“Clear! Clear!”
It was a bellow but it sounded far away.
His frame spasmed violently, pain raking his body as the foam filled his mouth.
A shadow crossed over his closed eyes.
He opened them to see the prison guard leaning near.
He bent closer. So close, he disappeared.
The foam slid from his lips.
The whisper came in his ear.
“Sebring’s got a message. He wants you to know you shouldn’t worry. He’s gonna do what you didn’t. He’s gonna take care of Livvie.” The guard pulled away, doing it shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have hit her, man,” he went on. “This woulda gone a lot different if you hadn’t.”
Foam and spittle bubbled out of his mouth.
“For that, you pay,” the guard continued and again got close, “For Hettie, you burn in hell.”
The guard again pulled back but stayed kneeling beside him, staring in his eyes.
So he was the last thing he saw before Vincent Shade died.
* * * * *
Nine Weeks Later
The day had been long. All they’d seen was hard, cold road the length of it.
They hadn’t even stopped to eat.
After they checked in, she demanded they eat.
So they ate.
Now they were back at the motel in the middle of nowhere that was so in the middle of nowhere and so nothing it cost only twenty bucks a night.
Not what she’d worked her ass off her whole goddamned life to have.
He opened the door.
It didn’t happen until they were both through.
When the light came on, with the amount of guns on them, they didn’t move as the door swung shut behind them.
Her eyes were pinned to the man sitting on the edge of the bed, a woman standing next to him, her hand on his shoulder.
Benito Valenzuela and his woman, Camilla Turnbull.
Fuck.
Her man made a move at her side.
Stupid. So fucking stupid.
But he loved her.