I grab the knife from under the driver's seat, the same one I used on Carl. A fixed blade, six inches, sharp enough to split skin like paper, I tuck it into my waistband. Then I step out into the cold desert air.
The lot is silent except for the hum of idling engines and the distant sound of the highway. My boots crunch on the gravel as I cross toward Gary's truck, moving slowly and sticking to the shadows. No need to rush as he’s not going anywhere.
I circle around to the passenger side and test the door handle. Unlocked. What a fucking idiot. You'd think someone who just talked to the cops about two suspected murderers would be more careful. But people are stupid. They think bad things only happen to other people.
Gary's about to learn differently.
I ease the door open and climb up into the cab. The interior smells of old sweat mixed with a cheap cologne. Gary's in the sleeper, propped up against the pillows with his phone in his hands. He's awake, and when he looks up, his eyes go wide.
"What the…"
I'm on him before he can finish, one hand going for his throat. But Gary's faster than I expected as he throws the phone at my face and I dodge it, and in that split second he's moving when his big hands grab my jacket, yanking me forward.
He's strong. Stronger than Carl, and stronger than I anticipated. A mistake I won’t make again.
We crash into the side of the sleeper and he gets a fist into my ribs. Pain explodes through my side and I grunt, twisting away. He comes after me, all two-hundred-plus pounds of him, and suddenly we're grappling in the tight space of the cab.
"You're that guy," he gasps, recognition flooding his face. "From the gas station."
I drive my elbow into his jaw and his head snaps back. He stumbles but doesn't go down. Instead he lunges, catching me around the waist and slamming me against the dashboard. The impact knocks the air from my lungs, making it hard to breathe.
He's fighting for his life and I can see it in his eyes, the panic, the desperate strength like he has a reason to live, a life to fight for. Good. Makes it more honest and at least he can know he died trying.
I bring my knee up hard into his gut and he wheezes, his grip loosening. I shove him back and reach for the knife, but he sees it and grabs my arms. We struggle, his hand clamped around my wrist, both of us breathing hard.
"Please," he gasps. "I got a wife."
"And I’ve got a girl too. You talked," I say through gritted teeth. "Described her. Put her face on the news."
I twist my wrist and the knife comes free. He tries to block but I'm faster now, adrenaline sharpening everything. The blade catches him across the forearm and he yells, blood spraying. He swings wildly and catches me across the temple. Stars explode in my vision and I taste blood on my tongue. But I don't let go of the knife, I can't let go.
This is for Roxy. For us. For the life we're building.
Gary lunges again and I sidestep, letting his momentum carry him forward. He crashes into the passenger seat and I'm on his back, my arm around his throat and the knife coming up to his neck.
"Should've kept your mouth shut," I tell him.
He thrashes, trying to throw me off, but I've got the leverage now. I'm smaller but I'm faster, and I know exactly where to cut.
The knife goes in just below his ear, angled down toward the carotid. Hot blood sprays across my hand, my arm and the interior of the cab. Gary makes a wet, choking sound as his hands come up, scrabbling at his neck. It won't help as I cut toodeep, and I would say he's got maybe thirty seconds. I hold on as he weakens, feeling his pulse hammering against my forearm, then slowing…slowing. Stopping.
When he finally goes still, I let him drop.
The cab is a mess. Blood everywhere, it’s on the seats, the walls, pooling on the floor. On me. My hands are slick with it, my shirt soaked. There's a cut above my eyebrow from where he hit me, with blood trickling down my face.
But it's done.
I stand there trying to catch my breath with adrenaline still singing through my veins. Then I wipe the knife on Gary's shirt and pocket his phone. I check his wallet, there is four hundred in cash and I take it. Hopefully the cops will see this as a robbery gone wrong.
The sky is starting to lighten slightly when I climb out of the cab, with dawn approaching, and I need to move.
I walk back to the van, my hands and body sticky with blood, and the desert air feels crisp against my sweaty skin. That was like a workout. When I open the van door, Roxy's still asleep. She's on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek, her dark hair spilling across the pillow. She looks so angelic.
But she's not and neither am I.
I stare at her sleeping form, this woman who's become everything. Then I climb into the driver's seat and just sit there, coming down from the high, feeling the weight of what I just did.
I killed a man. I hunted him like an animal and cut his throat. And I'd do it again. For her. For us.
