Roxie:
The road became a single, endless artery of blacktop and neon. I’d lost count of the motels—each one a complete eye sore in the middle of nowhere. I paid cash. Always cash. A different name at every check-in. No calls. No questions.
By the time I hit the New Mexico line, the horizon had bled into a bruised purple, a sky heavy enough to crush the desert flat. The bike coughed beneath me, engine heat curling up my legs like a fever. Every mile I put behind me was a mile between Alex and the blood we’d left in our wake.
I should’ve felt relief. I didn’t. The air was dry and sharp, and my nerves were barbed wire. Sleep came in fits, a handful of minutes stolen in rooms that smelled like bleach and nicotine. The walls always felt too thin. My own heartbeat felt too loud.
I parked beh
