Even at her very worst, she made me want to be better man. To be good enough for the both of us.
“She must have cared about you a lot to walk away with that man.”
“He is no man,” I spat out. “He’s a monster.”
I could tell Gus wanted to say something about that but he didn’t. He just gave a grunt.
I took the subject around the corner. “Do you think Ellie knows he wants her to kill her parents? I can’t figure it out. Why?”
“I don’t think there’s much reason to any of this.”
“I think you’re wrong,” I argued, jabbing my finger on the dusty dashboard. “You know how calculated he is. He’s had six years to come after her. There’s a reason behind everything now.”
“Knowing there’s a reason isn’t helping us get an answer.”
I studied Gus, his jowly face helped only by his beard, small eyes, grey bushy brows. He looked like your friendly neighbor on a TV show, a real Mr. Friendly. But this was a man who had shot and killed two people and didn’t seem to care much about it. I wondered if I’d ever surround myself with normal people again or if this was the life I’d have to lead forever. I wondered if this is what it felt like to be Ellie, to never know who to trust or where you’ll next lay your head.
I chewed on my lip again, feeling some of that pain come back, when I first caught her robbing me. If only she’d really decided to go straight and get a job in Palm Valley and settle down. I would have somehow got out of the money laundering business … I at least would have tried. I never would have had to catch her. We’d never have to run or worry about getting caught. We could have settled down in my tiny house above the shop and lived a good life.
But I guess Javier would have shown up anyway. Wanting her in exchange for fifty thousand dollars. What on earth was worth fifty thousand dollars? Was it just to kill her parents? To kill Travis? Was Javier seriously going around and killing everyone who had ever hurt her, even without her say?
Or was it more?
A flash of him and her flooded my head, bare legs tangled together, my art on her limb, his hands tracing her scars, the flowers, everything. My throat closed up. It couldn’t be that. It couldn’t be that. Because if it was, it meant one of two things: he would either rape her or take full advantage of her and if that was the case, I’d take that tattoo machine and draw him a new asshole before I rammed it straight into the motherfucker’s skull. And if it wasn’t that, Ellie must have wanted him.
“Are you alright, boy?” Gus asked, taking his foot off the gas. “Your lip is bleeding.”
I looked down at my hand where a drop had fallen, ruby red and glossy. Like the finest ink. I wiped my hand across my mouth, smearing it. Art.
“Camden!” Gus barked.
I jumped in my seat and looked at him. “What?”
He frowned. “You looked all sorts of wrong there.”
I nodded and leaned my head back. “Just thinking of things I shouldn’t. So once we get across the border, then what. ‘They went to Mexico’ is kind of a vague route to take.”
“It is. We’ll ask around.”
“Is asking around about one of the largest and deadliest drug cartels in Mexico, while being two gringos in Mexico, really the wisest decision?”
“I have my sources,” he said. “If they haven’t turned.”
“If they haven’t turned?” I repeated.
He shot me a quick grin. “Everyone has their price these days.”
I was getting to know that a little too well.
Despite me fumbling with my passport like a god damn fool, the border crossing was easy. Gus was right, they didn’t really care who was going in. We kept driving until nightfall, when we reached a small settlement just before Monterrey. That’s when we were pulled over by a state police officer wearing a ski mask while holding an automatic assault rifle.
“Buenos noches. Where are you going?” he asked us, switching to English once he noticed how white we were.
“To see a friend of ours,” Gus answered amicably.
The officer peered into the back of the GTO. We might have been able to go through the border with no inspection but I didn’t know if it would be the same case here. I tried not to tense up but fuck, what kind of a cop wears a ski mask?
Then he rapped on the roof of the car and told us to drive on.
Gus gave him a small wave and we roared off. We were a ways down the highway before he let out a large puff of air.
“What?” I asked him, not used to seeing him anxious. It made me worry.
“The police here are all controlled by the Los Zetas.”
I watched the buildings grow larger and more affluent as we headed toward the city. “I’m not surprised. But we’re good. We don’t belong to any cartel.”
“That who casts doubt on himself is often as good as dead,” he said.
I looked at him askew. “Did you just make that up?”
A beat passed. “Yes. No good?”