Badlands

by Jill Sorenson

  “Get up,” Shane said, yanking him to his feet. “Walk.”

  Owen stumbled toward Penny. Keeping Cruz’s head cradled to her chest, she looked over her shoulder. When she saw him, her tears cut off like a switch. She stared at him for a long moment, her lips parted in wonder. Then her face crumpled, and she starting crying again. With relief, perhaps.

  “Let’s go, princess,” Shane said.

  Wiping her wet cheeks, she rose. Although she was clearly shaken and still weak from the day before, she lifted Cruz into her arms. Shane took out a flashlight, waving at her to precede them into the dark passageway. They walked down the tracks in silence. There was a light at the end of the tunnel, but it didn’t lead anywhere peaceful.

  A dun-colored Jeep was parked on the other side. Shane shoved Owen into the passenger seat and secured the safety belt, trapping him there. Then he opened the glove compartment and removed a roll of duct tape. He pointed at the space behind Owen. “Put your kid there.”

  Penny stood rooted to the spot, uncooperative.

  “We can do this the hard way or the easy way,” he said. “I won’t hurt him, but I’ll use the taser on you if I have to.”

  Mouth trembling, she carried Cruz forward and sat him down, latching his seat belt. Owen cranked his head around to study him. Other than a red mark on his cheek, the boy seemed unharmed. Owen didn’t know what to say. Cruz might not be injured, but he wasn’t okay. Nothing about this would ever be okay.

  Penny allowed Shane to tape her hands behind her back. He wrapped her crossed wrists several times and loaded her into the Jeep.

  Owen stared at the dashboard, his mind numb. He hadn’t figured on Shane coming from the south side of the tracks. It was the longer route and a gamble. There was no trail to follow. Owen might have gone the opposite direction. The more distance he’d put between them and the palm oasis, the more comfortable he’d felt. He’d grown complacent.

  Shane started the engine and headed down a narrow wash. He looked tired and angry, as if shooting Dirk had ruined his whole day.

  “Where’s Brett?” Owen asked.

  “Mexico.”

  Gardener must have driven him. There was no one else. Both Roach and Dirk were dead. It was just brother versus brother now. Owen didn’t know if he had the heart to challenge Shane. He couldn’t imagine killing him. In any fight, they’d both lose.

  He was drained, physically and emotionally. The past three days had been worse than the San Diego earthquake. Back then he hadn’t given a shit about anybody, least of all himself. Caring made everything harder.

  Owen was exhausted. His clothes were filthy. He had blood and gore on his neck, some of which wasn’t his own. The inside of his mouth ached from multiple blows, and hunger gnawed at the pit of his stomach. His palms were blistered from the wheelbarrow, his feet hurt and the cut on his forearm burned like fire.

  Maybe he had heatstroke.

  These minor discomforts were nothing compared to his inner turmoil. Seeing Dirk raise his hand to Cruz had affected Owen deeply. It had filled him with rage and impotence, for the boy Cruz was and the boy Owen had been. Neither deserved the abuse.

  Owen couldn’t change the past, but he wanted to control the future, and prevent this child from ever being struck again.

  It wasn’t Cruz’s fault that Dirk hit him or Tyler didn’t want him. It wasn’t Jamie’s fault that Shane was a reprobate. And it wasn’t Owen’s fault that his father had been abusive. None of their fathers’ actions reflected on them.

  He realized now that he’d never been a coward. His father had been the coward for choosing weaker targets. Whenever Owen had flinched or shied away from him, he’d been beaten for it. He’d been punished for being scared, which was a natural response to violence. Shane had been punished for fighting back. Their mother had been punished for doing nothing. No one had escaped unscathed.

  But they could overcome. He could overcome.

  Owen needed to stop listening to the voices inside his head, the ones that whispered the same things his father had. By letting his bad experiences dictate the rest of his life, he’d given them too much power. He had to rise above the trauma and move on.

  * * *

  “WAKE UP,” SHANE SAID, shoving his shoulder.

