Poesy swims circles around me, creating waves. The high noon sun glistens off her wet skin, and the cool water tints her thin lips blue.
“Lowen?” my girl asks, suddenly serious. A shadow of regret she’s kept hidden crosses her eyes. “People are killed every day. Why are they not letting this one time go? Why are we being hunted?”
“You saw his picture,” I say, unable to look at her when I talk. Karma stabs me in the back and twists the knife, carving a hole in my soul. “He was probably a good person, and we’re not—I’m not. The public likes a good villain and wants to be heroes. It brings them together. Henning must have struck a nerve.”
An older lady with a bright floral-print bathing suit not covering enough of her saggy body, and wearing a shower cap over her gray-yellow hair, joins us poolside before the conversation can continue any further.
“Having fun, kids?” she asks, laying her towel on a sun-brittle lounge chair.
“Yes, ma’am.” My little mermaid balances on the tips of her toes, smiling at our visitor.
“That’s nice,” the woman singsongs, lathering thick sunblock over her face. Loose skin around her upper arms jiggles and wags. She slicks the rest of her body with glimmering oil.
We stay in the water until our teeth chatter and the bottoms of our feet rub raw on the pool’s coarse surface and get out as three rowdy, small children with big bellies and orange floaties around their arms cannonball simultaneously into the shallow side.
“Sorry about that.” Their mother chases after them with cartoon-printed towels and flushed cheeks. “They’re hyenas.”
Poesy and I sit under the sun, in a corner away from the sugar-high hoodlums and chatty women. Hot, carrot and banana-scented air warms the chill in our bones and parches the water from our skin, smoothing our fingertips. Poe’s hair dries a shade lighter, and the blue in her lips thaws to a normal pink.
“What do you think about catching a flight out of here?” I ask, twisting the short ends of her tresses through my fingers.
Between my legs with her knees to her chest, my girl looks over her shoulder with a smile and asks, “What?”
“There’s enough cash to get us out of the country and set up somewhere new while we’re ahead. No one knows where we are, or what new names we’re going by. There’s an entire world to get lost in.”
“That sounds amazing.” Poesy rests her chin atop her kneecaps and circles her arms around her legs.
She has her back facing me, all hips and rib bones. Freckles dance along her spine, whisper across her shoulders, and fade down her arms. Inspecting her home-doctored stitches, I’m happy with the way the wound has mended. She’ll have a large scar, but she’ll also have her life.
“Let’s lay low for a couple more days and make a plan. The news said they’ve had sightings of us in Florida and Texas, so that means people are looking for us there. We can’t leave from those states.”
“There has to be a smaller airport with direct flights out of the country nearby,” Poesy says, looking up toward the sun.
“I’d rather put distance between us and California, and anyone who can identify our faces.”
Heat waves ripple above the pool as the thermometer on the wall touches ninety degrees. Dripping wet and burning as much energy as they had when they arrived, three shouting boys chase each other on the slippery cement with action heroes in their hands and Kool-Aid smiles on their chubby faces. They run past the No Lifeguard on Duty sign.
Their mother sips on a can of generic beer and smokes a cigarette at the corner of her mouth, chalking it up with the older woman. She crosses and uncrosses her legs, shaking the pink rubber flip-flops on her feet.
“That makes sense,” Poesy says, leaning back against my chest. She closes her near-translucent lids over her eyes. “I can totally see us living on a beach somewhere.”
As if she can hear our conversation, the neglectful mother snaps her head in our direction and makes eye contact with me. She blows thick white smoke over the heads of her children and winks, sucking another hit.
“Low, teach me how to shoot a gun,” Poe says in an unsure tone, like she knows what my answer will be.
My heartbeat picks up when the woman doesn’t look away, blatantly staring at my girl and me. Spawn run in circles around her chair, throwing Spiderman at each other and shouting mispronounced curse words. She doesn’t look away from us until one of the kids slips face-first on the concrete.
I scratch the back of my neck, narrowing my eyes. Warmth blasts through the palms of my hands, and suddenly the outside heat is suffocating.
