“What?” Confused, I struggle to get my balance. “Why not?”

“I can’t tell you why. You just need to trust me.” His eyes plead with me to believe him.

I shake my head. “It doesn’t even matter… nothing does… I’m as good as dead. You know it—everyone knows it.”

He swallows hard and then suddenly he’s pulling me back to him, his lips rushing against mine before I can even take my next breath. He kisses me with so much passion, like it’s his last kiss, last breath he’ll ever take, and it means everything in the world to him.

And just as quickly as it happens, it stops. He pulls away, slipping away, leaving me breathless as he whispers, “Run away. It’s the only way you’ll survive this. Run away and never look back. It’s what your mother should have done.” Without saying anything else, he gets into the car and drives into the night, leaving me stunned beyond words.

Like my mother should have done? What does he know?

I try to call him several times as I hurry inside, but it keeps going to his voicemail. I wonder if he has to go into hiding for killing Anthony. I wonder a lot of things, like why he thinks I can’t trust my father. Why he stepped up and shot Anthony himself. If it was because I hesitated and he thought I was going to get shot, or if maybe he was never going to let me shoot Anthony all along. If he does still care about me like he did when we were kids.

My heart feels about as empty as the house, entirely unfamiliar, entirely dead. I want to crumble in the emptiness and cry my heart out, but I’m not going to. Blood on my hands or not, I’m not going to be a weak girl. I’m stronger than that. So instead, I pull myself together and go straight up into bathroom to take a shower, confusion fogging up my thoughts. What do I do? Where do I go? Who can I trust?

I scrub and scrub and scrub. I scrub so hard to get the blood off my skin starts to bleed. By the time I’m done, I feel a little cleaner and my head is clearer. And I know what I have to do.

After I get out, I get dressed and then take a pair of scissors to my hair, chopping it off. Erase who I am. I know better than to think that my father won’t do everything he can to find me and probably Anthony’s family will as well. If I don’t want to be found, I have to be careful. Be smart. Go into survival mode. I’m going to run. Disappear. Forever. Carry out the plan I made in the park, pretend tonight never happened. Do what Layton says, which I guess technically means I’m trusting him. I don’t know why, other than I am.

By the time I’m finished hacking my hair off, it’s chin length and looks like shit, but I feel satisfied. I pack my stuff along with the letter my mom wrote to Everson. I grab a stash of cash from under my mattress, the one my father gave me for emergencies. Then I get in my car and drive away from the house I grew up in, never looking back, as if the last fourteen hours haven’t happened. I’ll turn it all off. That is my goal as I drive down the road toward the bus station.

It’s a pretty far drive since we live in the more rural, rich area of town, and by the time I pull into the parking lot, the sun is coming up. I leave my keys in the car since I won’t need them. Then I grab my suitcase from the trunk and go inside the bus station.

As I walk by people, I wonder if anyone can see what I am. What I’ve done. Can they see the blood on my hands? No one seems to be alarmed, yet I still feel nervous as I cautiously walk up to the counter to buy a ticket.

When the cashier asks me where I want to go, I tell him, “Anywhere.”

He gives me a confused look, like he has no idea what to do. “I’m sorry, but I need a destination.”

I blow out a breath and think of the first place that comes to mind. “Do you have any buses going to Great Falls, Montana?”

He types something on his computer. “There’s one headed in that direction in about an hour. There’s quite a few stops, though.”

“Sold,” I say without missing a beat.

Montana is far. Rural. An unlikely place for me to pick. And it just happens to be the address of the letter. I’m not sure if I’ll find this Everson man or if that’s even the point, but it might be a start to trying to figure out who the hell I am. Who the hell my mother was.

After I pay for the ticket, I briefly consider asking the cashier guy if he’ll come screw me in the bathroom. He’s not bad looking at all, just a little preppy for my taste, and I need to relax somehow. I could do it again, just like with Layton.

Layton.

Pain crushes my chest, and after staring at the cashier guy long enough that I make him uncomfortable, I end up walking away for reasons I can barely comprehend. I take a seat on one of the benches, waiting to get on the bus. While I’m watching people wander around, searching the crowd for signs of the Defontelles, my phone goes off in my pocket. It rings on and off for five minutes, but I ignore it until a text comes through. I check it, and no surprise, it’s from my father.

Dad: I’m okay, Lolita. On my way home. Stay there until I get there and please call me. I know you must have questions about everything.

I read the message over five times, and with each time, I grow angrier. Everything. I want to ask him exactly what he means by everything. About his debt. About my mother. About why Layton thinks he’s a liar. And why the hell he got me into this mess after all those years of protecting me.

Finally, I throw my phone into the trash bin. The last connection to my home is now gone. It gives me a little sense of peace. I wonder if Layton’s doing the same thing. If he’s erasing his identity. For the briefest moment, I think about pulling my phone out of the garbage and calling him, just to make sure he got away okay, but in the end, I don’t. I can’t bring myself to do so. And deep down, I know he probably won’t answer.

Therefore, I wait for the bus, and when it’s time to board, I do so without looking back, leaving everything behind, knowing I can never be Lola or Lolita again.

Layton

“I’m not sure I can do this,” I tell the women in leather standing in front of me. I’m sitting in a warehouse, surrounded by boxes, men in the distance waiting to hear the gun shot go off, waiting for my death. “It’s too dangerous. And besides, putting my family through all of that… it’s not right.” Although, I probably don’t real care about anyone in my family but my brother, Benton. The rest can go to hell.

Solana paces the floor, a gun in each hand, appearing as though she’s going to shoot me at any given moment—it’s what she was hired to do. “Death can be liberating Layton,” she says¸ checking the amount of bullets in each gun. “You should embrace it.”

“I’m not you, Solana,” I tell her, shifting my weight. My hands are tied behind my back, the box beneath me starting to sink from my weight. It’s been only a couple of months since Lola and I shot the Dellefontes, two weeks since she ran off, two weeks where I thought we were going to get away with what we did. But then I was caught.

And now I’m here, about to die.

“You don’t really have a choice, do you?” Solana asks, the person hired to kill me. The problem is I’ve known her for a little while which has led us to this little pre-murder chitchat, which has given me second thoughts about the whole damn thing. “Death is the only way out of this.” She lowers her voice. “We’ve talked about this already.” She pauses in front of me, glancing at me with a look on her face that I can she’s disgusted by whatever she’s going to say next. “Besides, think of Lola. If you stay alive, you know as well as I do that they’ll make you kill her.”

“But if I die, you’ll kill her.”