  Owen straightened abruptly. He’d closed his eyes for a moment and drifted off, slouched in the passenger seat. They were already in Salton City, parked in front of his mother’s modular home. Her car was gone, indicating that she was at work. His father’s old fishing boat was sitting there, covered with a green tarp.

  Owen glanced at Penny, who stared back at him with an inscrutable expression.

  Shane got out of the Jeep, motioning for her to do the same. Then he went to open the passenger door. Owen stood up with a wince, his body stiff from sleep. Cruz unlatched his seat belt and followed them toward the house.

  Shane let Penny in first, then Cruz and Owen. She walked a few tentative steps, stopping when she reached the kitchen. His stomach rumbled at the thought of food. He could smell bread and bananas and coffee grounds.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” Cruz said.

  Shane pointed at a nearby door. “In there.”

  Owen also wanted to relieve himself, but he could hold it, and he doubted Shane would unlock his cuffs. With Shane’s help, he sat down at the kitchen table.

  “Can I go, too?” Penny asked.

  Shane seemed to consider her a minor threat, easy to overpower and control. She wouldn’t run off without Cruz. He removed the knife from his boot and turned her around, preparing to cut through the duct tape. But perhaps he remembered that she’d walloped Gardener a good one, because he hesitated. “You carrying any weapons, wildcat?”

  She shook her head, cheeks flushed.

  He searched her anyway. He was thorough, and not particularly respectful. She winced as Shane cupped her breasts crudely.

  Owen tried to remain calm, but his blood boiled with fury. He suspected Shane was doing this to taunt him. Owen wanted to leap to his feet and head-butt his brother for touching her. Shane dug into her bra, removing the pocketknife with dirty fingers.

  “Look what we have here,” he said, tossing it on the table. “Maybe I should do a full cavity search.”

  “Leave her alone,” Owen said through clenched teeth.

  The harassment was cut short by Cruz, not Owen. When the boy returned to the kitchen, Shane’s manner changed from menacing to mild. He sliced through the tape at Penny’s wrists and stepped back.

  “I’m hungry,” Cruz said.

  “Make us some food,” Shane told Penny.

  She rubbed her wrists. “Can I use the bathroom first?”

  “Sure,” he said, winking at Owen. He pocketed the army knife and accompanied her, standing right outside the open door. Her mouth was thin with discomfort as she walked back into the kitchen and looked in the fridge.

  “Mommy doesn’t know how to cook,” Cruz said.

  “Oh, yeah?” Shane asked. “Why is that?”

  “We have a chef.”

  “They have a chef,” Shane said, arching a brow at Owen. “Of course. What does he make?”

  “Tacos, pizza. Anything we want.”

  “How nice for you.”

  “There’s lunch meat and cheese slices,” Penny said. She rifled through the drawers. “Some fruit. That’s about it.”

  “What to drink?”

  “Milk.”

  “No beer?”

  “I don’t see any.”

  Shane shrugged. “Bring it all. I’m starving.”

  She brought everything she could find. Ham, processed cheese, apples, bananas, white bread and peanut butter. They were too hungry to wait for sandwiches. Cruz fed himself and Owen slices of ham and cheese. Penny slathered peanut butter on bread, and Shane quartered apples with his new pocketknife. It was a white-trash feast.

  “That’s mine,” Cruz said.

  “This?” Shane said, holding up the knife.

&nbs
p; “Owen gave it to me.”

  “Is that right?” he mused.

  Cruz nodded.

  A smile played on his lips. “If I give it back to you, will you stab me with it?”

  “Not unless you hurt my mommy.”

  Shane must have liked this answer, because he shoved the knife across the table. “Here. Keep it.”

  And with that single gesture, Shane won Cruz over. The boy tucked the knife into his pocket like a sacred object while Penny stood by, silent. Now Owen understood how she’d felt this morning. He was angry with Shane for presenting a weapon to Cruz—one that he’d yanked from her bra—as a gift.

  “Can Cruz watch cartoons?” Penny asked.

  Shane nodded his permission. She took him to the couch and turned on a kids’ show. Owen wondered what she thought of his childhood home. It was as clean as always, but cheaply furnished and shabby. The carpet was threadbare, the linoleum outdated.

