I still haven’t figured what I’m going to do once I get there, though. I could do a fair amount of damage with a rifle, but then what? I’ve been inside Bheka’s compound before. I can’t just run up in there and start shooting without sacrificing myself. There are too many people who also have guns. It would be suicide.
I grip the wheel, wringing it like a washcloth as I drive toward the rusted barbed wire that coils around the exterior walls of the Valangan camp. I’m getting too close not to have a plan, but my brain isn’t moving fast enough to come up with one. I have to get to Carter. That’s all I know. I just have to get to him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I say, starting to panic.
My heart pounds in my chest like a hammer, and no matter how much cold air I direct into my face, my skin feels like it’s on fire. I’m having a meltdown when I’m so close to Carter. I can’t let this take control of me and cause me to fuck up my only chance of saving him.
I slap myself in the face, much harder than Dean did. The sting transports me back to reality quickly, bringing tears to my eyes, but only from the pain. I’ve already gulped down my emotions, bottling them up again like the thick black liquid that flows from the underbelly of a car during an oil change. They’re toxic and must be contained if I’m to make it out of this in one piece.
I slow the van down as the barbed wire and armed guards of Bheka’s compound become close enough to take shape. There aren’t many people by the entrance, and it would be easy for me to drive straight through the ones who are standing in the way. But even though I’ve shot several people, I feel sick to my stomach at the thought of crushing someone with the van.
I push the images of organs popping under the pressure of the tires out of my head and stare forward with deadly intent. I’ll do whatever I need to do in order to save Carter. I can’t let a lunatic like Bheka tear the seams of my father’s mafia and potentially ruin the lives of thousands. The Dormer-Calandro Mafia is my family, and it means everything to me.
I speed up as I approach the entrance, and to my surprise, the guards step out of my way. They’re like robots, not paying attention to any details aside from the blue and yellow stripes on the side of the van that tell them I’m one of their own. They don’t even look at me, the driver, as I cruise past them.
With one issue out of the way, I don’t have much time to address the next one. Namely, what the hell I’m going to do now that I’m inside of the compound. I look around the driver’s cabin and spot a small rifle tucked in the crack beside the passenger’s seat. I pull it out, holding it in one hand as I drive toward a group of camels that block the road to the center of the compound. A rifle is better than a half-empty pistol.
I remember this place like it was my home, even though I’ve only been here once. Every building, every pathway, and every detail is scarred into my brain from the trauma I experienced. It’s like driving straight into a nightmare that I’ve lived a thousand times over in my head.
I’ve had dreams of this place, of the searing white-hot sun, of the men that chased after me, and of the barbed wire that sliced the inside of my hands to shreds. I’ve picked apart everything that happened here in my dreams and in my waking hours, laboring over it as though it would bring me to peace with my father’s death.
It hasn’t.
The camels part in front of me, allowing me to drive through. They’re the only friendly creatures in this entire desert, so I’m careful to let them move out of the way before I drive into the center. I’m unsure of what I will find there, but I was told Carter wouldn’t be executed until I was there to watch. I wonder if they brought him out for me to see when I arrive.
My suspicion is immediately confirmed by the sight of Bheka, standing above the unmistakable bright colors of Carter’s silly Hawaiian shirt. I didn’t think I would ever be so thankful to see that shirt again. The contrast against the darkness of Bheka’s outfit is striking.
I’m hit with the desire to slam my foot down on the gas and run Bheka over, reveling in the thought of his organs popping under my tires. It doesn’t sicken me now. In fact, it makes me excited.
My heart doubles in tempo, and a euphoric surge of energy fills my body, but I can’t go through with it. Hitting Bheka would mean also hitting Carter, and I’m here to save him, not to kill him.
I slow down, rolling to a stop in front of the two men.
Without thinking, I lift up my gun, aim through the window, and pull the trigger.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Carter
The sound of gunfire makes me believe that I’ve already taken my last breath, but Bheka’s falling body bewilders me. He falls toward me, limp and lifeless, like a voodoo doll, yet still frightening just for existing in the same space as me.
I scramble to my feet, my thick, dehydrated blood pumping like syrup through my veins. I have to take a second to stabilize myself. I place my hands on my knees, looking up at the van where the bullet came from.
I hear a voice.
It’s Honey.
“Get in,” she yells, kicking open the
