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But Skye was oddly at peace.
‘I’m leaving,’ she said, and smiled so brightly. She felt it rise from within her before it broke over her face. ‘I’m starting over. And I’m not looking back.
‘But I wanted to leave one last video, because in just over two years’ time, I’m going to have control of a lot of money – money my grandmother left in trust for her family, money that I will guarantee my father loses access to. On the off-chance that anything happens to me before my twenty-fifth birthday, I would like my grandmother’s attorney, Mr Simcock, to continue in his role as trustee until the terms of the will have been met.’
She powered on. She had one last thing to say.
‘If anything happens to me after my twenty-fifth birthday, I want it on record that my father, Holden Marchant, was probably the one who had me killed.’
Chapter 2
‘This place is freakin’ terrifying,’ Stevie stated the next day as she pulled up to the rusted wire gate that contained Jim’s Used Cars. She somehow managed to look stylish dressed in baggy sweatpants and a cropped sweatshirt, with platform Uggs on her feet. Her black hair, long and curly, waterfalled to her waist in a thick mass. With her pale skin and dark eyes, Stevie could have played a live-action Snow White – until she opened her mouth. It was all downhill from there.
Skye, dressed in leggings, sneakers, and a baggy sweater, leaned forward in the passenger seat so that she could take a better look.
Behind the rusted gate, used cars lined up like cattle going to slaughter, headlights covered in dust, paint chipping, tyres flat. In the middle of the morose gathering, an ancient trailer sat. And in front of the trailer, a hulking giant stood by a drum fire, warming his hands.
‘Stay in the car,’ Skye instructed her two friends. And because they both looked terrified, she added, ‘Just in case he’s a serial killer and you need to go get help.’
‘Wait, what?’
Skye hopped from the car before Andrea could hold her back, and because that new wildness was dancing through her, she spun in a circle and blew them a kiss before approaching the gate.
In the frigid morning, frost still clung to the scrap metal. At the fence, Skye called, ‘Hi! You must be Jim!’
The giant didn’t speak, only started towards her, his heavy boots scraping over the gravel.
Skye watched him approach cautiously, because she was a woman who had learned that size did, in fact, make a difference. But the moment she saw his face, her smile grew. He was younger than she’d expected, maybe thirty-five, with shaggy brown hair and brown eyes that were warm and kind despite his size.
‘I’m Jim,’ he replied. His gaze settled on her split lip. ‘You looking for a ride?’
‘I am. Something cheap that’ll get me across country.’
‘What’s your budget?’
‘Honestly, Jim?’ Skye gripped the chain-link fence, wincing when her newly splinted fingers pulled painfully against their constraints. ‘As cheap as possible. I’m willing to drive with no windows as long as the wheels keep spinning for long enough to get me out of Texas.’
Jim missed nothing; his eyes flickered to her wrapped fingers. ‘Come on in. I have a few options for you.’
He pulled the gate open with one arm, waved Stevie and the car through.
The moment Stevie had parked, the girls got out. They huddled together, watching Jim mistrustfully.
He didn’t seem to mind. ‘If you’re looking for something official, something that will have a title to transfer, you’re gonna be looking at five k minimum. And it’s gonna have miles on it.’
Skye’s smile was wide and a little unhinged. ‘Show me what you got.’
He led them around the back of his trailer. From inside, a dog barked wildly, prompting Jim to say, ‘Ignore Roscoe. He doesn’t like strangers.’
Behind the graveyard of vehicles, tucked away from view, Jim had quite the operation: everything from second-hand Priuses to like-new Ford trucks, even a sparkling Jeep Wrangler in glossy black. A dilapidated barn structure sat at the end of the line, and although Skye wouldn’t ask, she wouldn’t have been surprised if a trio of Ferraris were stashed there.
She sighed and moved past the newer vehicles, making her way down the line to ancient trucks and mommy vans.
Next to her, Stevie was eerily quiet.
Andrea whispered, ‘Skye, these aren’t going to get you far.’
Jim heard her. He didn’t get mad, just slapped the rusted hood of an old blue Ford F150. ‘The only reason this beauty is listed at four k is because she has two hundred thousand miles on her and a rusting paint job. But the thing with the Fords, especially these older models, is that they’ll drive forever. They’re low maintenance, and any grease monkey in any shop could service one for you. The tyres have a lot of life in them yet.’ He kicked one to make his point.
