Page 59 of Along for the Ride

Karson scoffs. “Waste of time.”

I turn around and head toward the bedroom. I rummage through the closet, but I don’t find a safe or money or anything of value. Worthless sentimental shit clutters the shelves, and simple clothes hang from the racks. I go for the dresser drawers next, but they’re just as disappointing as the closet. A wallet rests on the bedside table beside a half-empty glass of water. I snatch it up and flip it open, finding only a ten and some ones. When my eyes fall on the driver’s license, my stomach sinks.

I rush back to the living room and slash my blade across the plastic over his mouth, slicing his skin in the process. Blood drips down his chin and stains his shirt. “What’s your name?” I snarl.

“Roger!” he screams out.

“We’ve got the wrong fucking guy!” I yell.

Karson looks down at the trembling man. “He’s not a target?”

I flip through the wallet again and find a business card. “He’s a goddamn pastor.”

“Have we ever killed a holy man?” Karson asks, cocking his head. His eyes rise back to mine. “I mean, we don’t really have a choice now. We have to—” He swipes his finger across his own throat.

Unlike Karson, I feel things. I’m not totally on board with killing innocents, but sometimes it can’t be helped. This is one of those times.

“If we confess now, do you think it absolves us of our sins?” Karson asks as he leans closer to the man.

Pastor Roger furiously shakes his head.

Karson smiles. “I think it does. I think that’s how this works. I tell you my sins, I do three or four Hail Marys, and then I go to heaven, right?” He leans closer and whispers something that makes the poor old pastor see the devil before his eyes, then Karson starts reciting the prayer.

Once.

Twice.

The third time, he stabs his knife into the pastor’s gut. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” He twists the blade. “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of death.” He drives the knife upward. “In the name of the Father.” He rips it downward. “And of the Son.” He pulls the blade sideways to finish the cross. “And of the Holy Spirit.” With a wide grin, he removes the blade and flicks a splash of blood onto Pastor Roger’s forehead. “Amen.”

My lips tighten. What the ever-loving fuck is wrong with him? “Are we done?” I ask.

“Yeah, yeah.” He wipes his blade on the inside of his jacket and slides the knife into its sheath.

“Actually,” I say, “find a Ziploc bag.” I pull out my knife and hack the pastor’s right hand from his limp body.

The fact that he doesn’t question me is one of thefewreasons I like my brother. Chopping off a hand and asking for a bag usually begs for questions, but he just rolls with it and begins searching cabinets and drawers.

“Oh my god, this man has a vacuum seal machine! And bags!” he shouts.

I meet him in the kitchen and toss the hand into the bag. Karson slides the bag’s open edge into the machine and it sucks out the air, leaving the hand looking like a bloody chicken breast. The machine clamps off the end with a mechanical click.

“What do you plan to do with it?” Karson asks, his eyes lighting up with anticipation.

“We have one more hit. One final job to do. I figure we can find some use for it and really go out in a blaze of glory.”

Karson gives a slow nod. “I like it.”

“Let’s get out of here.” I start toward the door. “We need to call George and figure out where the wires were crossed. He’s never fucked up like this before.”

“I’m surprised the thief is actually waiting in the car,” Karson says behind me.

Yeah, itisfucking surprising. She usually comes barging in when her morbid curiosity gets the better of her. A shitty feeling squeezes my gut, but I try to push it away. She probably had her fill of murder after what we did just hours ago. Considering she didn’t put up too much of a fight when I told her to stay put in the car, I’m going with that.

Even as I try to reassure myself, my feet pick up their pace toward the SUV. I step off the porch, seeing only what’s directly in front of me. Karson’s boots crunch against the earth as he tries to keep up when I break into a run. When I see the car, my stomach drops.

The back door is open, and the dome light reveals an empty SUV. I blindly hope she’s just run off, that she wants us to chase her, but that hope evaporates when I reach the open door. A track of drying blood streaks the seat, and claw marks run through it. My wanderer didn’t run off. She put up one hell of a fight to stay.

Someone took her.

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