“Alwaystrust your gut.”
I take a deep breath, soothed by the tenderness of his touch. “I just wish my gut would tell mehowto find them.”
“Let me worry about the logistics,” he says. “For now, we need to spend the next couple of days lying low.”
“Right, of course.”
“Come on, darling. We need to buy a couple of things.”
“Like what?”
“Hair dye for you. Painkillers for me. Maybe a new car to make a clean getaway in if we’re feeling ambitious.”
The inside of the gas station is surprisingly well stocked considering how little traffic they seem to get. The floors smell of chemical cleaners and stale coffee made first thing this morning. Donuts and other sugary pastries sit in the display cabinets near the back, and although I have a massive sweet tooth, I’d rather not risk food poisoning. I have enough on my plate to deal with as it is.
I’m surprised to find the place does indeed have hair dye. The quality is questionable, but if we’re going to fly under the radar, I need to change my appearance. Nothing a box of black L’Oréal and a pair of scissors can’t fix.
“The bathroom’s back there,” Zane tells me. “I need to make a phone call. Meet me outside when you’re done.”
I move with purpose, locking myself inside the small grey room. The lighting is abysmal, and the floors are distressingly sticky, but I buckle down and get to work.
As I wet my hair in the sink, my mind wanders.
I’ve come to bring you and your mother home.
That was the last thing Joseph Marrones—if that’s even his name—said before my father heartlessly shot him in the head. I’ve never known my father to get his hands dirty. He normally assigns the messier, complicated work to one of his subordinates. It makes me wonder if he had a reason to keep Joseph’s mouth shut.
My dear girl was already married.
My cheeks flood with heat. Zane and I… This whole time we’ve been husband and wife and neither of us were the wiser. The more I think about it, the giddier I feel. I’ve been so opposed to the thought of marriage to Esteban that I never stopped to wonder if I’deverget married. And yes, I know it was a drunken accident, but it feels almost like fate that I should end up with the man who’s saved my life on more than one occasion.
I just don’t know if he feels the same way.
As I streak black through my locks, I wonder what Zane wants to do. He probably thinks it’s a mistake, being married to me. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he thinks getting involved with me in the first place was the biggest mistake of his life. He’s on the runbecause of me. His family might be at riskbecause of me.
When all is said and done, I wouldn’t blame him if he asks for a divorce.
I rinse my hair out, a cold, heavy dread seeping into my bones. Why does the thought of Zane leaving make me feel so…awful? I know it’s probably not doing me any good to think about a future without him. What I should really do is focus on the task at hand, to see another day. But imagining a time where business is done and we finally part ways?
My stomach clenches as I chop my hair off. Marianne showed me a long time ago how to cut layers properly, so I think it ends up looking alright.Different, but alright.
I grip the edges of the sink and stare at my reflection. I hardly recognize myself. That’s the point, of course, but I think somethinginsideme has changed, too. My eyes are harder, darker. This is the face of someone who’s fed up, someone who has nothing left to lose. The voice in the back of my head warns me that seeking the Marrones Cartel is probably going to get me killed, but I don’t care.
Willow Allegra has been dead for a long time. Hell, I’m convinced she was never alive to begin with. I’ve attempted to take control of my life before with disastrous results, but I officially feel like I’m at a turning point. The event horizon. I’m going to walk right into the lion’s den and offer my father and would-be fiancé on a silver platter.
It’s time to stop running around aimlessly.
I now have a destination in mind, and nobody’s going to stop me from freeing myself.
Chapter 23
Zane
“Itold you so.”
I sigh loudly, pinching the bridge of my nose. “God, you’re such a little shit.”
“True,” Knox says over the phone, “but I’m also right.”