Slow Burn(58)

    So, I didn’t sleep. I watched the foliage outside the window instead.

    Route 50 was a scenic drive but also very turny and twisty. We couldn’t go fast, because the road never flattened out. I was glad no one was following us.

    Wait. Could I be sure that no one was following us?

    I turned in my seat.

    “What are you doing?”

    The road was empty behind us. At least as far as the last turn, it was. I couldn’t see farther than that. “Making sure no one’s following us.”

    “If someone was following us, we’d know it,” said Griffin. “They’d have shot us by now.”

    I wasn’t sure if he meant that to be comforting. It wasn’t.

    “We don’t have any money,” I said.

    “I’ve got money,” said Griffin.

    “How?” I said. “Were you working a job before you came to rescue me or something, saving up?”

    “No. Not that I wouldn’t work. I was too busy running from Op Wraith. I have money because your dad gave me a good chunk of change when we agreed to watch each other’s backs.”

    I folded my arms over my chest. “So he paid you off. That’s why you’re doing this.”

    He shot me a quick, confused look. “Really, doll? You think I’m doing all of this for money?”

    “Maybe.”

    “Because the money is there to help you survive. To help us both. Your dad managed to get some of his cash when he left Dewhurst-McFarland. Not everything, you understand, but some. He gave me money, but not in payment, just because he had more than he needed, and because he wanted me to have it.”

    I sighed heavily. “I’m sorry.” I studied my fingernails. “I guess I’m just angry.”

    “At me?” he asked. “At your father?”

    “At everything,” I mumbled. I closed my eyes. Stacey was staring at me again. Her expression didn’t look blank anymore. It looked accusing.

    “Anger’s good,” said Griffin. “It keeps you sharp. Fear, sadness, guilt? They’re paralyzing. So stay angry, doll.”

    Without warning, I was crying.

    “Doll?” He reached for me with one hand, the other still on the steering wheel.

    I pushed him away. “I’m angry at myself.”

    “There’s no reason for that.”

    “I made friends with her!” Talking while crying made me sound like a whiny six-year-old, and the fact that my stupid body couldn’t muster something more appropriate, given the gravity of the situation, made me sob even harder. “I knew there were people after me. I knew that I was in danger. But I did it anyway.”

    Griffin was quiet.

    “If I’d left her alone, she’d still be alive.”

    The car was completely silent, except for my sobs.

    When he finally did speak, his voice was hesitant. “It’s hard to know what to say.”

    “You don’t have to say anything. I killed my best friend. The only best friend I’ve had since I was a little girl. The sweetest, nicest, most outgoing girl in the entire world. And I killed her.”

    He reached for me again and grabbed my hand this time despite how I struggled against him. “That isn’t true.”

    “It is. I made friends with her. And when I did that, I marked her for death. I can’t have friends anymore.”

    Griffin’s grasp on my hand was a vice grip. “No, no, doll, that’s not the way.”

    “It’s the only way.”

    “No, it’s not,” he said. “When I was in Operation Wraith, I was trained to kill people. And you know what they taught us? They taught us to disengage. Trust no one, befriend no one. Because you never know who you’re going to have to kill. See, the higher-ups used us assassins to keep each other in line. Someone became a liability? The word would come down that he was supposed to die. And that could be the guy who was your buddy, who you’d been working with for weeks. You’d be assigned to kill him.”

    “That’s horrible,” I said.

    “Yeah,” he said. “It was. But you learned pretty quick not to form bonds. Not to make friends. And you know what? It made all of it easier. Because you started to forget what it was even like to have friends. And you killed people all the time, so you started to forget why it was that people were even important.”