For as long as Boyd can remember, he's been pushing pins into a map. Carson City, Las Vegas, Albuquerque -- all places he wants to see, for a dozen different reasons that wouldn't mean a thing to anyone else. When he finally gets a chance to purchase the '70 Plymouth Duster of his dreams, at a price that even he can manage, Boyd jumps at the opportunity.<br><br>Oliver seems like just another kid with a broken dream when their paths cross in Vegas. Against Boyd's better judgment, he offers to let Oliver hitch along for the ride when Oliver confides the need to get out and get gone.<br><br>But isn’t long before Boyd realizes Oliver's reasons for running are more complicated -- and more dangerous -- than Oliver let on. Boyd doesn't like people who play hardball, and he definitely doesn't like people messing with a man who's managed to light a fuse that Boyd forgot he had.

Road Trip

Boyd turned slowly, forehead, jaw, and eyes screwing into a tight scowl. Frank was tall, though Boyd still had a good inch or two on him, wiry and thin with points and angles that didn’t do a thing for appearance’s sake, with a sharp nose and eyes that had all the dark piercing qualities of a bird of prey, without any of the honor or the pride. His sidekick was a good head shorter than the both of them, with a stocky, barrel-chested build that appeared hard in the shoulders and the forearms but had a pronounced bulge in the midsection that suggested a fondness for beer and bad food. Out of the two of them, it was the sidekick Boyd took a moment to assess. Frank he could take out in a heartbeat.


“The kid goes by Oliver,” Boyd growled. “And nobody said he has any obligation to be nice to you.”


“Frank says he does, then he does,” grumbled the stock guy, stepping forward. “And you should be thinking of shutting your damn cake hole.”


Chapter 41