“We should keep tabs on Carmen for the time being,” I propose, searching faces for my first death glare.
Surprisingly, I don’t get one from Vex. I get his usual glum face, the one that suggests neitheryesorno.
“Sounds like a plan,” Carter says. “What did Conrad mean by that? Making it ‘easier’ for him?”
“I dunno.” I shrug. “Let’s hope he was trying to bluff us.”
I throw a jacket over myself and march toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Vex calls.
“Taking control of the situation before it takes care of us. Now, are you coming or not?” I swing open the door and descend the veranda, heading for my Harley.
I know exactly what Vex is thinking:
Why am I going to all of this effort for another human being?
Why am I not running back to Monterey and setting sail?
He can let me know when he has an answer, because I certainly don’t have one.
16
CARMEN
“Harry Reid International?”confirms the Uber driver as Otis and I slide into the back seat.
“Yep.” I clunk-click Otis into his car seat before securing my own.
In case of an emergency, one of the first rules of flying is to fit the oxygen mask over yourself before you help others, and that same rule applies for your own child.
It’s a concept psychologists have been exploring for years, books written around that very concept. The idea is—you can’t help others if you’re unable to help yourself first.
I disagree with this claim.
Otis is fine, but I’m already deteriorating with the same disease my own mother suffered with. Desire. The inability to control myself around the opposite sex.
I often wonder if he’d be better off without me. Ever since the auction, Otis has had more of a relationship with Sadie than he has with me, and I’m supposed to be his own fucking mother.
My decision to fly out of Vegas was a tough one, but necessary.
I’m not leaving the state for me—I’m doing it for Otis.
And that puts me somewhat at ease as the vehicle glides down the road, leaving our broken suburb.
Forever.
With money on my side, I can afford a nice place to live. Otis and I will be staying in a rental short-term while we find our feet.
The house is something out of a movie, set under a canopy of trees in Putnam County, NY. No hustle and bustle, no wailing sirens or lizard neighbors secretly judging us from their side of the barbed-wire face.
There aren’t even going to be any neighbors. For the next month, Otis and I actually have acreage. The kind of thing they have at the Venom Vultures clubhouse, except we have pine trees, wild deer, and streams to explore.
Not sand dunes and open roads.
I ignore my contracting chest and peer out the window, watching the distant mountains.
I suspect it won’t be as open in New York as it is here, where the land stretches as far the naked eye can see in front of you. Out in the desert, you can catch a breath of fresh air, but I’ll bet you can catch an even fresher one in the thick of the woods, one filled with the rich smells of soil, leaves, and earth.
