My radio is silent in my ear, save for the background hiss that tells me it’s still on. And I know—Iknow—that asshole is still talking to Genesis. They both went north; they’ll be in range of each other for ages yet.
“Chica, you come help me out, I’ll feed you my cock nice and slow. I know you want it.”
If he touches her, I’m going to rip it off and feed it to him.
I tell myself she’s far too smart to go anywhere near him. And it’s true, I know it is. But I still worry. Pablo’s a walking disaster area, and I don’t want her anywhere near him. He’s the kind of idiot that gets people killed.
Riding with Briggs’s gang these last six months has shown me that.
The intersection with Route 74 is coming up, far too damn soon. I shouldn’t have hit it yet. I check my speed, and I’m doing ninety. I’m riding faster in response to my mood, and it’s reckless. I know better than this.
Getting pulled for speeding with a bag stuffed with hundreds of thousands of dollars of stolen goods? Fucking amateurish. Embarrassing.
I slow for the turn, take the right, and now I’m heading back to LA, the long way around. Palms to Pines Highway, up over the Santa Rosa mountains. I know it well, ridden it a bunch of times, and the corners fly past one after the other without any thought.
But there’ll be no cops up here, and I let the bike have its head, taking my anger out on the road.
I’m going to kill Pablo anyway. It’ll be doing the human race a favor, and I didnotlike the way that asshole spoke to Genesis.
That decision feels good, and I grin inside my helmet. Only problem is, for that to happen, he has to not get caught. He’s just not that smart.
And that’s a problem, right there. Heisgoing to get caught. I know it, she knows it. How the hellRennerdoesn’t know it is beyond me. The guy’s supposed to be a pro.
So now we have a liability.
Pablo can’t point to me, not really. He knows nothing about me beyond the factthat I have a shithole apartment somewhere in Boyle Heights, which he’s never seen. And the license plate of my Fireblade, which I don’t give him enough intelligence to remember.
I’ll change it when I get back anyway. I have enough spares.
It’s not like it matters. It’s not like he can do anything tome, other than cause some embarrassment I could do without.
No, it won’t bemehe hangs out to dry. It’ll be her.
I’m going to fuckingkillhim.
Put a bullet in his head and drive him out into the desert, let the coyotes have his body.
No… not personal enough. I want him to suffer.
Take him for a ride over Angeles Crest and just give him a gentle nudge on the right bend. It won’t kill him—not right away, not unless he gets lucky. He can lie at the bottom of the gorge, bones broken, in agony for the last few hours of his life, thinking it was an accident, expecting me to send help for him.
That moment as his life seeps away, when he finally realizes there’s no help coming, that I did it on purpose.
Yeah, that’ll work.
Dark thoughts, Declan.
But he deserves nothing less for talking to her like that.
My speed, my fantasies of killing Pablo, the reckless way I’m taking each corner—they’re all to avoid having to face the real problem here.
Genesis.
The truth is, I did not expect Genesis.
Ever since that bar fight. No, even before then—I always notice a girl on a bike. But she’s something else. She doesn’t just ride a bike, she fuckingflowson it. She’s not just good, she’samazing.
Better than me, and that’s… rare.
