Page 47 of Along for the Ride

I whip open the driver’s seat, sit down, and wait with the door open. My fingers tap on the steering wheel. They eventually emerge from the woods, and Leana climbs into the back seat.

“Gentry,” she begins.

“Can we just not talk?” I snap. I’ll deal with them when I’m not so pissed off. When I’m less annoyed. When I don’t want to ring both their necks, because I’m liable to do exactly that if they keep going.

Karson hops into the passenger seat and throws his foot onto the dash. “Sorry I exposed your kink. If it makes you feel any better, I almost came in my pants when the thief played dead. That kink is much worse than a little sudsy one.”

Jesus Henry Christ. What did our mother take when she was pregnant with us? Just when I think we can’t get any worse, now one of us is a pseudo-necrophiliac?

“Excuse me?” Leana says.

Karson turns toward her. “When I saw you playing dead, it got my dick hard. I don’t think I can break it down into simpler terms.”

“For fuck’s sake,” she says as she sits back with her arms crossed. I can’t help but smirk at her reaction, mostly because it’s not enough of a reaction when Karson just admitted he wants to fuck her corpse.

I love that about her.

“Let’s just drive and stop talking about this. We’ve got a long drive to California, and I’m ready to finish this shit.” I close my door, and they follow suit.

As we continue on our journey of destruction, I glance in the rearview mirror at Leana. For not being a Kursicki by birth, she’s fucked up enough to be one of us. Instead of kicking and screaming and trying to escape, she’s just resigned herself to the fate of one serial killer who wants to breed her and another who wants to fuck her dead body.

What a trio.

The sun sets as we inch closer to our final destination, but we have to keep going. Karson is already napping in the passenger seat, and Leana’s eyelids hang heavy over her blue eyes. We’re taking too long to get where we’re going, so I plan to keep driving and let them nap. I’d like to change out of my bloody clothes, though, and Leana’s last shirt has seen better days. We’ll have to make a pit stop.

I pull into a strip mall and wake Karson. “I need you two to get us some clothes.” I turn to Leana and place a wad of cash into her hand. “I need a shirt and some jeans. Donotlet him pick anything out for me.” I glare at Karson.

The last time I let him buy an outfit for me, I had to commit a double fucking homicide with the word “vagitarian” on the front of my shirt. I don’t think he’ll find anything like that in this little strip of outlet stores, but I refuse to risk it.

As they head inside, I’m left to sit and contemplate my life choices. What will we do with Leana when we’re done with this trip? She’s too much of a liability to release, but I can’t kill her. I can’t. I also haven’t fully wrapped my head around this whole sharing thing. At least I know about it and Karson isn’t doing it behind my back.

After a little while, the doors open and the dome light brightens Karson’s beaming smile. He grips a shirt in his hand as he sits down. Here we fucking go. I glare at Leana, and she gives me a sorry-filled shrug. Karson spreads the gray shirt open and laughs. It says “Cereal Killer” right across the front. A playful skull smiles below the lettering, complete with crossed spoons instead of crossbones.

I scowl.

“Oh, come on. It’s punny.” He looks at the shirt proudly. It could be worse, I guess. Silver linings and shit.

I look into the back seat and pin Leana with a pleading glare. “Please tell me you also got something I can actually wear.”

“Of course.” Leana nods and shakes a bag beside her. “But if you don’t do our next hit with a cereal killer shirt, what are we even doing?”

My eyes narrow on her. “It’s not our hit. It’sourhit.” I gesture between me and Karson.

She tightens her lips. “You know what I mean.”

No, I don’t know what she means. She can’t be a part of this. She can’t even follow simple directions when I tell her to stay in the fucking car.

“Give me the goddamn shirt,” I say.

Karson hands the monstrosity to me, and I rip off the blood-stained shirt and shove it beneath the seat. I’ll discard it when we’re back on the road. “I hate you. You know that, right?”

“Cute,” he says, and I fight the urge to strangle him.

* * *

We taketurns driving for the next twenty-nine hours, sleeping in shifts as we travel the road. When we finally reach Nevada, it’s time for a break.

I eventually find a suitable hotel. It’s much nicer than anywhere we’ve stayed before, and I’m more than ready to crawl beneath some clean sheets and get some shuteye when we enter the lobby.

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