It’s the early hours of the morning, and with my adrenaline ebbing away, we decide to sleep for a few hours before setting off at daybreak. When my alarm goes off, I let Ella and Motor sleep a little longer and go outside.
Stretching my arms above my head, I breathe in the damp air. We’re closer to colder climates, and I can’t fucking wait. Leaving California behind is like shedding skin and memories.
Taking out my phone, I call Hunter.
“Have you arrived?” he asks.
I sit on the decking. “Not yet. We stopped for the night. Z picked up Ella’s bounty, but I managed to talk him out of it. Did you know she’s gone up to a million?”
“What the fuck?” Hunter says. “I’d never miss hearing about a bounty that high.”
“You think someone is deliberately keeping you out of the loop?”
He sighs. “Yes. Which likely means they know you’re together, or that you’re involved in keeping her safe.”
A door beside me closes, and I’m surprised to see Z on the decking. He gives me a nod, then takes out a cigarette.
“Can you listen out?” I ask Hunter.
“Already am, kid. I’ll keep you up to date. Let me know once you get to the cabin.”
We hang up, and Z sits next to me while he smokes.
“You stayed?”
He nods, blowing smoke through his lips. “X was bitching about his ribs hurting, and he’s our ride.” I arch a brow. “Please, you know I don’t drive myself anywhere. I’m a passenger prince.”
I snort a laugh and rest my forearms on my knees. We’re quiet for a few minutes. Z smokes, and I look out at the rising sun, enjoying the cool air. We’re around three hours from the cabin, but with the detours we’ll take, it’ll be late when we finally arrive. That’s a long time to be in a car with an alert Gibson.
“I’m sorry about Asher.”
I glance at Z, swallowing the sudden thickness in my throat. “Thanks.”
He puts out his cigarette but remains seated. “He was my favorite Flynn.”
“Dick.”
He grins. We’re quiet again, and I think about the last time we were all together. It was five years ago, and we happened to be in Vegas at the same time. It was two different jobs in the same hotel. Kismet, really. We ended up staying the weekend.
“Are you still married?” I ask, remembering our first night when Z met a woman called Silence and had an Elvis marry them. She was a waitress at the hotel we stayed at, and when Z had seen her, I’d almost clocked the moment he fell in love. He struck up a conversation with her about how unusual her name is, and four hours later, they were drunk and saying their vows.
He wiggles his wedding finger at me, the band gleaming in the light. “Five years and going strong.”
“She know what you do?”
“Fuck no. She’d kill me. She doesn’t even know I smoke,” he says. “I’m waiting for the right time.”
I snort. “Your silver wedding anniversary?”
“I’m thinking of leaving a note before I kick it,” he suggests. “That way she can rage at me, and I’ll be safely in hell.” I laugh and glance over at the motel reception. Ispotted a coffee machine in there last night. “I should probably wake up Gibson.”
“She and Asher were serious, then?”
“I’ve fallen for her.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Shit. That must suck for both of you,” he says, lighting another cigarette. It dangles between his lips as he lights it. “Grief is a powerful aphrodisiac, y’know.”
