Page 88 of Dirty

I looked at Peyton.

“True story,” she blurted. “Cholo’s one tough son-of-a-bitch. Toughest of the entire fucking club. And not to go on and on about my job, but if there’s another thing I’ve learned in my research, it’s that in circumstances like these, giving up is dying. Those who don’t give up? They get through it. He’s going to be just fine, because he’ll never give up.”

My lower lip started to quiver. “Do you…really? You really think so?”

Peyton opened her arms. I stood up and stumbled toward her.

“He’s not a quitter,” she said. “He’ll hold on until they get to him.”

I felt like a child, but I couldn’t help myself. I fell into her arms and sobbed on her shoulder until my muscles ached.

I wanted Adam back, and I wanted everything that I didn’t have the courage to do with him to happen. I wanted to make love to him, and I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him to make me tacos, and I wanted to go see Maria again.

I wanted to sit on his bike in the garage and make my tears go away.

The sound of Tegan’s phone ringing caused me to tense. She ran to the kitchen, pulled it from her purse, and while Peyton and I stared at her with open mouths, she looked at the screen.

“It’s Pee Bee!” she shouted.

She swiped her fingers across the screen repeatedly, and finally answered it.

“Hello?”

She held the phone against her face with a shaking hand. In each other’s arms, Peyton and I walked toward her.

Tegan didn’t say another word, she just listened.

As we stepped in front of her, her eyes went wide. Then, then phone slid from her hand and hit the floor with a clank.

And she burst into tears.

TWENTY-NINE

Cholo

“Kill thees mother fucker,” Tattoo said. “Slow. Shoot him in the legs, then the deek. Then shoot his stomach. Then…”

I opened my eyes. I wanted one more glimpse of the son-of-a-bitch who was going to kill me, so whenever he showed up in hell, I’d be able to pick him out of a crowd.

In my second life, things were going to be different.

After I burned an image of him in my brain, I closed my eyes. I heard the metallic click of a weapon being taken off safety. The end was mere seconds away.

I love you, mother.

And, I love you, too, Alexandra.

I clenched my jaw and prepared to die.

A few seconds passed. The rifle fired, making a terrible explosion.

And then, another.

And, another.

But I felt no pain.

The sound of being shot had deafened me, but somehow, I was conscious. It felt like a dream. I’d read about people being killed, and that although the amount of time it took for the brain to register that the heart had stopped beating was short, the eyes could still see for that instant.