  Shane lit up a cigarette and stood. He looked through all of the drawers and cabinets, slamming them in frustration.

  “Try the boat,” Owen said. “Dad kept a bottle under the tarp.”

  “You sure?”

  “I took a swig of it myself after the funeral.”

  “Go get it,” he told Penny.

  She didn’t like being bossed around any more than she liked being manhandled, but she acquiesced to his demands. When she returned with the bottle of whiskey, Shane gulped down a few swallows. Owen said nothing. Although his brother was a mean drunk, like their father, they’d have a chance to escape if Shane got wasted.

  Drink up, brother. Drink up.

  “What’s your plan?” Owen asked.

  “The exchange was supposed to happen today, but that went to shit.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t have any help, thanks to you.” He flicked his ashes into an empty cup. “I need at least one other guy to pull it off.”

  Owen didn’t feel bad about throwing a wrench in the works. Nor did he consider it his fault that Dirk was dead. He’d defended himself during the first strike. Then he’d defended Cruz. His only regret was letting his brother cuff him so easily. But he’d been sick and stunned, overwhelmed by the bloody mayhem.

  Shane lit another cigarette using the cherry of his previous one. “Dirk was my friend.”

  “I’m your brother.”

  “Right now, you’re a fucking thorn in my side.”

  “Why did you get even involved in this?” Owen asked, frustrated. “Do you want to go back to prison?”

  “I had no choice.”

  “You still have a choice. You can turn yourself in.”

  “No, I can’t,” Shane said. “They’ll go after Jamie.”

  Owen studied Shane from across the table, his pulse pounding with animosity. Shane had gone forward with this plan, knowing it might endanger his son. His actions were unconscionable. Owen calculated the possibility of disarming him, but decided against it. In these close quarters, bullets might fly. And...he was weary of violence. He didn’t want to attack his brother in their childhood home.

  “Who are they?” Owen asked.

  “I don’t know. They’re affiliated with the Brotherhood. The guy I answer to is just a middleman.”

  “What’s his name?”

  Shane didn’t answer.

  “Do they want to assassinate Sandoval?”

  “No,” Shane said. He rose, grabbing a folded newspaper from the countertop. Reading the front page, he tossed it down. “They don’t need to.”

  Owen glanced at the bold headline: Sandoval Drops Out. The accompanying article included a vaguely worded press release from his campaign, citing a family emergency. Speculation was rampant that his wife had a recently diagnosed terminal illness. Sandoval’s top competitor, the runner-up for the GOP nomination, was slated to take his place. “You’re responsible for this?”

  “That was one of the conditions,” Shane said. “It was supposed to be a simple exchange, no problems. Your girl and the kid would be home right now if you hadn’t decided to play hero. We never meant to hurt them.”

  Owen stared at the newspaper, stunned.

  Shane took another drag of his cigarette, glancing across the room. Penny was sitting on the couch with Cruz. “Is she your girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Liar,” Shane said.

  “I care about her. You can’t understand that because you’re a heartless bastard.”

  “You have her son’s name tattooed on your chest.”

  “So what?”

  “She says he’s yours.”

  “He might as well be.”

  Shane made a skeptical noise.

  “I’ll help you if you let him go,” Owen said.

  “What?”

  “You said you didn’t mean to take Cruz. So, give him back.”

  “How?”

  “Mom can drive him. She’ll be home from work soon.”

  “She can’t deliver him to their front door,” he said, shaking his head. “They’ll arrest her on the spot.”

  “She can put him in a cab at LAX.”

  Penny was listening to their conversation. She turned her gaze to Shane, hopeful. Owen would have liked to bargain for them both to go home, but his brother would never agree to that. Shane needed someone to ransom.

  “You know it’s the right thing to do,” Owen said.

  “Since when have I ever done the right thing?”

  “Do it, just this once. Think of Jamie.”

