Chapter 19
Seth
The low-fuel light had been on for fifteen miles, somewhere between Silicon Valley and Fresno. We're running on fumes and adrenaline, and only one of those is renewable.
Travis squints at the dashboard. “Yeah, we’re stopping. I’m not pushing a luxury car through rural California.”
“We should’ve stopped twenty minutes ago,” I mutter, shifting to ease the pressure in my shoulder. The ache is deep and insistent now, a reminder that I'm still stitched together by rage, willpower and Oxy.
He takes the next exit and pulls into a gas station that looks abandoned.
A squat concrete box wedged between a sagging chain-link fence and a sun-bleached billboard.
The canopy light flickers overhead, bathing the pumps in a jaundiced glow.
Two pumps. One cracked glass door. One security camera mounted crookedly above the entrance, its casing yellowed with age.
“Of course it’s one of these,” Travis mutters. “No pay-at-the-pump. Just vibes.”
Beau scans the lot with the focus of someone assessing a kill zone. His gaze moves from the dark corners of the property to the highway entrance, then to the building itself. His hand hovers near his waistband.
“This’ll do. Get what we need and get out.”
He looks at me. “Stay in the car.”
I don’t argue. Pain is flaring again, radiating down my ribs and into my back.
Beau cracks the door.
Then freezes.
Inside the store, two cops stand at the counter. Coffee cups in hand. Laughing with the cashier. Relaxed and unhurried like they have nowhere else to be.
Beau shuts the door without a word.
Travis follows his line of sight through the windshield and lets out a pained groan. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Beau doesn’t blink. “We need fuel. If we stall on the highway, we’re dead. You know that.”
“So we just hang out until Donut Patrol clears out?”
“We’re not making a move until they’re gone,” Beau says. “Or one of us ends up in cuffs.”
Travis leans back against the seat, scrubbing a hand over his face. “This is actually insane. I was supposed to be coding right now. Drinking overpriced matcha. Not dodging murder charges and highway patrol.”
Beau ignores him, eyes still locked on the store. “They’re not leaving.”
“They’re nesting,” Travis says. “This is nesting behavior. They’re building a fucking home in there.”
We wait.
The cops linger. They laugh. They sip their coffee like it is a social hour instead of the edge of a manhunt.
Beau leans forward slightly. “They don’t recognize us, yet.”
Travis shifts in his seat. “So we’re just supposed to wait?”
Beau turns his head slowly. “You’re the only one in this car without a nationwide APB and a felony record.”
Travis blinks. “You want me to go in there?”
“Pay for the gas. Don’t be weird.”
“I’m literally the definition of weird under pressure.”
“Then fake normal,” Beau says flatly. “Buy a Gatorade while you’re at it.”
Travis groans and shoves the door open. “If I get arrested, I’m snitching.”
He crosses the lot with careful casualness, shoulders loose, pace unhurried. Inside, he goes straight to the register, offers the cashier a stiff half-smile, and hands over cash. Beau and I watch from the car.
Travis finishes the transaction, grabs a bottle of Gatorade from the cooler, and steps back outside. He walks straight to the pump on the driver’s side and starts fueling the car.
He has just squeezed the handle when one of the cops inside looks up.
And locks eyes with me through the windshield.
The officer says something to his partner, then turns and walks out of the store, heading straight toward the passenger side of the vehicle.
Toward Beau.
Cold spreads through my chest.
Beau sees it at the same time I do. He exhales once and opens his door, stepping out before the officer can reach him.
The cop slows as he approaches, his hand already hovering near his holster.
“Is there a problem, officer?” Beau asks, posture relaxed.
The officer’s eyes flick between Beau and the interior of the car, trying to get a better angle on me through the glass.
“You got ID?” the officer asks.
Beau smiles, calm and faintly amused. “I’m giving you a chance to walk away.”
The officer’s hand shifts closer to his weapon.
Beau tilts his head slightly. “Think real hard before you go for that gun.”
For half a second, the officer hesitates.
Then his hand drops.
Beau moves first.
The suppressed shot cracks through the night. The officer jerks as the round hits him in the center of his chest. Shock flashes across his face before his knees give out and he drops hard onto the concrete.
Everything snaps into motion.
The second cop shoves through the door of the store, sees his partner go down, and immediately turns to shoot.
Beau pivots and fires.
One clean shot.
The second officer collapses mid-stride, his body hitting the pavement a few feet from the entrance.
Silence slams over the lot.
Beau moves immediately. He crouches beside the officer, reaches down, and rips the handcuffs from the man’s belt in one clean motion.
Then he stands and walks straight into the store.
Inside, the cashier lets out a broken sound and drops behind the counter, hands over his head, shaking so badly the register drawer rattles.
“Please don’t kill me.”
“I don’t want to kill you,” Beau says calmly. “Which is fortunate for you.”
He raises his weapon and shoots out every security camera in the store, one by one. Glass shatters and scatters across the tile.
“Are you going to play hero?” Beau asks.
The cashier shakes his head violently. “No. I’m not going to do anything.”
“Good.”
Beau steps behind the counter, grabs the man by the arm, and hauls him up just enough to snap one cuff around his wrist. He secures the other end to the freezer handle, locking him in place.
“When the police arrive, you will tell them nothing. If you mention us even once, I will come back.”
The cashier swallows hard. “I won’t say anything.”
“You won’t get a second warning,” Beau says. “I’m a professional assassin. My victims die before they know I'm in the room.”
He tears the receipt from the printer and walks out.
Outside, Travis stands at the pump, forcing himself to stay steady as the tank fills. He keeps his head down and his hands on the nozzle, like nothing has happened.
Beau returns to the car without looking at the bodies.
Travis replaces the nozzle, closes the tank, and gets into the driver’s seat.
Beau slides back into the passenger seat.
I push myself upright, breath shallow, pain flaring as the engine turns over.
Then we're moving again.
The gas station disappears behind us.
Only twenty minutes to the hangar. Twenty minutes until we meet the plane. Twenty minutes until we are in the air and headed for Oregon.
Beau stares straight ahead.
“That was our one mistake, Seth. We don’t get another.”
He is right.
But I can’t think about the consequences. Not about bodies or headlines or surveillance footage. All I can think about is her.
Brooke doesn’t have time for caution.
And I will tear through every cop, every state line until she is safe again.
Beau and I used to have a code. Only kill the ones who deserved it.
But right now? If someone stands between me getting to Brooke, they are already fucking dead.