Chapter 25 Sydney
Sydney
Every movie or television show Sydney had ever watched that involved a road trip depicted them as this chaotic amalgamation of follies and laughter. Nothing could be further from the truth.
First of all, Fink had them leaving in the middle of dead-ass night. He said something about less traffic and being able to cover more ground when people were sleeping. Whatever, but that meant there was nothing to see.
She couldn’t enjoy the views they passed. Even playing license plate bingo had lost its appeal three hours in. Mostly because Fink had no interest in the game. He said he would play but then didn’t. They’d driven so long, the radio began repeating their playlists.
Fink refused to allow her to log in to her Spotify account. Instead, they relied on FM Radio. FM! Who did that? He didn’t even have a satellite station.
Apparently, using any subscription service would result in a digital trail. If, for some reason, the cops got wind of them being in the area, they could be pinged through those.
He made her leave her phone behind. Something about cell towers and digital footprints.
She half listened after he told her she couldn’t bring it.
Her annoyance had clogged her ears. She wasn’t perfect.
Another time she would pay attention to the whys.
Right now, she was pissed about being disconnected from the internet.
What woman in the twenty-first century didn’t have her cell in her hand? It was practically surgically attached. Though, if she were honest, this was a tiny inconvenience in the grand scheme of pursuing her dream.
Sydney didn’t have friends—just a few acquaintances.
People she kept in contact with sporadically.
They wouldn’t even be aware if she didn’t have it, since they spoke every few months.
With family, well, that was complicated.
They were dead or rotting in prison—so, dead to her.
She was a loner in every sense of the word.
Which made sitting in the passenger seat beside Fink for the past four hours boring as hell. One-woman concerts could only sustain her for so long.
He didn’t help. His conversation skills were minimal. If she asked questions, he answered them, but there was no depth to it. He gave her the bare minimum, and that was it.
She didn’t want to talk about Burke anymore. They’d discussed him ad nauseam at this point. Frankly, she was eager to kill him just so that they could put him behind them.
Giving Fink her attention, with her elbow on the center console and her chin in her hand, she blew out a heavy breath. How could they fill the time?
“Why Fink?” she asked.
He stopped bopping his head to “For I am Death” by Pretty Reckless and glanced in her direction quizzically.
“Like, you told me it’s not your given name, so why do you call yourself that?” she clarified, readjusting in her seat. “Is it your surname?”
Shifting his focus back to the road, he shook his head.
“Then where did it come from?”
“Rat Fink,” he said plainly.
She furrowed her brows. “What is that?”
One corner of his mouth rose in a bit of a half grin. “It’s hard to explain. He’s this cartoon character that Big Daddy Roth created. I used to doodle him as a kid, and I don’t know why, but I loved to draw him.”
“Wait!” Her eyes widened as she thought of all the ink covering his skin. “Don’t you have this fat, mouse-looking thing on your calf?”
He chuckled. It was such a merry sound. She wished he did it more.
“I do,” he admitted. “I drew that.”
She nodded.
Interesting.
This was the most personal piece of information she’d ever gotten from him. This tiny glimpse into what he kept hidden warmed her heart.
“Do you still doodle?”
“Not really.” His expression went back to the neutral one he typically wore. Some might consider it resting asshole face, but she knew it was the way he looked and didn’t take it personally.
“How come?”
“I dunno.” He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he drove on. “No time, I guess. More important stuff to do.”
Turning her attention back to the window, she watched the trees lining the highway fly by in a blur. “I’d love to see one of your doodles one day.”
“We’ll see.”
Sydney had exactly one tattoo on her body. A pair of angel wings adorned her left shoulder. They had a bit of a blue glow around them. At least she thought they did. She’d done it so many years ago, the color might have faded out of them by now. However, the memorial to her brother remained.
It’d been the only thing she had felt worthy enough to wear on her skin for the rest of her life. However, a picture Fink drew seemed like a perfect addition. He’d ignited a fire inside her, and she never wanted to forget him.
He was a bit of a flight risk. Considering he’d already attempted to abandon her once, she assumed he’d try to do it again. When he did, she wanted to have something special to remember him by.
People walked in and out of her life. Few of them made an impact. Her brother had, despite her barely remembering him. They’d been so young. Now Fink had, and he deserved to be remembered too.
“Why Sydney?” he asked, ripping her from her thoughts.
Stunned, she peered at him.
