Page 73 of Dance with the Devil

I grab Mickey by the feet, hauling him into the nearest alley. Once he’s out of sight, I go jogging up and down the row of parked cars that cover the street no matter what time of night it is. This is one of the only parts of Springfield where parking is always free, so even if the Main Street shops are shut-up, someone’s always gonna park out this way to avoid congestion pricing.

The first thing I learned when it came to stealing cars? Some people make it just soeasyto do. All it takes is one idiot to forget to lock their door and I’m in. I don’t have a screwdriver to remove the panel of wires, so that might be a problem, but myfaith in the sheer stupidity of civilians is proven once again when—after only hitting eight cars and not triggering a single alarm—I find an old ass two-door Hyundai with the key still in the ignition.

Yes.

I slip into the seat, starting the car right up. I peel out of the spot, adding the stench of burn rubber to the overwhelming fire on the air, and back up to the alley where I left Mickey’s body.

He’s still out. Obviously. The dead weight makes it a bitch to heft him up, but I’m particularly motivated. Plus, I didn’t really care if he gets banged up as I toss his top half into the open trunk, then shove in his legs until he’s folded up like a pretzel in there.

That done, I slam the trunk down and get back into the still running car. In the distance, I can make out the scream of a fire engine’s siren. Just before they appear in my rear view mirror, I shift the car into drive and take off into the night.

TWENTY-SIX

PIT STOP

CROSS

Imake one pit stop on the way out of Springfield.

It’s quarter after two in the morning. The only store I could find that might have what I need is this rundown big box knock-off that has bars on its windows, three cars in the lot, and a maybe eighteen- or nineteen-year-old manning the only cashier lane that’s open.

He was scrolling his phone when I jogged through the door, my bare feet slapping against the sticky tile. I can’t tell if it’s the noise that startled him, or a lack of usual customers coming in at this hour, but he glances up with a sneer—and quickly loses it when he meets my eye.

The poor kid gulps. “Hey. Um. You need any help?”

A ton of it, I’m sure.

I shake my head. “Nope. Know exactly what I came in here for.”

“Oh. Cool. Well… if you need anything, I’ll be over here.”

As far away from me as he can get, I bet.

I nod, then look around. I’ve never been here before, but these stories are basically the same. Ducking down the aisle ofmen’s clothing, I keep going until I hit the shoe section. I find the first pair of boots in my size I can find, grab the price tag, and tug them on. I do up the laces so I don’t trip, then go jogging for housewares.

In less than five minutes, I have everything I need—and no way to pay for any of it. So instead of heading toward the check-out, I go right for the exit.

I know what I must look like. I definitely smell like smoke. I walked into this store without any shoes on, only to have a pair on my feet now. My knuckles are swollen. I’ve got blood spatter dotting my face, my arms, my neck. It’s hard to pick it up on my inked skin or my black t-shirt, but you can’t miss it on my face.

I look like a deranged guy who just might have an unconscious man in the trunk of his stolen car—which is exactly what I am.

The kid from before gets this expression on his face like he’s going to shit his pants as I bear down on him. I almost regret it, but then I remember the way Mickey threatened Genevieve. He tried to burn down my place, and that would’ve earned him an early grave as it is, but for threatening my butterfly?

I’m not going to make it quick.

For so long, I’ve kept my trauma behind a cage inside my chest. What happened to me as a kid fucked me up. It fucked me up so bad, I’ve spent twenty years pretending it didn’t happen. I don’t know if it was Mickey’s intention or not, but by setting that fire, by trying toburn me alivejust like what happened to my family… he’s unlocked that cage, and now he has to deal withme.

I buried Carlos when all that was left of Ana Lucia, Rafe, and my poor mother were scattered ashes and bones. He was a scared, angry little boy who became a guarded, impassive man who only found any hint of joy in the art he created with a little ink and a tattoo needle.

Until Genevieve. Until her flames thawed out the icy remains of a battered and bruised heart.

If I had lost her, well and truly lost her and her love, I would’ve let the flames consume me tonight. I know that. After what happened in Hamilton, I was on a collision course with the death I narrowly escaped when I left the apartment after the last time my stepfather hurt me. Having known what it was like to be loved by Genevieve Libellula once, I don’t think I could’ve survived much longer without her.

But she’s mine now. And there isn’t anything I won’t do to keep her.

So, yeah. I regret that I’m probably scaring the shit out of this poor overnight clerk, but it can’t be helped.

I show him the rope I picked up. The knife I snagged from the housewares section of the store. The shovel I have tucked under my arm. The price tag from the shoes I shoved my feet into.

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