Page 59 of Sinful
I couldn't save them.
I learned something that night that I've never forgotten: caring about people just means more to lose when everything burns.
So, I stopped caring.
I became a Nomad.
I kept moving and never stayed anywhere long enough to build attachments, to let anyone matter.
It worked.
For eighteen years, it worked.
Until a blonde girl with dead eyes and a death wish looked at me across a bar and woke something I thought died with my sisters.
"Goddammit."
I pull out my phone.
There’s no signal out here—rural Florida is a cellular dead zone, but I don't need to call anyone yet.
I need to think.
Where would she go?
Los Coyotes territory.
That much is obvious, but where specifically?
They're not going to keep Ivar at their main base in Mexico.
Too far, too much risk moving him across international borders every time they want to send back pieces.
They'd want him somewhere closer.
Somewhere isolated where they could do their work without interference.
A safehouse.
I remember something that was mentioned— that Los Coyotes had operations on the Florida-Georgia border.
Rural area, isolated, perfect for the kind of shit they do.
That's where Ivar is.
That's where she's going.
I pull up the GPS on my phone.
No signal, but I downloaded offline maps before I left Texas.
Old habit from years of riding through places where cell towers don't exist.
The border is about two hours north.
If I'm right.
If I'm wrong, she's already dead and I'm chasing ghosts.
