“Everyone wants something. Men never give without taking.”
I snort. She’s not wrong, but I’m not like that. “All right. You’ll owe me one.”
“One what?”
“A solid. A favor. Not sexual.” I don’t want her thinking that I’m out to take advantage of her.
She laughs. “All men want sex.”
“Of course we do. I just don’t want it from you.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Are you saying I’m not attractive?”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“There you are,” Toxic calls out. “Time to roll out.”
“We’ll be right there, man.”
“Grab your stuff.”
We check out and she changes in the bathroom.
She could make a run for it, but if she’s really been with Hector as long as she says, then she’s going to be hard to flip. She won’t run. At least not until we’re out of Mexico.
They’d just drag her back if she did.
Daisy is back on my bike, body tense and arms wrapped around me so damn tight I get the impression she’s scared of falling off and being left behind. We speed toward the border. My brothers ride in a V formation. Prez riding point, flanked by Hero and Wicked, followed by Tyrant and Toxic, then me and Creek making up the tail end.
We breeze through the border without incident.
The patrol officer barely glances at Daisy’s fake passport.
He waves us through while giving us a look that says, ‘Welcome back stateside, assholes.’
The first rest stop on this side of San Diego smells like stale piss and roadkill.
I shouldn’t have drunk so much lemonade.
When I exit the bathroom, I spot the same car that’s been keeping pace with us.
They’ve got a tail on us.
I spotted them about half an hour into our ride.
Not unexpected, but unwelcome.
Daisy has to be more than a cartel whore for them to care this much.
Lighting up a cigarette, I lean against the side of the building, pretending to ignore her, but she’s not the kind of girl you can easily dismiss.
She’s perched on the edge of a nearby picnic table, dangling her legs off the end, boots swinging back and forth as she munches on a vending machine candy bar. Her hair hangs loose in wild tangles. Right now, she has this untamed look about her. Almost like the before picture on the front of a pamphlet for drug rehab or some shit.
There’s something dangerous and untethered about the way she studies everything and everyone around her. She’s like a bomb that’s about to detonate at any time.
I watch as she picks at the chipped green paint, glancing over at the car that’s been following us when she thinks no one is paying attention.
“Want to tell me who our friend is?” I take a hard drag and exhale slowly.
