Page 77 of Mountain Mens' Curvy Obsession

“Leo wanted me alive,” I tell them. “He wanted to teach me a lesson. But I hid under that taco truck for a few more minutes. I found some clothes inside belonging to the vendor, I think.”

Large sweatpants and a black hoodie.

I put them on, moving almost automatically. My instincts took over. I needed to survive, so I did what I had to do.

“They were too busy killing people to come back to where I was,” I say.

Everything is so painfully fresh in my mind.

“I stole money from the cash register behind the truck counter: a handful of fifties. I couldn’t find my phone, but I needed to get away from there.”

“Of course,” Chance tells me. “What happened next?”

I’m running.

Away from the festival. Away from the blaring sirens. Nowhere feels safe. I catch a glimpse of myself in a storefront window. I see the blood on my face, and I wipe most of it off with the back of my sleeve. Everything fades into darkness.

The next thing I remember, I’m in a gas station toilet. Dirty walls. An even dirtier mirror. The smell of chlorine disinfectant hasn’t overpowered the smell of human waste in this place. It makes me want to puke, but I need to wash what’s left of the blood off my face and my hands. I’m shaking like a leaf, constantly looking over my shoulder.

“Where are you now?” Booker asks.

“A gas station somewhere. I don’t know how I got here.”

“Do you see anything?”

I look around. Marty’s is sewn onto several ball caps on display by the shop’s register. “Marty’s,” I mumble. “I think it’s a—”

“Chain of gas stations north of New York,” Chance says.

“I’m headed north.”

I’m in the last seat of a Greyhound. Again, I’m not sure how I got here, but I’m counting what money I have left, and it’s not much. It’ll cover food and a motel for the night. Looking outside the window, I see the woods we drive past. Deep, dark woods.

Ahead, the road snakes through it.

Above, the night sky stretches with billions of twinkling stars, and for a moment, I find peace. We pass a sign.

“Chappaqua.” I remember now. “I took a bus to Chappaqua.”

“What did you do when you got there?” Booker asks.

I knock on a door, constantly looking around. Worried someone will see me. I don’t see the big guy in a leather jacket until it’s too late. He comes in from the side, a gun pointed at my head. I damn near soil myself. I almost scream, until the door opens.

“Oh, my God, he’s going to kill me!” I cry out, and Chance holds me close.

But an old woman comes out. “Stop, Ivan. Don’t!”

“Grandma!”

“Anya?”

She’s shocked to see me. Her eyes are tired and puffy. She’s been crying. News of what happened must’ve reached her. Ivan puts his gun down and motions for me to go inside. Zoya takes me in. She holds me for what feels like forever, and for the first time, I’m able to simply collapse.

“I went to my grandmother’s house,” I tell the Hayes brothers as my eyes peel open. I’m back at the lodge where I’m safe, sound, and almost happy. “I knew where she lived. But I made sure I wasn’t followed. I switched buses, trains. I zigzagged across the whole of upstate New York before I got to Chappaqua. I ran out of money by the time I got to her.”

* * *

The more Ilook at these photos, the more memories come back.

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