Blood to Dust

Good God, this man is ruthless, yet so soft when he handles me. I can’t even begin to read him.

I clear my throat. “Go get us something to eat.” I bark out the order to disguise the storm that’s swirling inside me, but I’m sure he can see through me. My cheeks are cherry red, my pulse is so fast you can see it pounding in my neck and I constantly lick my lips. He nods curtly and leaves without even asking me what I want, locking me inside.

But he doesn’t need to ask, he knows what I want.

I want him.



I wake up to faint red flickers of the clock on the nightstand. It’s 3:30 a.m.

Time.

It’s my only fortune nowadays. Other people, people who took and used and abused me, are running out of it.

Stretching my arms and spreading my legs over the cool sheets, I notice I’m alone. My throat bobs and I blink away the sleep.

Where is he?

Looking around, I take in the empty room through glassy eyes. I remember falling asleep minutes after he’d left to get us food, but he never woke me up.

Christ. I should have never trusted this man.

Scrambling up to my feet, I throw the bathroom door wide. Empty. I’m consumed by the darkened room, all by myself, and instead of launching for my backpack, making sure he hadn’t stolen anything, I fight the tears that are quietly flowing down my cheeks. The thought that he left me makes me want to throw myself off a building.

He wouldn’t leave without getting his passport and 50k first—would he?

Maybe one of Godfrey’s guys got to him. Shit, maybe I’m next.

After checking my backpack and making sure that everything I brought along is still with me, I pace the room back and forth. We’re only using one burner phone, and it’s on me, so I can’t call him. I check the window overlooking the street. Nothing. Slipping into a pair of flip flops I’m not even sure belong to me, I get out of the room with my backpack in tow, cursing him for taking the key because I can’t lock the door behind me.

I’m sweating buckets as I get close to the lobby, fearing I’ll come face to face with my English enemies. With every step, my prayers become louder. At first they’re just in my head. Then, they come out as whispered chants. Launching into the empty reception area, scanning, searching, hyperventilating, I pass by the small pool the place offers and a blue shadow dances in my periphery. I twist my head in surprise and stop with a screech.

Nate.

He’s swimming to and fro, slowly, gracefully. Taking his time. I stare at him, allow my pulse to slow down and wipe the cold sweat from my brow before I snap out of my stupor and walk to the pool, not making a sound. The motel is practically deserted, the only noises that can be heard include the surprised swooshes of a pool that’s probably never been used before, and the whimpering of a faraway coyote.

I’m still wearing my red number and a small leather jacket when I walk over to him. He has his back to me but when a twig snaps under my flip-flops, he turns around sharply. His expression relaxes from tight back to peaceful when our eyes lock.

“What in the actual hell, Nate?” I disguise the panic that swirled within me moments ago by burying my hands in my jacket’s pockets, even though it’s hot outside. I always dress up in cute clothes. It reminds me of my previous life as a Blackhawk princess. But I always wear something on top to hide my body. That, however, is all thanks to the second part of my life, the one after the Archers bulldozed into it. “I thought you said you were bringing food!” It’s supposed to be a question, but it comes out as an accusation.

“And I did. You were snoring. What was I supposed to do?” his eyes narrow into dangerous slits. I can see it from here. Even in the blackness of the night. He’s only wearing his boxers, and looks delicious bare-chested.

“You were supposed to not get out and swim in the open, where everybody can frigging see you. Should I remind you that you’re violating your parole, and that we’re running away from kingpins with blood on their hands?”

Hysteria consumes me. I’d be shaking if it wasn’t for the fact it’s 300 degrees outside and I’m wearing a goddamned leather jacket. Nate shrugs inside the pool, disregarding me completely. I shake my head, exhaling.

“You’re so stupid, Nate. You act like it’s the first time you’ve even been to a pool,” I turn on my heel, about to walk away.

“It is,” he says. I freeze, spinning slowly. His eyes follow the hand he uses to splash the water around.

“Huh?” I ask, dropping my backpack on the floor. My face pinks but the night blankets my skin, keeping this our secret.

“Yeah,” he repeats louder. “I’ve never been inside a pool, even though I clean one regularly where I work in Blackhawk. Grew up in California, twenty-seven years old, and this is my first time.” He barks out a laugh, but it’s not bitter. He doesn’t give a damn about what people think, me included. Nate seems like he’s always been keenly aware of his circumstances. “Anyway, thought I’d check it out. See what all the fuss is about. Just in case. . .”

Just in case they kill us. I nod, offering him a small, knowing smile.

“Why is it that you only tattooed one side of your body?” I stand at the edge of the pool. I want to change the subject, but am also genuinely interested in the answer.

“The bare side represents my virtue. My ambitions. My good intentions. And the other side. . .that’s the dirty side of me. Violent and primal. It’s the side that kills without blinking.”