Page 51 of Lust

B at this spot. G on his way.

I will never regret hiring this woman. A wave of calm passes through me just as a flute melody soars over the soft vibrations of a cello. It’s like a chorus of fucking angels straight from heaven, promising me I’ll soon see my Ruby again.

I type in the location Delilah sent and throw the car into reverse just as a new song comes on the radio. It’s an upbeat Tschaikovsky tune. Perfect. Tapping my fingers on the steering wheel I floor the gas, devouring the fifteen miles of pavement that separate me from my one true love.

Chapter 21

December 30th

Ruby

“Whyareyoudoingthis, Brent?” My hands grip the steering wheel as I scan my surroundings for some way to crash the truck, some way to get us out of this mess. The problem is, now that I have Aaron back in my life, I don’t want to die. I just want to get away.

Brent doesn’t respond.

Out of the corner of my eye, gleaming metal reminds me that Brent still holds a gun, my gun, pointed at me.

“You couldn’t even bother to get your own gun?” I risk a full-on glare in his direction. “What the hell is your end-game?”

“Just shut up and drive, Carol.” He jabs the gun into my side, and I find myself wondering whether I could lean forward just a bit and make him miss all vital organs, whether he would just shoot straight through a layer of fat. This body might come in handy after all! The thought makes me laugh.

“What’s so fucking funny, Carol?” Brent jabs me again.

“Don’t call me Carol.”

“You don’t decide what I call you.” He checks a map on his phone. “Turn right up here.” He gestures with the gun, then jabs me with it again.

“Do you even know where we’re going?”

“Do you even know how to shut the fuck up?” he snaps, then adds, “Carol?”

Without thinking about it, I slam my foot on the brakes. Both of us jolt forward. Pain shoots through my cheek, and I realize Brent smacked me with the gun.

“Don’t call me Carol,” I hiss.

“You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you,” Brent growls, pressing the gun into my side again. “Pull another stunt like that, and I will. I don’t care how much of a mess I make.”

Cold realization passes through me, an infusion of ice in my veins. He’s thinking about killing me, and he’s comfortable with the thought. His only desire is to minimize the mess. He must think he finally has a way to do it that won’t get him caught, and that’s where we’re headed now.

Well, motherfucker, you’re about a month too late, because now I will do anything I can to stay alive.

“Left up ahead,” Brent orders, yanking my focus back to the road.

After a series of turns, we cross over a railroad track and drive down a dirt road between rows of long, low warehouses. Their tin roofs are rusty, and gray paint flakes off their stucco walls.

Brent peers around us, then points to a particularly tired-looking building where the roof hangs over a partially crumbled wall, flapping against the jagged bricks along the top.

“Pull around back,” Brent demands, and I navigate the bumpy road to the rear of the building and pull up alongside a black Range Rover.

Brent keeps the gun glued to my side as he guides me into the building and down a long hallway. Blinking against the sudden darkness, my eyes finally adjust when we enter a long room, dimly lit through high plexiglass windows along one wall. I suddenly have a flashback of the cafeteria at Hawk Ridge High School, and I almost laugh again. Then I notice a man standing in the shadows at the far end of the room.

“Maybe you remember Giovani?” Brent digs the gun into my ribs, prodding me toward him. “Enforcer for the Fioravantes?”

The man does not look familiar.

“Fuck, man.” Giovani shakes his head. “Do not use my motherfucking name ever again.”

“Or what?” Brent stands behind me now, pressing me forward with the gun against my back. “I brought her here, just like we agreed.”

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