by Bella King
“Yeah, but we don’t have any.”
He shrugs. “We can pretend.”
I shake my head at him, but a smile escapes my lips. He’s so goofy sometimes, but that makes him more likable. I figure if I’m going to be going on a road trip across the country with him, then I better get used to how he behaves. It would be exhausting to argue the whole way to Canada.
“You still have to tell me what the deal is with all that stuff in your trunk. What kind of drug is it?” I ask.
“Cocaine,” Devin replies. “It’s good stuff too.”
“I thought you said you didn’t do drugs,” I say.
“I don’t, but the cartel does it, and they seem to think it’s the best stuff around. I figure it will be useful once I get across the border,” he says.
“So, you feel comfortable taking that across the border?” I ask. “Won’t they arrest you?”
Devin chuckles. “You’re cute. They don’t search every car that rolls across the border. They’re mainly looking for people who have sketchy documents or have no reason to be there.”
“You don’t have a reason to be there,” I point out.
“I do. That’s where my grandfather lives,” he replies, sounding quite sure of himself.
“Does that make you Canadian then?” I inquire, looking him over. I don’t think there’s any way I can tell from his appearance if he’s from Canada. There isn’t a particular look, but they do tend to have a different accent. Devin’s accent is neutral.
Devin shakes his head. “No. I moved down the US with my father when I was a baby and grew up in the Carolinas. Nice place. Good people.”
“So why are you fucking around with the cartel? It sounds like you have a good life otherwise.”
“I have my reasons,” he replies, leaving it at that.
There is that line again. Reasons. That gives me nothing to go on, but at least now I know more about his family history. Something doesn’t add up, however. I don’t see how someone from the Carolinas would ever come in contact with the cartel. There’s always a reason why people get mixed up in this business, and Devin’s reason isn’t clear to me yet. I want to know more.
“When did you get involved with the cartel?” I ask.
“Some time ago,” Devin replies, keeping his answer short and vague again.
“That’s not a proper answer. Why are you stealing money and drugs from them?”
“I think you know enough already, Marybeth. I’m not going to tell you anymore,” he replies, grabbing a brown bag full of fast food he got while I was locked in the trunk and thrusting it out to me. “Here, this is for you.”
This is an acceptable compromise. I take the bag from him and open it, finding it stacked with several hamburgers and two containers of fries. “I can’t eat all this,” I say, digging a hamburger out of the bag.
“I’ll eat the rest,” he replies.
Fair enough. I unwrap the burger and bite into it. It’s better than the ones that my drive-in sells by a significant amount. I don’t want to ask him where he got it. I won’t be able to stop myself from going there every other day if I know.
“I guess you’re hungry,” Devin says, glancing at me while I scarf down the burger.
“A bit,” I reply with my mouth full of food.
He smiles and returns to the wheel, staring down the long, straight road ahead. We have been driving for hours, but Devin doesn’t seem to want to slow down or take any breaks. He’s determined to get across the border as quickly as he can.
I finish off one burger and hold my belly. I’m full of all that greasy food, and I don’t think I can eat anymore without becoming uncomfortable. The food makes me feel tired.
I start to get comfortable, kicking off my boots and letting my feet out in the air. It feels good to be able to wiggle my toes. I’m even tempted to remove my socks, but I’m not that comfortable around Devin yet.
I see Devin sniff out of the corner of my eye, and I say something before he has the chance to. “My feet are sweaty because I’ve had my shoes on all day.”
“Why did you take them off?” he asks, laughing.
“Because they’re uncomfortable.”
“Phew, you need a shower or something,” he teases, holding his nose.
“Stop it. They’re not that bad,” I say, feeling a self-conscious now.
“You know what,” Devin says. “I think I can find a river tomorrow, and we’ll both get cleaned up. For now, we’re just going to have to stink together.”
I see him moving his feet and realize he’s also taking off his shoes. We’re going to have to roll down a window at this rate. I laugh as he tosses a shoe onto my lap. “Gross,” I squeal, throwing it back at him.
“I’m driving,” he says, a smile spreading across his face as he throws it back. “You’re going to make me crash.”
“Into what?” I ask, motioning at the empty road in front of us.
Devin laughs, and I watch his eyes sparkle with amusement. He looks a lot nicer when he’s like this, and I linger on his face for a moment, admiring his handsome features before looking back out of the window. I don’t want to make it weird.
“How long do you think it’ll take to get to Canada?” I ask.
“Just a few days if we don’t take too many breaks. I don’t plan on taking any detours, except to get gas.”
“You’re not worried about the cops getting you when you’re at the gas station?”
“I’m not worried about the police. They don’t know anything about me yet. It’s the cartel who are going to be the problem, but they don’t have the same power as they do in Mexico. It’s okay if I swing by for gas.”
“The cartel? You killed them, right?” I ask, a little confused.
“I nabbed a couple of them, but they’re not the only ones who followed me out here. I’m hauling around a few million dollars’ worth of cash and cocaine. It’s worth sending quite a few people after me.”
“A few million?” I ask, my mouth dropping open.
Devin nods. “Yeah, I’d say somewhere around the ballpark of ten or eleven million dollars.”