“Okay,” I say, watching our eavesdropper discipline her boy for bleeding. “Now?”
Poe sits up and turns toward me. The sun reddened her nose and cheeks. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, let’s get out of here.”
The sorry excuse for a mom pulls her son up by his arm, hyperextending it. He cries more, and she shouts louder, not bothering to put down the beer or cigarette. It’s apparent where the boys picked up the foul language. Meanwhile, old and saggy squirts another stream of sunblock into the palm of her hand, unconcerned with the commotion.
With all three kids crying and both ladies preoccupied, I lead Poe back to our room, wondering if it’s safe to stay another night.
“SHOULD WE BRING that?” Poesy points to the bag of loot.
I pocket the Mazda keys and place a Wyoming Like No Place on Earth hat I bought from the hotel office over my head. For an entire hour after we returned to the room, I waited for the FBI to kick down the door and arrest us. But apprehension settled to soberness. Life on the run means being suspicious of everyone, even shit mothers with bad kids. That lady is still at the pool, six beers deep. There was never anything to worry about.
“Bring it just in case the maid comes by. I don’t want her snooping.” I hold the door open for Poe.
She tosses the duffel bag into the backseat. This town is so desolate, I let it go and cruise out of the parking lot, optimistic we can make most of the day. My girl turns up the music and rolls down the window, humming a tune as early summer air blows through her hair. She taps on her suntanned thigh while I drive on unkempt streets, past run-down churches and farms.
We’re swallowed by trees the farther we drive, consumed by brisk air, simple nature, and shades of green neither one of us has ever experienced in the city.
“Is that a turkey?” Poesy suddenly sits straight and looks back as we pass the wild bird on the side of the road. Her short hair blows into her excited face. “Low, that was a fucking turkey.”
Ten minutes later, I pull over and park the car between two large pine trees, out of sight from the road but easily accessible if we need to leave in a hurry. We follow a trail a mile into the woods that leads to a small dirt clearing large enough for target practice.
“This place is amazing,” my girl says, walking past me, wide-eyed and smiling. “Who needs the beach when we can have trees?”
Poesy extends her arms and spins in circles, laughing out loud. Mud sticks to the bottom of her shoes and kicks clumps on her ankles and calves. She soaks in the sun, swirling through pollen and dancing through dust. My girl twirls until she missteps and stumbles, closely catching herself on a tree.
“Do you like it here, baby?” I ask, loading the .44 and sliding one into the chamber.
“What’s not to like? It’s stunning.” Poe picks a yellow flower from the base of a pine tree and sticks it behind her ear. She complains about sap on her fingers.
I line empty aluminum cans and glass bottles we had rolling around the floorboards in the car on a decaying tree stump. She’ll shoot with my gun, but Poe’s claimed Jonathan’s Glock as her own. Firing a dead man’s weapon is morbid, but she acquainted herself with the gun after she stole it. I previously taught her how to load and check the safety. Learning to aim and fire is the next step, despite how much the idea turns my stomach.
We’re outlaws.
She needs to be
able to protect herself.
“Don’t ever point this at yourself. Always assume it’s loaded.” I hold the butt of the gun out for her to hold.
“I know that much,” she says, rolling her eyes.
Poesy reaches for the weapon, but I yank it back and wait for her to smarten up. She straightens her posture and drops the silly smirk, trading it for narrowed eyebrows and even lips. Poe inhales a large breath and holds her hand out.
The woman standing in front of me isn’t the same girl who fell in love with the help between grass clippings and rose thorns. That person was bored, possessed by society’s cycle of expectations: education, productivity, family, taxes, death. She was on track to suffer through a life in student loan debt, marriage, and three kids she’d drive around in a minivan.
It was an existence she would have tolerated with me.
I thought it was what I wanted. What she needed.
But as I gaze into her determined hazel eyes, there’s no doubt it would have been a living hell.
