People like me don’t live in mansions like that. We don’t even get to step foot in them unless we’re laying concrete or some shit. Or assassinating some rich asshole, like I will at Avallonis.
Icy, black grief surges through me. “I should have known Trefor wasn’t hard enough for this life. He could never look after himself when we were kids. I should have—”
Angrily, I yank my hand out of Branwen’s, change gears, and close the gap that’s opened up ahead way too fast, stopping the Mustang in a screech of tire rubber. The driver of the car in front gives me the finger.
I’m breathing hard as if I’ve run a marathon and glaring out the windshield straight ahead. It was a mistake talking to her about any of this. I can’t let my pain over Trefor distract me from what I have to do. Once Lange is dead, I’ll deal with it then.
Right now, it’s just a job.
“Anyone who hurts me and mine gets taken out. No excuses. No forgiveness. Forgiveness isn’t shit.” I turn and glare at Branwen. “You hear me, baby? Forgiveness isn’t shit.”
Her nail is halfway to her mouth before she remembers I told her not to do that. A second later, her world converges with mine, and I remember.
Forgiveness is all she wants.
A few miles later, I take the exit just before Arizola, leaving the traffic heading into the heart of Phoenix behind. There are fewer cars on this road and we’re able to drive along steadily, but it’s fucking slow. Branwen taps my arm and points to a gas station. It’s two in the afternoon and she probably needs to pee.
Irritated with the whole fucking day, I pull over and we use the restrooms. Once I fill up the car with gas, we get on our painfully slow way again. The Phoenix bypass is a winding and indirect route through empty desert, and I start to wonder if I made the right decision, as mile after mile of rocky scrub stretches before us, seemingly unending.
Just past four in the afternoon, we finally make it back to the interstate at Buckeye, but by now, I need a goddamn break. I counted on us being in Los Angeles by now, but we’re only just halfway there. Branwen looks pale and exhausted. I wonder if she’d be complaining if she could talk, or whether she’s used to putting up with feeling like shit.
Buckeye has a main road but it’s sparse as hell. Counting on there being a gas station or a fast food joint at the junction, I keep driving and spot a Wendy’s. Hallelujah.
We get out of the car, stiff-legged, and make our way inside. I order two double cheeseburgers and fries, with a Coke for me and a chocolate shake for Branwen.
“I fucking hate traffic,” I growl, and take a bite out of my burger. We’re sunk in a booth at the back of the empty restaurant. Branwen nods, sucking on her milkshake. We eat in silence, absorbed in the food and the miles we didn’t cover yet today. Well I am, anyway.
When I finish my meal, I get out my cell and open Google Maps again, eating fries one-handed as I study the roads. There are two routes we could take from here. The first, along Interstate 10 through Palm Springs and Los Angeles, or north to Interstate 40, missing Los Angeles all together. It adds thirty or so miles to the journey but would skip a whole lot of traffic that would probably be in our way.
I show her the screen. “What do you reckon? Through Los Angeles, or the slightly longer route that goes north of the city?”
Branwen consults the map and then holds up two fingers.
“Longer route it is,” I say, shoving my phone into my pocket. “Good. I fucking hate L.A. I want to get to Needles tonight and it’s another two hundred miles. Three hours in the car. Think we can make it?”
That will make nearly fourteen hours on the road today, a grueling number for driver and passenger, but Branwen doesn’t hesitate. She nods decisively.
I find myself grinning at her. Hesitantly, she smiles back, and I don’t know if it’s the food or the hopefulness of a new goal, but a good feeling spreads through my chest. Like we’re on the same side, she and I.
“All right then, baby. I believe in us.” I collect our trash on our tray and dump it into a trash. “Next stop, Needles, California.” At least we’ll be in the right state in a few hours’ time. Shame it’s a big fucking state.
As we walk out to the car, Branwen slips her hand into mine. Not because I’m taking hold of her to keep my hostage close or because she’s resigned to her fate, but because it belongs there. That’s what it feels like anyway.
Branwen
Something’s changed between Geraint and me. The interstate has become an adversity we both share and all of a sudden, we’re on the same side now. He tunes the radio to blues and we drive into the dusk, a thoughtful but comfortable silence cocooning us.
My mind wanders over the conversation we had earlier. When he spoke of his brother and his dead mom, I could see the pain of remembered blood in his eyes. I wonder if that’s what turned him on to this life, the appeal of getting paid to take out people like his daddy. People like my daddy too.
At home, I had everything I could ever ask for and never had to lift a finger. Clothes, holidays, jewelry. Not love, though. I never felt much love at home—not from my father who was always scheming nor from my mother who let a nanny raise me. Geraint probably thinks I’m spoiled and naïve, but I know things. I’ve seen things too. My big brothers didn’t protect me, like Geraint did for Trefor as long as he could.
And now Trefor’s dead. It was his finger we bu
rned, I know it.
I gaze out the windshield as the sky turns from peach to blush to sapphire, remembering what Geraint said about forgiveness. Wondering why I still crave it so much, and if that makes me weak. How can Geraint think forgiveness isn’t worth shit when he gave me exactly that the first night we were on the road? I remember those three words—daddy forgives you—and a hot, golden feeling spreads through me once more, more precious than diamonds. It is to me, anyway.
I wish we could stay forever like this, driving and driving, with only the road ahead of us, but we pull into Needles just before eight o’clock. The sun’s gone down, making it easier to spot the glowing motel sign at the end of the street. Both of us weary, we get a key from the front desk. In the room, I slump down on the bed feeling like I’ve been running all day.