Blood to Dust

“You’re a shithead for not sticking around for Camden, Nate.”

Is that right? The girl’s still keeping a fucking dagger in her panties. My dagger, by the way, and she’s pissed off about me not throwing myself under the bus for her?

“Let me ask you something,” I start. My nostrils flare, and I slide the shades I retrieved from Stella up the bridge of my nose to cover my eyes, because I can’t chance her seeing what’s behind them. “If your sensitive soul is so crushed about me not sticking around, why don’t you come with me to Canada when we’re done? Didn’t we say something about a blood oath?”

“You might want to rethink that incident, because, if I remember correctly, that’s around the same time you fucked me and bailed on me for oh, four days or so?”

“I came to my senses.” I crush my teeth together. I wanted to fight it. Us. Whatever this fucked-up thing was, I didn’t want to be a part of it.

The Beatmobile slows down to a stop, and we’re stuck in traffic, moving south from Concord to Los Angeles. I check on Prescott through my darkened sunglasses and know that she’s just as uneasy about this as I am.

Standing still is not an option in our situation. There’s a police car five vehicles away, and if they decide to stop us, my life is over.

“I’m not coming with you to Canada, or Cabo, or wherever the hell you’re going after this is all over,” Pea whispers hotly, licking her lips. “I’m going to Iowa, just like I said. You held me hostage, for crying out loud.”

“Give me my dagger,” I fire at her.

“No. You still haven’t convinced me you’re trustworthy enough not to stab me in the middle of the night.”

I wrench my eyes back to the road, shaking my head. We spend the next four hours in silence. I use the time to mull over the whole Mexico versus Canada debate. I’m leaning toward Mexico. Closer and less chance of me being handed back into the open arms of the US authorities.

When the afternoon rolls around and I hear Prescott’s stomach complaining loudly, I pull in at a gas station. I need to stretch my limbs. This car is fucking killing me.

“Would you like to hear our specials for today? We’ve got Twix for a starter and glazed-BBQ Lays for an entrée,” I stick my head into her window. The blonde spitfire bounces the soft stress ball off my nose a couple of times as she speaks.

“Two Red Bulls and a sandwich. And chips. Oh, and something sweet. Chocolate. I’d like a Diet Pepsi, too.”

I come back with approximately sixty percent of the convenient mart’s goods and switch on the ignition. Prescott pumped gas while I was inside. I groan when my knees hit the steering wheel again. I shouldn’t have let her shake hands on this car. By the time we’re done, I’ll shrink to half my size in this thing.

“I miss Stella. The Beatmobile sucks ass,” I say, pulling back onto the main road. Prescott throws her hands up in despair.

“Would you stop moping? I hate to break it to you, but there’s probably another guy deep inside Stella right now, riding her like there’s no tomorrow.”

“Bitch,” I drone, creamy clouds move away to make room for the blues and pinks of the sun. This day is turning out to be fucking stunning. Maybe it’s the weather.

And maybe it’s the girl.

“I’m joking, Nate. Would it help if I gave you head?”

My neck heats and my eyes water with the possibility. Okay, it’s definitely the girl.

“A little. Let me lick your crack when we get to the motel. That’d put a smile back on my face.”

She rolls her eyes on a smirk. “Fine. In the meantime, I’m unzipping you.”

I don’t dare move my gaze from the road. My blood is pumping so hard in my veins, I’m surprised I’m not bursting like an overcooked wrapped meal in a microwave. I’m not even sure I’d like her to give me head. I’m liable to throw us right into the ocean with those lips on my junk. After all, we’re passing beach towns. It’s damn likely I would.

“Here?” I ask coolly.

“Why not?” She pushes her hair up off of her face, angling closer. “Tinted windows, and I’ve been meaning to see how much of you I can take. I have a suspicion it’ll be just the tip.”

I suck in my cheeks so that my mouth won’t break into a shit-eating grin of the douchebag variety. My left hand is still on the wheel, while I use my right one to grab the back of her head roughly and pull it into my lap. She unzips me and I help her by lifting my ass from the seat to give her better access. My dick is swollen, stiff and ready to get to know those pinks up-close. She reaches for my boxers and strokes my cock in her hand. It jerks its appreciation in response. I’m still not sure why she’s doing this. We weren’t on good terms when we left Hussein’s house, and I was under the impression she’d let me sweat before letting me into her pussy or mouth again.