“I can’t,” I hiss. I shove him back and take my phone out.
It’s a message from Dante.
You left so suddenly last night, I was disappointed. Don’t worry. I made you an early Christmas present.
Check your car.
My car. I left my car up the hill near the flats a few blocks from the school. The buzzing is joined by a surge of adrenaline. He’s done something else. Something that will fuck me over further. I was an idiot. I thought I was playing Dante, when all this time he was playing me.
“What’s that bastard want?”
“He’s left me a present,” I say, blandly. “I need to go and get my car.”
Jude sighs. “Come on. I have eighteen hours of fucking freedom left. I may as well take you.”
In Jude’s car, I do nothing but stare out of the window. There must be a way I can fix this. I’ve always found a way. This shitstorm is no exception. Just….I’m missing something obvious. I need to speak to Dino and convince him to retract his statement. Duke has the best lawyers. He doesn’t need to do this. I also need to beat Dante at his own game. So far that hasn’t worked. I just need time, and space, to think.
My car is where I left it. Jude drives up next to it, lets me out, and then goes off to park. I take a moment to look over every inch of the exterior. If he’s rigged a fucking bomb, the last thing I need to do is open the door, or start the engine. When I’m convinced it’s clean, I make my way over to the trunk. The lock isn’t damaged but that doesn’t mean he didn’t break in.
“Let me do it,” says Jude as he comes up behind me, keys jangling.
I step back, letting him pop the trunk. Inside is the suitcase Dante had in his locker. It’s zipped closed but the mini lock on the case isn’t clicked shut so it’s easy to open it up and lift the lid.
The drama teacher I was planning on taking out last night is stuffed inside. He’s also dead as a doornail—shot in the head, execution style. It’s Dante’s signature move.
“Jesus Christ, is that Mr Buxton?” Jude exclaims.
Rage comes in fits and starts as I notice little things. There’s no plastic sheeting. The suitcase is leaking fucking blood all over the interior of my car. My car. And we’re in the middle of fucking nosy neighbour central.
“Shut it,” I snap. “Shut it now.”
Jude doesn’t hesitate to do as I ask. He re-closes the suitcase and drops the lid of the trunk.
“Dino’s not here to clean this one,” he says unhelpfully, stating the fucking obvious.
“We get rid of it ourselves. The car too,” I say, tersely. “Follow me. I know a place.”
I walk quickly, but not too quick, to the driver’s seat of my beloved Beetle, and get in. Jude doesn’t argue. He makes his way back to where he parked his car as I start the engine. Then I drive carefully, obeying all the traffic laws so as not to draw any fucking attention.
I do know a place, but it’s not somewhere I ever thought I’d use again. It was when I first started out and I had to rely on my own resources to get rid of bodies.
Before Dante rescued me and showed me how to survive.
He knows how much this car means to me.
Fucking bastard.
As we pass under the sign for Hayes Junkyard, officially entering it, I glance in the rear-view mirror, just in time to see Jude’s face crease up into a frown.
“This is your plan? A fucking scrap yard?” Jude says, as he gets out of his Aston Martin. The way he slams his own car door is enough to make anyone jump out of their skin. But not me. I’m calm. I’m one hundred percent fucking horizontal, I’m so calm right now.
Dante thinks he can faze me. But it’s going to take more than a few pictures and a dead body to scare me into doing what he wants. He has no clue.
I’d rather die than go back home.
I’d rather go to prison for life.
There is no way in hell I’m going back.
As my trusty Beetle is flattened into a cube, I sip a soda and text Dante.
All this can’t be to make me come home with you. What the fuck do you want?
A few seconds later, he replies.
To break you.