He reached in, grabbed the front of Luke’s T-shirt, and started to yank him out of his seat. He met the resistance of the safety belt, though, just like Kitty had four months before. She had been saving his life then. Johan was intent on doing the opposite.

The car was on its side—one wheel still spinning slowly—so it was not a stretch for Johan to reach up and unclip the belt. It retracted across Luke’s body and he slumped against his battered door. Johan grabbed his tee again, pulled him over the steering wheel, over the dash, and out through the rectangular opening where the windshield used to be.

Luke collapsed to the desert floor, coughing up dust and blood. Johan clutched the back of his neck and lifted him to his feet. He sagged, half leaning on Johan, who had his cell phone in his other hand. He extended it for a selfie. Luke saw himself on-screen—a blackish scrawl of blood across his mouth and chin, his eyes bright and tear-struck in the dirty mask of his face. One of his early roles had been playing an earthquake survivor in the medical drama Lion’s Ward. He’d spent eighty minutes in makeup, and looked then exactly as he looked now.

Johan duck-faced and snapped the pic. He showed it to Luke, who turned away from the screen.

“What do you think? Should I post it to my socials?” Johan’s grin was blade-like. “I don’t know, man. Maybe being associated with you will tarnish my spectacular reputation.”

“Just fucking kill me,” Luke said.

“Oh, I will. Don’t you worry about that. And I’m going to kill her, too.” He gestured at his battered Mustang, indicating Kitty, helpless on the backseat. Xander and Ruben stood close by, both with guns drawn. Xander mopped his face with a balled-up hoodie.

“Let her go,” Luke said. “Please. She’s only here because of me.”

“Bitch stole from me, Luke. You know that. She tried to make a fool of me.” Johan pocketed his cell phone and pulled Luke a little closer. “Then you both tried to make a fool of me. Faking her death? That was almost pretty smart, especially for a shit-for-brains like you.”

Luke sighed, which turned into a painful splutter. He held his ribs and winced.

“What’s more, I have a backpack full of canary in my car that leads me to believe you were trying to fuck me over. And you know something, Luke? You would have. The canary by itself may not have been enough, but my manufacturer, too?” Johan whistled through his teeth. “Ramón’s the smartest motherfucker I know, but he’s got no spine, no fucking balls. He’d cut a deal, and that would make things extremely uncomfortable for me.”

“That was the plan,” Luke said.