Page 43 of Watch Me Turn
A rusted sedan passes going the opposite direction, windows tinted so dark they're practically opaque, sitting low on its axles like it's carrying something heavy. Minutes later, a pickup with Sinaloa plates crawls past, moving maybe thirty miles an hour despite the empty road. The bed is covered with a tarp pulled so tight it could be hiding cinder blocks or bodies—none of my business either way. The two men in the cab stare straight ahead, their faces ghostly pale and lit by dashboard light.
This is the Juarez Americans are afraid of. This is the night shift, where everyone's got somewhere to be and no one asks questions. Where the only people out are those who need the darkness as much as I do, even if their reasons are different.
I check the dashboard clock. This guy called thirty minutes ago. He should still be out here, but I have barely seen any signs of life.
"Where the hell are you?" I mutter, eyes scanning the horizon for signs of life.
Then I see it—about a quarter mile ahead, hazard lights blinking weakly against the vast dark. A black luxury pickup, hood popped open like a mouth mid-scream, parked half on the shoulder. It's one of those pristine Ford F-250s with the chrome package, the kind that narcos buy in cash. Completely out of place in this wasteland.
I slow down, signaling even though there's no one behind me for miles.
As I pull up in front of it, my headlights illuminate the scene: the truck is immaculate except for the raised hood. No visible damage, no signs of a struggle or accident. The interior light is off. Nobody visible inside or out.
I kill the engine and sit for a moment, listening. The tick of cooling metal. The whisper of wind across the desert. The distant, barely-there hum of power lines.
Something feels off.
I grab my jump kit from the passenger seat and step out into the night, my boots crunching on gravel. "Roadside assistance," I call out, my voice carrying in the stillness. "Someone call for a jump?"
No answer. Just the wind and the clicking of the hazard lights and a familiar, irregular heart beat.
When I hear the beautiful rhythm, my own stutters in recognition.
I approach the truck slowly, every sense on alert—not the human ones, but the other ones, the ones that make me special. I can smell motor oil and expensive leather. Cologne, something woody and familiar. Something vampiric.
My skin prickles but I need visual confirmation before I dare to dream.
"Hello?" I try again, moving around to the driver's side.
A footstep.
The crunch of gravel under an expensive shoe.
"Angel," I breathe.
He steps out from behind the truck, and my heart doubles its pace. He looks even better than I remember. Suited, like he was that day I left him in the bunker, and immaculately groomed. Head to toe in black, with lambent lapels and diamond-encrusted cufflinks. It's strange to see him looking so well, hair groomed and slicked with pomade instead of clinging to his damp forehead. Eyes alert and dark with desire and hunger, not misery and terror.
There's another change too. A small teardrop tattoo under his eye.
Damn, he looks good.
"Sophia," he sighs, and when he says my name, every cell in my body wants to run to him.
So I do.
I drop the jump kit, cables clattering against the asphalt, and I'm closing the distance before I can stop myself. He meets me halfway, his arms coming around me and knocking the air from my lungs. I bury my face in his neck, breathing him in, inhaling the rich scent of the blood that pulses under his skin.
His blood. My blood.Our blood.
His lips find mine, and I remember why I did what I did. Why I betrayed my family. Because this is all that matters. This is how it feels to be loved by someone who needs your love to survive.
His hands slide up my back, fisting in the dark fabric of my denim coveralls like he's afraid I'll disappear. "I've been looking for you," he says, voice strained. "I've been waiting for the right time, but there never was one. So I waited until I couldn't wait anymore." He pauses and takes a deep breath, and his voice wobbles. "Every day without you felt like a lifetime."
"How did you find me?" I say, blinking back the tears.
He traces my cheekbone with his thumb. "I tried to call you, but your number was disconnected, so I've been asking for morejobs near the border so I could be closer to you. I stay in El Paso a few days a week and manage operations down here." His jaw twitches. "Relative freedom is one of the perks of being the new favorite."
"Is it terrible? Your new vampire life?"
