Reece was bitter, and unable to deny that truth. He was cut and bleeding. That damn kid was still alive. He’d really wanted to hurt Jason in a very personal way.

At least he’d put that pretty boy in prison.

At least X was about to die.

That was the thought that made everything better. Even bleeding in the back seat with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide in one hand and a wad of bloody gauze on the floor, he could at least feel that joy. He had money and the whole world. And X had, what? Thirty-seven minutes?

Reece finished cleaning and dressing the places he’d been cut. Some were deep, none fatal. His shoulder. His ribs. He’d bought supplies at a drugstore, and stolen a shirt off the line as he’d worked out of the city and into scrub country where cops were thin on the ground.

Laying the last bandage, he taped it, and climbed out into the morning heat, where he’d parked at the end of a dirt road, oak trees grown tall on both sides of a farm gate, their shadows like ink on the ground.

Twenty minutes to Lanesworth.

Five or six if he had wings.

Reece flexed a bit, testing the tape. When everything held, he scooped up bloody gauze and his ruined shirt, and dumped it all in the high weeds beyond the gate. The stolen shirt was small, but would do the job. No bloodstains. No signs of injury. Not even the guards would look twice.

Starting the car, Reece planned his future as he drove. New name. New city.

Los Angeles, maybe.

Or maybe Miami.

Checking the time, Reece drove faster.

He really wanted to be there when X died.

Nearing the prison, he pulled on a cap and dark glasses; parked for an easy out. He knew better than to get hung up in the buses and news vans. The fields were packed with people, but people had never been a problem. Keep your eyes down. Kill anyone you have to. Simple rules for a simple man. He didn’t need to be up front, either. Let the Bible thumpers handle the crush and the heat and the noise. Reece just needed to be there on the grounds, to know the moment he was gone. He’d take the memory with him, and wear it like a medal on his chest.

Five minutes.

He felt giddy.