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 narrowed his eyes and nudged his chin just that much higher. “Like I said, Oliver is not going anywhere but up to his apartment. And neither of you two boys are big enough to change that.”


Frank sighed and swung both arms in a parody of drama. “Always with the making everything so fucking complicated.” He rubbed his face with one hand and his belly with the other. “I swear, one day…“ With a head tilt and a grin, Frank’s hand slipped from his belly to his side. He held his jacket back and waited for Boyd to notice what rested against his side.


Body’s stomach flipped. His throat went dry. He glanced at Oliver and his heart broke at the defeat he saw there.


“Who needs big when they got a Glock, hmm?” Frank smiled, all teeth. He didn’t draw the gun, but he rested his fingertips on the handle. He flattened his expression, and once again Boyd was reminded of big, stupid birds getting ready to do crazy, deadly things. “Now give me my fucking money.”


Chapter 42