“What the fuck?! How did you get ahold of this stuff?” I ask, amazed that the cartel would even let him gain access to it.
A smile spreads on Devin’s face. “I just walked in and walked out.”
“Bullshit,” I say, calling him out. “They wouldn’t let you do that.”
“I have my ways,” he replies, his smile widening.
“Tell me,” I beg, somewhat excited to hear the story.
“Alright, alright,” he says, smiling at shaking his head. “But, you really need to keep your mouth shut about all this.”
“You know I can’t do that,” I reply.
Devin sighs. “I know.”
“But tell me anyway,” I say. “Maybe I’ll leave it out when I’m filing a police report.”
He chuckles. “Okay, that sounds fair enough.”
Chapter Eleven
“They don’t trust easy, but when you’re turning profit, they tend to get greedy. The cartel always wants more,” Devin begins.
I make myself comfortable in the seat, turning sideways and watching Devin as he weaves his tale for me. I think of it as a bedtime story, even though it’s not bedtime yet. It’s been so long since I heard one. My father used to tell them to me, even when he got sick and was in the hospital.
“I started moving cocaine for the cartel once they brought it across the border. I was the middle-man who sold to the dealers since I knew a few in the US. The cartel gave me larger amounts every time because I knew how to flip it quickly for a large profit. I gained respect from them quickly.
“The deals kept getting bigger, and soon I was invited to come down to Mexico to make some major deals with the boss. He told me that I was going to have to double my loads, but if I could pull it off, then he was going to make me a very rich man.
“It’s a good deal, but it’s going to take months, if not years
, to collect the money that I need. I’m not trying to make myself some kind of druglord, you see. I just need the money quickly. So, I hatch a plan. I decide that the only way I’m going to be able to get the money that I need is if I take it without asking. I decide to rob the cartel.”
My eyes grow wide at his story. “Weren’t you afraid of getting caught?”
“Yeah, to be honest, I was deathly afraid of what they would do to me if they caught me, but I have reasons greater than myself for what I’m doing, so it doesn’t matter if I’m afraid. I have to do what I have to do.”
“But why?” I ask.
Devin shrugs. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Again, why?”
He turns his head to me and chuckles at my slouched position. “Because I make the rules here, darling.”
Darling? Did he just call me darling?
I’m not going to freak out, but I wonder why he would say that. I haven’t heard him say it before, so this is a new thing. It didn’t even sound condescending, which is why it’s throwing me off.
I keep the same lazy expression until he turns back to look at the road, but inside, my thoughts are bubbling over. I feel my cheeks getting pink as I roll his words over in my head again.
I make the rules here, darling.
I realize that I’m letting Devin get into my head. He’s certainly an interesting guy, but he’s not the type of man I could see myself walking down the aisle with, and that matters to me. I always say that I will never date a guy who isn’t marriage material. It’s not worth the heartbreak and wasted time.
I think that’s a perfectly reasonable mindset, but at this point in time, I’m not feeling very reasonable. I mean, being kidnapped and dragged across the entire country with the cartel on our tail isn’t exactly a reasonable situation to be in. My mental state can change, given the right stimulus, and this is changing an awful lot inside my head in a short amount of time.
I watch Devin as he drives. His face is cast in beautiful shadows as the sun glows through the front windshield. His face is dramatic and masculine, and it almost seems unfair that a man like him should be so handsome. How come none of the good men are?
The sun sets quickly, and I find myself getting even more sleepy. I woke up early this morning for work because I don’t have a car and I have to take the bus out to the drive-in. It takes me an hour and a half to get ready, and then I have to ride the bus for another hour. It seems like a total waste of time, but then again, I would just spend that extra hour taking longer to get ready if I didn’t have to take the bus.
Either way, I typically wake up pretty early, so I also go to bed early. When people find out that I go to bed before midnight, they call me a grandma, but I don’t see anything wrong with it. Is it so strange to want to get a good night’s sleep on a regular basis?
I feel my eyelids closing as I struggle to stay awake. The rumble of the road beneath the wheels of Devin’s red Mustang provides a pleasant white noise to help me drift off. Before I know it, I’m snoring like a fool in the passenger’s seat while Devin drives into the night.
Chapter Twelve
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Devin’s voice says.
I try to ignore it. I’m dreaming about hamburgers, and I don’t want to be disturbed.
“Hey, I’m not going to let you sleep in the car.”
I groan and swat my hand around, hoping that he’ll leave me alone.
“Come on,” he says, grabbing my wrist and yanking me back to consciousness.
“Fucking hell,” I exclaim as I’m jerked up out of my sleep. I’m not happy to be awoken like this, but I knew that it would happen. Devin isn’t going to let me sleep in the car if he plans on camping. He needs to keep an eye on me so that I don’t escape in the night.
Even after all this, I’ll run if he gives me the chance.
“It’s not that bad,” Devin says, “But it’s getting chilly outside. I’m going to make a fire. Let’s go.”
I rub my eyes with the backs of my hands and then stretch. I look out the window to see that it’s deep into the night, and the sun is long gone. I must have been asleep for a few hours, but it doesn’t feel like it. I’m just as tired as I was before.