Broke bad, the redhead standing in front of me sizzles with exhilaration, thriving with excitement at an unknown potential—liberated. People like us aren’t meant to be caged, by bars or world order. Our culture is anarchy, unbound by borders and laws, incapable to conform. Killing the guard was an accident, but robbing those banks was fate.
Poesy and I are two of a kind, and I see that now.
“Show me what you’re made of, bandit,” I say.
With my hand on the barrel of our namesake and hers on the handle, our lips touch and our hearts sync. Any lingering doubt I have about our lifestyle fades away as our kiss deepens, solidifying our future.
“It’s heavy,” Poesy comments, turning toward her targets. She lifts the weapon and fakes a fire. “Boom.”
“Use both hands,” I say, coming in behind her. I kick her feet shoulder length apart. “The recoil is going to be as powerful as the shot, so you need to be ready. Never put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to fire.”
“Okay.” Muscles in Poe’s arms flex as she tightens her hold. She slips her finger over the trigger.
“It’s going to be loud. Don’t flinch, or you’ll miss.” I place my hands over hers, showing her where to aim. “Align your sights and keep your eye on the target.”
The beat in my chest hammers double-time. Intentionally putting a firearm in Poesy’s hands was something I wanted to avoid, like I was saving innocents by not teaching her the ropes. Now that we’re both forsaken, feeling the strength in her body against my own is erotic. Watching my girl pull her bottom lip between her teeth with deadly metal in her grip hardens my cock.
“Damn, girl,” I whisper, pressing myself against her so she can feel what this does to me.
“Watch yourself, inmate. I have your loaded weapon in my hand.” She smiles.
I groan against Poe’s throat, taking a step back before I fuck the criminal right out of her on the muddy ground. Crossing my arms over my chest to keep my hands to myself, I check her stance before giving the green light to shoot.
“You’ll feel resistance in the trigger. That means you’re ready to fire. Press through that, but don’t anticipate the shot. You want it to be natural, like the weapon is part of your body.”
Gunfire shatters nature’s silence, ricocheting off tree trunks and chasing wildlife away. Entire flocks of birds take to the sky, and squirrels fall from branches and run through fallen leaves toward safety. The pistol’s recoil shoves Poesy back a foot, and she nearly knocks herself out with the weapon.
“Holy shit,” she yelps, catching her footing before she falls.
“Now you know what to expect. Try again,” I say, nodding toward the line of cans and bottles. She didn’t hit one.
“My ears are ringing.” Poesy repositions her stance, but this time her hands and arms tremble.
“Concentrate on your target.” I break twigs under my shoes and come beside the shooter to lift her chin and straighten her arms. “If you can shoot this gun, you can shoot anything.”
Determination calms the shake in her bones, and black pupils expand as she fires a second round. Recoil knocks Poe from her feet again as the bullet collides with the tree stump, splintering decayed bark. One of the aluminum cans falls forward, and the others wobble. She didn’t hit her intended target, but it was close.
My chest fills with pride, but Poesy’s hard set to make a perfect shot.
“Come on. Come on,” she whispers to herself, repositioning.
“Easy,” I say. The right side of my mouth curves.
“I can do this.” She pulls back the hammer, holding the weapon tight in her grip.
The third shot hits the tree trunk above the bullet hole before it, knocking a second can over. Powerful aftershock forces Poe to take a step back, but she keeps her arms straight and focus ahead. A fourth bullet slides into the chamber, rotating the cylinder. Poesy inhales an audible breath and shoots, skimming a green plastic Sprite bottle. It kicks to the right and rolls into the weeds.
The fifth round hits a tree behind the mark, carving a fist-sized hole in its trunk.
The sixth and final bullet fires from the .44, spewing sparks in its wake, and finally sails through the last can standing, ripping it in half.
“I did it. I fucking did it, Lowen!” In victory, Poesy drops the gun and runs into my arms, screaming with excitement.
We fall to the ground in a tangle of limbs and lips and moans, sending the birds from branches for a whole new reason.
I don’t fuck the criminal out of her.
