Good people always finish last.
I open my mouth to release a breath, but in doing so, suck in desert grime and dust that makes my throat even dryer than it was to begin with.
I need as much energy as I can get. But I’m unsure how much energy I can muster without water.
I haven’t hydrated in hours, too preoccupied thinking about Carmen. Feelings have that effect on your body, taking away the urge to eat, drink, and sleep.
I’ve been thinking about her so much that the last sip of water I took was before we rode out to the airport. Since leaving her home with Carter, my mind has been swirling.
And then I find out she was upstairs fucking Carter when Otis was being taken?
Good people always finish last.
I shove my father’s opinions aside.
We’re not the same person. He was with my mother because of duty.
But I choose to be with Carmen because love—contrary to his belief—does exist.
The sky turns black and the wind soon drops. We slow to a crawl on approach to Conrad’s location.
I pocket my phone when we get close and kill the engine.
“Carmen’s gonna have to take it from here,” Carter says.
I’m glad for the chirping crickets, preventing the desert from falling into an eerie silence.
I’ve never been one to scare easily. The police force shapes you up to be that way. When someone threatens with a gun, you learn to confidently lower it for them, maybe crack them a smile if you’re having a good day.
Get under people’s skin. Make them feel inferior.
I brought that practice into Venom Vultures when I first joined. You can choose to be afraid when a knife or firearm is being threatened against you, or you can choose to remain calm and not react how the opponent wants you to.
Being scared is a choice.
Until tonight. My heart is leaping out of my chest and it’s impossible to get it under control.
Feelings have that effect on a person.
Up ahead is the doomed warehouse, sitting loud and proud in the middle of the desert like a haunted house that has been without guests for decades. Tonight, the derelict building looks hungry to swallow someone up.
“You’re telling me they live out here?” I ask.
Skipper nods. “It’ll be one of their many hiding spots. They probably come here when they’re feeling unsocial.”
Light wind blows through the expanse, rustling a few dead bushes nearby. The land is dry, more so than my throat.
The panic is back in my stomach again. “How are we gonna know when to enter?”
“I’ll scream,” Carmen says.
Skipper adds, “You’ll also most likely hear gunshots.”
Brilliant. I was hoping for that detail to be left out.
I cast Skipper a daggered look in the darkness and swallow my nerves. But in doing so, I merely pass them out of my stomach and into my bowels. I want to shit myself.
And that phrase has never felt so literal before.
