Page 42 of Along for the Ride

We’ve hardly pulled out of the motel parking lot when Gentry’s phone rings. I’m beginning to dread that generic ringtone. Why do I get the feeling we’ll never reach California? From what I can gather from the call, they’ve just been given another job. I don’t hear any mention of my death video, which could be a good thing.

Or a very bad thing.

I can’t dwell on it. Whatever happens is out of my hands.

Karson drives all day, and my stomach is a grumbling mess once dinner time rolls around. We’ve lived mostly on convenience-store fare since our journey began, and I could really go for a burger right about now.

“Any chance we could grab some fast food this time?” I ask.

Gentry glances at the time on the dash clock. “Yeah, as long as we eat in the car. Where do you want to go?”

I shrug my shoulders. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“That’s not how this works,” Karson says. He turns to Gentry. “Why do chicks always do this shit? They say it doesn’t matter, but the moment you name a place, they aren’t in the mood for it. I’m not playing this game.”

Gentry turns in his seat and looks at me. “Name the spot.”

“It really doesn’t matter,” I say. “Anything will be better than a crusty hot dog from the gas station.”

With a sigh, Gentry looks at the interstate. We near a sign that names off fast-food places, and he assesses it as we pass. “Get off at this exit,” he says to Karson. “We’ll grab something from Taco Bell.”

“My stomach will be upset for days,” I say.

Karson’s head twists toward Gentry. “See? I fucking told you!” He glances in the rearview mirror and meets my gaze. “Pick what you want or go hungry, thief. Your choice.”

“Fine,” I mutter. “Just pick a burger place.”

Gentry turns to Karson with a smug grin. “There, problem solved. We’ll grab Wendy’s.”

“I don’t like their fries,” I say, and I regret even asking for food at this point because Karson looks as if his head might explode. The exit is quickly approaching, and Karson makes no indication that he plans to turn off. Golden arches gleam in the distance. “McDonald’s!” I shout before it’s too late.

He flicks on the turn signal and whips the SUV off the interstate. “Was that so fucking hard?”

We order our food and continue down back roads for a few miles. I’ve finished my fries by the time Karson pulls into the woods near the start of a driveway. He looks back at me, his dark eyes menacing. “Did we learn our lesson from last time?”

“What lesson?” I ask through a mouthful of burger.

“Don’t play dumb. We have something to take care of inside that house. You’re going to wait right where you are.”

I stuff another bite of burger into my mouth and toss him a casual nod. “Mmhm.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” Karson asks as he threads a silencer onto his pistol.

“If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll stay put,” Gentry says.

“If she knew what was good for her, she wouldn’t have pulled over for us in the first place.”

I scoff, sit back, and fold my arms across my chest.

They go inside and I try to stay put. I really try. But pretty soon my leg is shaking and I’m wondering what the heck is taking so long. What if something happened to them? What if their victim turned the tables and now they’re in trouble?

I shake my head. What the fuck would I even do if they needed help? If it’s something two big-ass psychos can’t handle, I’d be up shit creek without a paddleandI’d have a hole in my boat.

In the end, my curiosity gets the better of me. Even if I can’t help them, I can at least figure out what I should do if they’re dead. I get out of the SUV, make my way across the front lawn, and ascend the marble steps. My eyes rise up the Victorian home’s dramatic arches and I’m intimidated by the age and grace of the building.

I round the house and reach for the back door, but I catch myself. If they’re doing what I think they’re doing, I don’t want my fingerprints on the scene. I tug my sleeve over my hand before I open it. It slides open with an eerie creak, which is what I would expect from a door from the eighteen fucking hundreds. But it announces my presence much more than I’d have liked. Cursing beneath my breath, I look around, but I don’t see or hear anything.

What if everyone’s dead?

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