I fuck it into her.
WITH MUD UNDER our fingernails and grass in our hair, Poesy and I slowly walk the trail back to the car as the sun starts to set and the woods fade to black. We’re hushed, hand-in-hand, still tingling and electric from making love outdoors and hitting more than one kind of target.
My getaway driver has dried filth smeared across her rosy cheeks, and a small smile spreads across her swollen lips.
“I love you.” I break the silence with the absolute truth.
Long lashes slowly sweep against her high cheekbones, and my girl tucks herself under my arm. She slides her hold around my lower back, gripping on to my filthy white shirt with dirtier hands. Magnetic warmth simmers under our skin, luring us together in an unbreakable bond. It’s tangible … breathable … heart-stoppable.
“I love you,” Poesy says.
She presses her ear against my chest to hear my beat, holding tighter, coming impossibly closer.
It takes me a moment to realize something’s wrong as the street comes into sight and we emerge into the land of the living. If I was paying better attention, I would have seen the man before he saw me and backtracked.
“Hey, is this your car?” a gentleman with thick white hair and a short-framed body asks. He’s dressed in light denim overalls, which are stained at the knees and unbuckled at the sides to accommodate his large belly. “This here is private property.”
I step in front of Poesy, shielding her from his view. The .44 is in the waist of her jean shorts, but I have the Glock.
“Come out here. We need to have a discussion,” the old man hollers. A yellow-orange tractor is stopped in the middle of the road with its hazard lights on.
“I didn’t realize this land was yours,” I say, slowly stepping out from the trail. My heart drops when I see the Mazda on the back of a tow truck. A second man throws chains around the back tires.
“Every once in a while I have people come through and squat on my land, destroying things. I can tell you ain’t from around here. I ain’t never seen you before.” He squints his eyes at me, but his expression softens when Poesy peeks out from behind my arm. A shotgun is strapped around his back, and a wad of tobacco is in his cheek.
“Don’t take our car. We’ll leave,” I say, keeping my hands out in front of me.
“Well, it’s too late for that, son. JT done already hooked it up to the truck.” He waves to the tow driver, who nods i
n return. “Trespassing is a problem around here. A real big problem.”
The tow truck driver starts the engine, vomiting thick black smoke into the air from a chrome exhaust pipe. The old diesel motor shakes so violently, I can feel a rumble in the road under my feet. It’s contagious, and I start to tremble with anger.
I reach back for my gun, prompting the old man to stretch for his. Poe grabs my wrist before I get my hand around the grip, and she steps out in front of me. Unease eats at me from the inside out, pumping ice cold blood through my blackening heart. All that stands between murdering this man and me is my girl in the line of fire.
“Please, that car is all we have. My husband stopped because we saw a turkey, and I’ve never seen one in real life.” She smiles cheerily. “No harm done.”
“That’s real sweet, hun. But that doesn’t change the facts. I don’t know where you’re from, or where you’re headed, but I suggest you hightail it outta here. This town don’t like newcomers much. Tend to bring nothin’ but trouble. And from the looks of you two, you’re exactly that.”
“We can’t leave without our car,” I say harshly. It takes every stitch of self-control I have not to put a bullet between his eyes. If anyone searches the vehicle, they’ll find the money and the rifle in the trunk. There won’t be much time before it’s linked to the deadly bank robbery in California.
“You can pick it up from the tow yard.” The man swings his shotgun around the front of his body. He spits chewing tobacco at our feet. “Now get before I call the law.”
The tow truck pulls a U-turn onto the road, kicking up dust as it maneuvers around the tractor. Rust and rubber slowly drags our car away before gaining speed and disappearing around a bend, taking with it our money, our identity, and our only way out, deeming everything we’ve done for nothing.
The smell of exhaust lingers in the air, and only becomes worse when the old man hops into his Caterpillar and sputters away. I step forward and brandish my weapon, breathing through clenched teeth, bracing myself before I send a bullet through the back of his head.
Low (Low #1) Page 18