  Shane didn’t like the idea, but his options were limited. If he wanted Owen’s cooperation, this was the only way to get it. “Shit,” he said in a defeated tone, swigging whiskey.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  PENNY KISSED CRUZ on the head and rose, leaving him to watch cartoons.

  The thought of leaving without him made her anxious, but not as anxious as him staying here with Owen’s brother.

  Shane was handsome, like Owen, but his shaggy blond hair and pumped-up muscles didn’t appeal to her. Although they shared the same pale blue eyes, Shane’s held no warmth or depth. A hint of sensitivity softened Owen’s strong, angular features, while the lack of it lent Shane a cruel edge.

  He stared at Penny, his expression flat. “Bring me the phone.”

  She went to get the cordless receiver from the console, passing it to Shane. She slid into the chair beside him.

  “Call Janelle,” Shane said to Owen. “I told her to take Jamie to her mother’s, and I want to make sure she did it.”

  Owen dialed the number and listened. “No answer. She’s probably working.”

  “Where at?”

  He hesitated, seeming uneasy with this topic. “Club Vixen.”

  Shane’s face went slack. “Since when?”

  “Since you went away.”

  “Did Mom know?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  “You’ll have to ask her.”

  “She can’t find a job that doesn’t involve showing her tits?”

  “Kids are expensive,” he said. “You’ve never paid child support. She has to make ends meet somehow.”

  Shane stood, swearing under his breath. It was the first display of emotion she’d seen from him. He’d executed Dirk without batting an eye. He had no qualms about kidnapping and murder, but this bothered him? Penny couldn’t tell if he didn’t want his child’s mother stripping for selfish reasons, or if he felt guilty about being a deadbeat dad.

  A bit of both, perhaps.

  Owen called Janelle’s mother to confirm that Jamie was there. He asked to say hello to Jamie, at Shane’s request. Shane took the phone and listened to his son’s voice for a moment. Although his face didn’t reveal it, Penny imagined that he felt something. She tore her gaze away before her sympathy reflex could get triggered.

  Shane handed the phone back without speaking. Owen had a short conversation with Jamie about soccer and hung up.

  “Does Dad’s boat still run
?” Shane asked, looking at Owen.

  He shrugged. “It’s been sitting idle for over a year.”

  “Can you get it started?”

  “Probably.”

  “We have to go.”

  Before they left, Shane allowed Penny to grab a change of clothes and some first-aid supplies from their mother’s bedroom. There were several metallic disks on top of her dresser, like award medals. One of them said Ninety Days.

  Shane picked it up, turning to Owen. “When did Mom get back in the program?”

  “About a year ago.”

  “What program?” Penny asked, curious.

  “Twelve Steps,” Shane replied. “It’s like rehab, for poor people.”

  “I’ve heard of it,” she said.

  “She never mentioned it to me,” Shane said.

  “Maybe she wanted it to be a surprise.”

  Penny looked through the drawers, finding some old clothes for her and Owen. She put the items in a plastic bag, along with underwear and some bandages. Shane didn’t protest when she added a few toiletries to the mix.

  He removed Owen’s handcuffs, letting him use the restroom and wash up. When Owen came out, bare-chested, he put on the clean shirt Penny offered. Shane watched him like a hawk, even though Owen had promised to cooperate. At least Shane cuffed his hands in front, which was more comfortable.

  “Get some food from the pantry,” he told Penny. “And a cup of ice.”

  While she followed those instructions, Shane sat down to write a note for his mother.

  He slid the paper across the table to Owen. “I need the kid’s info.”

  Penny didn’t want to leave Cruz. She’d hoped Shane would have a change of heart and decide to let them both go. He was a father and a son, but he seemed barely human. Her throat tightened as Owen jotted down her full name, address and phone number.

  “Can I say goodbye?” Penny asked, swallowing hard.

  Shane nodded, so she walked into the living room, kneeling in front of the couch. “Owen’s mother is going to take you to the airport.”

  Cruz’s face lit up. “Will I fly in an airplane?”

  “Not this time. You’ll get in a taxi and ride home by yourself.”

  The novelty of a solo taxi ride didn’t appeal to him as much as an airplane. “Where are you going?”