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We’re Westons.

The only things we’re allowed are mountains, whiskey, and death.

2 Delilah

Like my namesake, I’m already in treacherous territory.

Night air is cool on my face as I speed down the highway. Two days ago, I was a dancer. Now I’m in survival mode. On the run. In the middle of nowhere.

I’ve done anything to survive before—I can do it again.

Thankfully, Belle worked quickly that night. Soundproof walls meant no one heard anything. I stared at Sammy slumped on the couch, half his skull splattered on the wall. My ears rang from the force of the gunshot. I brushed something off my leg. Brain. Then promptly had a panic attack.

As T-Bone zipped Sammy up in a garment bag, Belle pulled me to standing. “You’re a Velvet Belles girl, right? You keep your gorgeous mouth shut and let us handle it.”

“Okay, Belle.” I bobblehead nodded, fighting back tears, and leaned into her comforting hug.

“Consider yourself disappeared. At least until this blows over.” She cast a withering eye at Sammy. “He won’t be missed.”

Frantic, I packed up my things and hopped in my car, headed north. I was thirty miles down the road when I realized I still had the USB in the pocket of my robe.

Now it’s in the glove box, haunting me. I didn’t tell Belle I had it. Whatever’s on it, I don’t want to know. Denial. It’s always been my saving grace.

The last forty-eight hours have consisted of me singing along to the radio and telling myself no one’s after me, even though I’m fully aware I just saw a man murder himself in front of me. Even though his words hinted I’m caught up in something darker than I can even imagine.

The stupidest thoughts flashed through my mind when Sammy pulled that gun.

I’m not ready to die. I have dances to dance, a rat to feed. Fucker’s going to ruin my chips and salsa night with Melly.

Speaking of Melly, I sent her a short text after I made it out of Nevada.

On the run, on the road, tell you more later.

I slow-roll my ’78 Pinto through a stop sign, watching the dark highway briefly sharpen before I punch the brake and gun the gas. All around me, nothingness. Exactly how I feel.

I grip my locket, wishing my sister were here with me. Sudden, hot tears flood my eyes. I miss her so much. She wouldn’t know what to do either, but at least we’d be together.

A memory of the day Lucy gave me the locket floats through my mind.

“This is for you.” She extended her small hand proudly, showcasing a gold heart-shaped locket. “For your birthday.”

I gaped at her. “Where’d you get this, Lucy Lou?” Having just moved to San Diego, we barely had money for groceries let alone gold jewelry.

“It’s a secret. But it’s yours now. And it’s lucky.”

“It is, is it?” I held the necklace up to the sunlight and marveled at its sparkle.

“Yep.” Lucy’s smile was bright, broad. “It’s your lucky locket, Delilah, and don’t you forget it.”

My lips move in a muttered chant. “I can do this. I’ve done it before. I have all the luck. Right?”

Right.

Running has always been about survival. Independence. Everyone I love goes away. And anyone I trust hurts me. Which means I rely on myself. Always.

All the bags I packed in my twenty-four years, they’ll get me somewhere. I’m just not sure where yet.

Bag number one. My mother herding my eight-year-old self into a station wagon as she left our father in the middle of the night. I was forced to leave behind my favorite stuffed rabbit, Chester, but I had my little sister. I cuddled Lucy in the back seat and told her it would all be okay.