Since the first night they’d met, he hadn’t asked her a damn detail about herself.
Well, nothing beyond superficial stuff. He hadn’t dug deeper.
It was all first-date get-to-know-you junk.
This inquiry was more nuanced, and intimate.
Suddenly, he had an interest in learning more about her?
She was flattered, but the way he worded it didn’t feel right.
“What do you mean?” she asked. His inquiry was odd.
Sydney was a real name. Common, even. It wasn’t a nickname. There was no reason for him to question it. Yet he had. Cocking her head to the side, she studied him.
“It’s not on your original birth certificate,” he revealed.
How did he know that? Her hackles rose, and her guard launched upward.
For some reason, her emotional shields hadn’t felt the need to engage around him. She’d enjoyed his company easily. Perhaps it was because he didn’t ask too many questions. Why now?
“So, what made you choose that one?” he asked.
Tightening her mouth into a thin line, Sydney brought her thumb to her lips. It was an old habit, awful really, but she’d engaged in it forever. Chewing on that nail soothed discomfort. She couldn’t explain it.
“Why?” she stalled.
“To learn more about you.”
Damn him for being logical. She wanted the same thing, but he’d fought her at every turn. He had shared nothing remotely personal with her. Fuck. That was a lie. He divulged a secret. It would only be fair if she did too.
She didn’t have to tell him the truth. She could make up some lame story about how she had a great-aunt who showered her with affection as a child, and when she died, Sydney honored her by taking her name. People did that kind of stuff. Didn’t they?
Probably not.
Did she really want to taint Fink opening up to her with a lie?
If she expected honesty from him, she’d have to give the same. There was no way around it. Whether they were murder buddies who fucked or something more, a foundation built on lies, no matter how trivial, was bound to crumble.
She had to explain it.
Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, bracing herself to share personal details she never had before. With an exhale, she took the plunge. Staring straight ahead into the dark abyss of the long stretch of highway, she began her story.
“My birth name had a lot of bad memories.” Faint screams filled her ears. The smell of cigarettes and burning flesh stuck in her nose. She scratched at her arm, chasing the phantom marks that had long since healed.
He was silent, but she had his full attention.
“When I turned eighteen, I wanted to shed who I had once been and start over. A new name seemed like the best course of action.”
He nodded but remained quiet.
Was that not enough?
The silence hung heavy between them. Even Lzzy Hale crooning through the radio couldn’t ease the anxiety gnawing in her gut. She had to fill the space.
“I liked the name.” She shrugged, lying through her teeth. She gave him something big. That was enough for now.
Quickly, he offered her a pointed glare.
Dammit. That was his “don’t bullshit me” stare. She’d earned it a few times over the past few days.
How had he come to know her so well? They’d known each other for mere days. She’d dated plenty of men for months who didn’t read her as well as Fink did. Then again, wasn’t that essentially his job? Reading people.
“You don’t have to tell me everything,” he said as he gently patted her thigh. “Just don’t lie to me.”
Calm flowed from his fingertips and through her muscles. It wriggled around her veins before settling in her chest. She nodded, relishing the sensation and accepting his comfort.
“I appreciate the little you have disclosed.” He squeezed gently. “If anyone is familiar with how hard it is to divulge even the tiniest bit of personal information, it’s me. I fought it too.”
“But how did you figure out I changed it?” she had to ask.
He licked his bottom lip, and his expression faltered. “I ran a background check on you.”
Her mouth dropped ever so slightly. She didn’t quite gasp but was on the verge of doing so.
“In my line of work—” he began.
“You had to.” She finished his sentence.
The revelation dawned upon her as the feelings of being intruded upon contorted in her chest.
Not that he’d violated her confidences or crossed a boundary. He was a contract killer. Strangers were his enemy. He’d done it to protect himself. Sydney couldn’t fault him for that. Were she in his shoes and had his resources, she would’ve done the same.
She’d probably never know to what extent he’d dug or what he’d learned, but whatever he’d discovered about her, it wasn’t enough for him to leave. He trusted her. For someone like him, that was the utmost compliment.
The smile on her face was completely involuntary. Usually, it was a trained reflex that she’d learned to wear a brave face, but in this moment, her expression was out of appreciation for his understanding. They were two dark souls willing to engage in heinous acts.
She was thankful for whatever decrepit, horrific path led him to her. For the first time in her entire life, she felt accepted and understood. That it was by a man who murdered people for money made sense.