the road ahead. It was surprisingly empty; there was not a soul in sight. Behind me was Owen and the black van, but beyond that—
The black van sped up.
I felt my heart race. I had a bad fucking feeling about this. The van wasn’t just picking up speed to pass—it was going far too fast for that after spending what seemed like a noticeable amount of time just sort of trailing, not quite doing anything but drifting along.
Owen noticed it too. I saw him reaching across his body, probably reaching for a gun.
But I never saw him finish the act.
The van rammed into him from the side, knocking him out of my view. It was probably for the best that I didn’t see the outcome. If he survived, it would have been nothing short of a miracle.
The van pulled forward. I gunned the accelerator as hard as I could. I fumbled for my phone to call 911, but in what seemed like a too convenient moment, the damn fucking thing slid under my passenger seat.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
And then I looked up.
And I saw that the black van was not the only one pursuing me.
In fact, seemingly out of nowhere, two bikers had pulled up on each side of me. I made eye contact with the one on the left. He had on a King’s Men cut and sunglasses, but it was what was in his hand that got my attention.
A handgun.
He made a motion to pull over, pointed the gun at me, and then made the motion again. The message was not subtle. I slowed down, hurried over to the side of the road, and prayed I wasn’t about to be executed. I wasn’t exactly in a position to fight back, not with Owen now roadkill a mile or so back.
“Out of the car, bitch!”
I hurried to press open the car door. The same man who had brandished the gun pressed it into my back. We went to the other side of my car, away from anyone who might be able to see us. They’d effectively set up a visual blockade; an enterprising cop, I prayed, would come by and see what was going on, but I was defenseless right now.
“On your knees!”
The man pressed the gun hard, causing me to cry out in pain.
“The fuck, David?” a gruff-looking man with a red beard in front of me said. “That’s our prize, and you hurt her? Are you a fucking moron?”
