Page 31 of Break for Me

“I can’t believe it’s them,” she said. “I can’t believe she would —. I thought she was my —. We were friends.”

“We don’t get to have friends, Memphis. Not in this line of work.”

I got up to head to the back of the building myself without looking back at whoever this problematic duo was. As soon as I hit the little hallway, I broke into a run and scrambled through the back door. Trista was pacing around impatiently right where I told her to wait.

“Go,” I said to her again and pushed her toward the side of the building. She was running as well as she could with a foot that I was certain still had to hurt. I pulled the K Bar from the sheath on the side of my belt as we rounded the front of the building and went straight for the truck. All of my annoyance over this situation went into jamming the knife into the back tire of that truck as quickly as I could. I could already hear the door of the diner opening behind me by the time I was headed back toward Seph.

“You motherfucker,” Texas grumbled. I reached into my jacket to flip the safety off my gun just in case, but I still didn’t turn back or stop. Trista slowed and started to look over her shoulder. I assumed she was looking for me, but we didn’t have time for anything to slow us down.

“In the car, girl. Keep moving.”

I paused at my door just to make sure there was enough distance between him and me. I didn’t imagine he’d really want to start a gunfight in the middle of a parking lot, but I didn’t actually know shit about the guy. He hadn’t even followed me beyond his own deflating truck tire though. He was that confident that he’d find us again that he wasn’t even trying to pick any fight at all in this moment.

“He’s not chasing us, Memphis. Didn’t even try,” I said quickly.

“Watch your back, New Jersey!” Texas called out.

Jesus. I wouldn’t have needed anyone else to confirm who he was if I’d only heard that accent. Fucking ridiculous that he sounded exactly like every stereotypical Texan from every movie ever made.

“Better luck next time, cowboy!” I yelled back.

“Why? Why would you antagonize him, Jersey?” Memphis asked.

“I can’t help myself. Why isn’t he chasing us?” I asked again, dropping down into my seat and starting the car as Trista fastened her seatbelt.

“She’s on the phone,” Trista said, leaning over the console to watch out the back window as the tires squealed their way through finding traction on the asphalt. “The girl is already on the phone.”

“Trace it, Memphis. Who would she be calling? I need to know why he wasn’t chasing me. How is he following us?”

“I probably can’t, Jersey,” she said impatiently. “The chances that she’s using the number that I had for her might as well be in the negatives. She’s not stupid.”

“Memphis, I need you to try something,” I said with just as much impatience. “You’re better than her. Do something.”

“The car,” Trista said.

“What?” I asked.

“She’s right,” Memphis said instantly. “The fucking car.”

“Easy with that,” I interrupted.

“They’ll track Persephone, Jersey,” Memphis said again.

“How are they tracking Seph?” I asked.

“They showed up after us last night at the motel, while I was still in the trunk. Showed up after us again here,” Trista added. “Neither of us were watching the car.”

twenty-four

TRISTA

I held onto the edges of my seat until my knuckles were white when he slammed on the brakes and swung the car to the shoulder of the road within a span of seconds. He unfastened his seatbelt and came all the way across the center console until his chest was against mine.

“You beautiful fucking disaster,” he said and wrapped a hand around the back of my head before he crushed his lips against mine. It wasn’t passionate. There was no tongue. It was over just as quickly as it had started. He was there and then out of the car entirely in the blink of an eye.

And I still couldn’t fucking breathe. My whole body was buzzing with adrenaline.

I felt better about myself by calling it adrenaline, rather than lust.

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