“Open your eyes.” His voice scrapes lower, vibrating against my earlobe.
I blink against the sudden light.When had I closed them?
Bishop’s face hovers inches from mine. His eyes are black pools with just a thin ring of color. A streak of crimson cuts across his left cheekbone, darker at the edges where it’s begun to dry. The muscle at the hinge of his jaw jumps once, twice.
His free hand rises between us. His thumb drags rough across my temple, comes away glistening. He stares at the red smear for half a heartbeat before wiping it across his pant leg.
“You don’t get to fall apart here.” His words click out one by one. “We’re not out of the fucking woods yet. You pack that shit in and finish the job. You with me?”
My lungs expand but no oxygen reaches my brain. Acid coats my tongue. Something bubbles up my throat.
“You’re a real asshole sometimes, you know that?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. I fuckin’ know.”
That word—sweetheart—lodges somewhere it shouldn’t. Like a burr trapped in delicate fabric. His gaze drops to my neck where my pulse hammers against skin. The horizon tilts fifteen degrees left, then rights itself. Then tilts again. Yeah, I’m definitely concussed.
Bishop’s mouth twists. “If you’re incapacitated”—the word slithers between his teeth—“my brothers are gonna rush over here, and then we’re all fucked. So one more deep breath.” His eyes narrow to obsidian slits.
My chin jerks up. Air rushes through my nostrils, filling my lungs until my ribs strain against skin. Bleach and sun-baked asphalt coat my tongue. I hold the breath until black spots bloom like spilled ink at the corners of my vision, then release it in a hiss.
The world steadies. Almost.
“There you go,” Bishop mutters. His fingers—callused ridges and rough edges—clamp around my good wrist and yank upward. “On your feet.”
Light detonates behind my eyes. White-hot shrapnel tears through my shoulder. My boot heels scrape concrete as I plant them, knees locked and quivering.
The wind picks up, and for a split second, it sounded like another truck was coming. My heart slams against my ribs. Dust swirls up from the shoulder in a mini cyclone—the only witness. Blood darkens to rust beneath the merciless sun. Tire tracks spell our confession in the dirt.
We’re on borrowed time.
Bishop spins, barking orders. “Gage! Bleach bomb that truck, now! Cruz—get the blood stains. Every goddamn one.” He jabs a finger at Beckett. “Stop with the chips and work on the program.Make sure they’re being reserialized.” His head snaps toward Lola, already in motion. “Faster. Five minutes, and we’re gone.”
His shadow eclipses me, breath scorching my neck. “You. Stay put.”
I wrench away from his grip, stumbling as I bend for a nearby roll split open. My left arm swings dead at my side, useless weight. Each heartbeat sends lightning down to fingertips that no longer feel like mine.
The highway ripples like a mirage. I lock my jaw until the sensation shimmers into something more manageable.
“Fuck,” I whisper. Sweat pearls on my upper lip, one drop sliding into the corner of my mouth—salt and dirt. I hook three more rolls with my good hand, the plastic squeaking against my skin. They hit the bin with hollow thuds. “I’m helping my sister.”
“Fine,” he bites out.
His permission hangs in the air between us. I let it fall.
“Rafe?” Bishop’s shadow hasn’t moved from behind me.
“I know.” Rafe’s shadow stretches long across the road. His gun hand never wavers, the barrel tracking invisible threats across the empty horizon. His head pivots in mechanical sweeps—three seconds on the desert, one second counting heads, three seconds on the desert again.
Lola’s boots kick up dust as she rushes toward me, fingers snatching at scattered rolls, knuckles white. Her jaw clenches so tight I can see the muscle jump beneath her skin. “You good?” The words barely escape through her teeth.
“I’m fine.”
“Good.” She whips her head toward Bishop. “It’d go a lot faster if you helped.”
“Iam.” Bishop’s shadow stretches across the asphalt as he bends, scooping up rolls in broad sweeps.
I bend for another roll. The horizon tilts, asphalt rippling like black water. My vision blurs, then snaps back. Each time Istraighten, fire licks from my collarbone to fingertips. Sweat and blood mix on my skin, drying to a gritty paste. I grit my teeth and keep going, reminding myself that I can do anything for five minutes.
