I’ve accused him of being an asshole from the moment I met him. Turns out I’m an asshole, too. “I’m sorry, okay. I just—”
“A guy in my position, looking like I do, involved in the shit I’m running…you made an assumption about me. An assumption anyone else would make, too. Don’t sweat it. But know, the reason why I’m doing this…the reason why I’m going to convince you to do what I’m asking, isn’t because of me. Not because the man who helped raise me was murdered and I’m pissed about it. Which I am. But because I want justice. Justice for Ryan, because he didn’t get to watch his little girl grow up. And justice for Maddie, because of the shitty hand she’s just been dealt.” He slides off the roof of the car, jumping to the ground. I can hear him pissing against the side of the car. For the moment, I just stay where I am, eyes fixed on some vague, not-there point in the distance.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know how he expects me to choose between helping him and keeping my family safe. This is the first time that I’ve even found myself considering it, and the prospect is terrifying. If I testify, they find out my real name. They can track down my family and Raphael can make good on his promise, regardless of whether he’s behind bars or not. He’s the type of man who will find a way.
Rebel taps the hood of the Humvee—I can almost see the dark cloud hanging over him. “Come on, we gotta go.”
“What would you do?”
He looks up at me, eyes sharp. Pained. “What do you mean?”
“If you were in my position, what would you do? If it were Ryan and Maddie who were in danger, would you risk their lives just because it was the right thing to do?”
“Our situations are a little different, sweetheart.”
“How so?”
“I would kill anyone that threatened my family with my bare fucking hands. It would never be an issue.” He opens the driver’s side door and leans against it. “If you do what I’m asking, Sophia, I will do the same thing for you. I swear to God and all things holy, before you right here and now, I will spill the blood of every single member of Los Oscuros before I allow a single one of your family members to come to harm.”
REBEL
When she climbs back in the car, she gets in the front.
That's how I know I've made some sort of progress with her. Is it her finally agreeing to help? No. But maybe, just maybe, she's not as adamant anymore. Maybe she's thinking about it. Which is a better situation than we were in before.
She sleeps. For five hours, she lays so motionless, stretched out as best as she can in her seat, and I drive, glancing at her occasionally out of the corner of my eye, wondering if she's still fucking breathing. I can't tell, and she doesn't shift an inch.
We arrive in Dallas just as the day's darkening, the lights of the city like lightning bugs blinking on and off on the horizon. My eyes are killing me. My body is used to this, though, traveling long distances. The Hummer actually provides more comfort than I'm used to. Sitting on a motorcycle, through wind and rain and everything other fucking thing Mother Nature throws at us, can be unpleasant to say the least.
You get used to it. You get used to all of it. The pain in your back. The wet leather that just doesn’t dry out. The guns. The sneaking around in the dark. The shootings and the stabbings and the dying. The funerals.
"Mmmm. Where are we?" Sophia stretches out like a cat, just about managing to straighten her legs before the soles of her shoes hit the engine block in the foot well. She blinks at me—she looks like a child as she rubs at her eyes, ridding herself of her sleep. She looks...she looks so freaking sweet in that very, very brief moment that it almost makes my teeth hurt. Catches me by surprise.
"Dallas," I tell her. "Halfway, or close enough. We'll stop for the night."
"I can drive. I just slept for...wow. I slept for a really long time." She stares at the clock on the dash like she doesn’t believe it's telling her the truth.
"Yeah, I don't think so." I give her the old you think you're gonna pull that shit with me? look. "We're stopping. I need to get actual rest, and I won't be able to sleep properly if I have to keep my eye on you the whole time."
She doesn’t react to my rejection of her offer—it was clearly expected. Instead, she asks something out of the blue. "Why did you kill off your accent?"
"I didn’t kill it off. My father did. He didn’t believe a regional dialect was gonna help me through life. Had it trained out of me when I was a kid."
"That’s...practical?"
"An obsession of his. He tried to make my mother 'speak properly' too, but it never stuck."
"So she still speaks with a Southern accent?"
"Nope. She's dead." I wait for the awkward silence, but it never comes. Sophia makes a soft humming sound.
"Oh."
"You not gonna tell me you're sorry for my loss?"
"Do you want me to?"
"Not particularly."