Devin hops out of the car, and I join him, following him around as he retrieves supplies from the back seat. He leans over, and I admire his backside.
Damn, why does he have to be so cute? He doesn’t seem to have a single flaw, physically, aside from some sloppy tattoos on one of his arms that look like they were done in someone’s house instead of a studio. I can overlook that. In fact, they add character.
“Take these,” Devin says, turning around with an armful of firewood.
Before I have the chance to protest, he drops the heavy load in my arms and turns back around. “Ugh,” I say, adjusting the rough logs. “What am I supposed to do with these?”
“Take them to a good spot, not too far from the truck, and we’ll make a fire,” he replies.
I squint in the darkness. I’m not going to stray far from the car in the Texas desert. It’s dangerous out here at night. I’ve seen news about grown men being hunted down by wild animals and eaten. It’s no joke.
I walk a few feet away from Devin and look for a place to set the firewood down. Most of the area has too many brambly plants, but I find a clearing about two yards away from the truck. I drop the logs into the dry soil and turn back to Devin.
“Is this fine?” I ask.
He turns around with the nearly empty can of petrol in his hand. “Oh, yes. That’s perfect.” He shuts the back door of the car and walks over to me, his shoulders swinging with a dominant swagger. He looks good in the night like he belongs to the shadows and would disappear in the morning. I doubted that would happen, though. He seems intent on sticking around.
I watch as Devin arranges the wood in a way that allows airflow, putting the smallest sticks in a nook at the bottom of the pile. Then, he covers the entire thing in gasoline, pulls out a box of matches, and motions for me to step back. “I don’t want you to get burned,” he says.
That’s nice of him.
I step back as he lights a match and drops it onto the wood, setting it ablaze in an instant. I can smell the burning gasoline in the air, and I wonder how bad it is to be breathing this stuff in. I guess it’s too late now.
“I’m going to let this burn through the night, but it should be out by morning,” Devin says. “It’ll keep the wild animals away.”
I step closer to the fire. It’s chilly outside, even though it was so hot during the day. The Texas desert doesn’t hold heat well after the sun goes down. It evaporates into the night air like moister does under the heat of the day.
“I’m still going to have to tie you up tonight,” Devin says, looking to me as I stand next to the fire.
I frown. “Really? I already told you that I’m terrified of being all confined and stuff.”
“I don’t think attaching you to the car really qualifies, though. We’re out in the night air. I thought women enjoyed that type of thing anyway,” he says, giving me a wink.
“I don’t,” I grumble, but I don’t really know that. I’ve never had someone tie me up in the bedroom before. I wonder if Devin likes it.
Gross, no. Stop thinking about him like that. He’s the bad guy.
“I’ll give you plenty of rope, so you won’t really be confined. I’m just going to make sure you aren’t able to drive away without me or something crazy like that.”
“You think I would?”
“Yes, actually. You already tried to do it, remember?”
I hoped that he had forgotten, but he remembers, and he’s unwilling to trust me this time around. I can’t say that I blame him, but I still don’t like it.
“Come over here, and we can get you secured,” Devin says, as though he’s doing me a favor.
I don’t resist. There’s no point, and I’m too tired to care at this point. I just want to go back to sleep and de
al with this in the morning. I hope that when I wake up, I find this to have all been one sick dream, but it’s too real. I know that I can’t escape it that easily.
Devin takes my hands and ties them together, but he’s gentler this time. His rough hands linger on my skin as he touches me, sending little jolts of excitement through my body. I don’t want to enjoy this, but my body is singing a different tune than my reasoning brain is. Right now, though, my brain is winning. I’d like to keep it that way.
“There,” Devin says, looking up into my eyes once he finishes. He pulls his hands back slowly, as though he doesn’t want to let go of me. His eyes are sparkling, reflecting the orange flames of the fire. They look beautiful in this setting, but I wouldn’t dare tell him that. He would get ideas.
The rope that Devin has attached to my hands is also bound to his Mustang. I’ll be unable to start the car because he had hidden the keys somewhere. I’m not going to try to escape, but he’s not taking any risks tonight.
“Care to join me?” Devin asks, pulling his shirt over his head and balling it up in his hands. His body is made up of pure muscle, and I can see more of his tattoos now. They lead down deep into the grooves of his hips that form a V leading down to his…
“Uh, what?” I ask, looking up at his eyes before I get myself into trouble.
“It’s going to get colder. You should join me in the sleeping bag,” he suggests.
I give him a look as though to ask if he’s serious, but he looks to be. His eyes are wide like he’s trying to convince me that this is a good idea.
“Alright,” I say, “But keep your hands to yourself.”
“That might be kind of hard,” he replies, rolling out the sleeping bag across the flat ground.
“No, it shouldn’t be.”
He chuckles. “Fine then, but don’t freak out if I touch you. This bag is only meant for one person.”
“You should sleep on the ground then,” I reply.
He shakes his head and smiles as he unzips the thick sleeping bag. “You’re a wild one Marybeth, but I’m starting to like you.”
