Luke lowered his eyes and gazed beyond Xander and Ruben, at the Mustang, envisioning Kitty on the backseat. He couldn’t see her, but she was there, tied up and terrified. He called to her on some hurting, spiritual level, and apologized for letting her down. Similarly, he sent a silent prayer out to Lisa, that she find a way back to her celebrated self, and discover every melody still in her soul.

Johan studied the tracking device, turning it this way and that. He was too smart to leave it near the car of a soon-to-be missing man, and he wouldn’t want it tracking his movements, not even for a short while. So he did the only thing he could, and exactly what Luke would have done in that situation: he dropped it in the dirt and brought his bootheel down on it—once, twice, three times, until the casing shattered and the little green light went out. Johan picked up the pieces and put them in his pocket.

“So what’s the plan?” Luke asked. “Kill me right here, leave me for the buzzards?”

“I’m a Viking, not a common thug.” Johan’s ax was still buried beard-deep in the Caliber’s ruined windshield. He extracted it with a couple of beefy tugs, and positioned it over one shoulder. “I value honor above all else, and I will honor my agreement with Tera Montecino. At the same time, my own need for revenge can’t be overlooked. And believe me, Luke, I intend to savor the moment.”

“You’re not a Viking. You were born in Los Angeles twenty-eight years ago. Your old man is a computer hardware developer.”

“I am descended from—”

“You’re a murderer, a criminal, and a goddamn YouTuber.” Luke wrinkled his nose, staring Johan in the eye. “What’s honorable about that?”

Johan’s tone had been a dissonant blend of chaos and cool, but with this a storm crossed his face. It emphasized his imperfections—his narrow brow and crooked nose. In those few seconds, he looked unnerving. Luke readied himself. He didn’t quite know for what—an ax blade, a thunderbolt—then the storm passed and Johan’s long grin returned, sharp enough to cut wood.

“Xan, Ruben, we’re leaving. Tie this motherfucker’s hands behind his back. Use his belt, if you can’t find anything else.” And to Luke he whispered, close enough to bite, “I’ll bury you deep, but I can’t promise the coyotes won’t get to your bones.”

Johan led the way, cutting a groove across the silent desert, rejoining Black Valley Road west. Tailpipe dragging, bodywork clattering, his Mustang moved at one-quarter the speed it had once been capable of.