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“Should we park and run? Whoever is here could see the car lights.”
“Unnecessary. They’re expecting me to follow.” My eyes stayed on Cat’s dot, now unmoving but still flashing on my screen. My heart was in my fucking throat, fearing hers would stop at any second and that flashing dot would disappear.
“Remi...”
“What?” My voice was flat, the opposite to his, now juddering with nerves.
“This could be a death trap.”
“Then wait in the car and keep it running.”
“I meant for you. Pencil Dick has had it in for you for years. And all this recent stuff—”
“I don’t give a fuck, Dec. She’s here. My girl is here when she should be at a fucking hospital! Did you even see her on that stage?”
“Yes. I know.” His grip tightened on the steering wheel until it groaned. “I’m sorry. I really am. I just think we should call Ollie and get some backup.”
“I don’t have time for that. And our backup is literally one more man.”
“There were at least fifteen guys on that stage, all stopping us from getting out. They could be on their way here.”
“Let them come. Wait in the car and watch for lights.”
“And if I see them?”
“Pray Ollie has that other gun stashed somewhere.”
The house appeared through the night’s mist, all orange lights and white wood puncturing the darkness ahead.
“Six bullets won’t cut it.”
“Then bolt. I’ll use Rothbart’s vehicle if he drove himself and didn’t have an accomplice that just fucked off.”
“Yeah, and if he didn’t have an accomplice that just fucked off, I’m sure he’ll just hand over the keys.”
“He probably left them in the car or whatever.”
“And you’ll risk both your life and Cat’s life finding out?” Dec rubbed the sweat from his temple. “Ollie must’ve texted? Because I know you leaving that stage made national news.”
“Probably, and yes, he has.”
More than twenty times, and I’d ignored them all. That little dot was not willing to share my attention.
“Saying?”
I didn’t answer or listen to him offloading answers on what we should tell the press. Because it wasn’t the first time I had run out on a show.
A memory popped into my head as I forced myself to think of anything but Cat being tortured to death as the house grew closer.
And it wasn’t a good one.
“The mud on your skin,
they buried you in,
a grave for the soul who wanders,
into my head,
