Raci had picked the one person who she thought had the least repercussions. Ginny didn’t have a husband or a lover who would miss her. Instead she had friends who would forget her, and jobs that could be done by someone else. She was expendable. Even Trudy had four friends whom she considered sisters. Truthfully, they were more like sisters to her than Ginny was. At least Trudy wouldn’t have to worry about being blown to smithereens if she decided to stay the night at her house. She would be taking her sister’s life in her hands, even if they pretended to only be friends like Beth and Lily.
Losing Smokey had shown her that the farther distance between herself and others, the better. It was what Hammer had been trying to tell them whenever she and Trudy wanted to get together. The kitten would have been better off at the animal shelter than with her, just like Trudy would be better off with her gone.
A strong gust of wind sent her hair swirling in disarray. Battling back against the wind, a dose of cold, hard reality suddenly struck her. The cartel had actually done her a favor, proving she wasn’t strong enough to take on Allerton yet. Especially not if she wanted to keep Trudy out of harm’s way.
For her to take Allerton on, she had to get to the point where nothing else mattered but taking him down. To do that, she needed to strategize like a master chess player. Not only that, but she had to become physically and mentally stronger. She needed to become a force to be reckoned with, and to do that she needed to be alone. Only when she managed to defeat Allerton would she be able to quit looking from the outside in, and she would finally be able to join the lives of those she loved.
“Are you ready?” Penni asked, waiting beside the car with a man who worked security for the band. It was how Penni convinced Shade to let her leave.
“I’m ready.” Ginny reached down, picking up the black trash bag of the few things she managed to salvage from the rubble.
As she walked toward the car, Penni got in the back seat while the guard took the bag from her to put in the trunk.
Ginny put a hand on the roof of the car, bending down to dip her head in before getting inside. Another strong gust of wind sent her hair whirling as if a Tasmanian devil was aggravating her. It reminded her of when Silas would sneak up behind her and Leah to mess up their hair.
Unable to help herself, she laughed as she dived into the car to escape.
“See? I told you it would be good for you to stop and say good-bye,” Penni said when she heard her laughter. At first, she thought Penni was crazy when she suggested stopping and saying good-bye to the burnt-out shell of her former home. Ginny was glad she had; her head was much clearer.
Ginny ran her fingers through her fine hair to untangle it. “It’s not good-bye,” she said, buckling her seat belt and staring straight ahead. “It’s just for now.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Gavin stirred on the cot. The Navy man, who was still somewhere deep inside of him, who had been hidden for so long, had him opening his eyes, trying to recognize the sound that used to be a part of his past, trying to rationalize what it meant. The heroin they had just shot through his veins placed images and sounds in his mind that he couldn’t unscramble enough to know what was real and what was imagined.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood erect, while his hearing increased, just like it used to back in the day, right before a mission, yet the drug lulled him back, telling him it was just another figment of his imagination.
Closing his eyes, he figured the drugs must have been a new concoction of Butcher’s. Not only the part of him that had once been a Navy SEAL, but every visage of being worthy of being a Last Rider was gone. What was left was just a ghost of the man he used to be.
Hearing the sound again, it didn’t inspire him to fight through the poison that was killing him day by day, too beaten down to give a damn anymore. Being saved was something Gavin no longer wished for. Hell, the only thing he prayed for now was to not be saved. Through all his unanswered prayers, his one last hope was that this single fucking prayer would be granted. He no longer looked to God to answer his prayers, or even The Last Riders. No, it was Slate who he begged to send him to Hell—to grant him the death that, no matter what Butcher pumped into his body, remained just out of reach. That was the downfall about being the Reaper—you were already fucking dead.