Page 61 of Fatal Fantasy

Before either of us can dig deeper into that wild statement, an explosion rings out behind us, the dark smoke billowing through the air as the birds in the trees scatter, flying in every direction to escape the flames.

“Did you get fucking shot? Because that’s the exact thing we’re running away from,” I say, jumping over the middle console and taking the passenger seat in an attempt to decode this big idea in his head.

It’s as if the past few minutes have completely changed the man sitting in front of me, the carefree, goofy roadtrip version of Jasper being replaced with a content, calculated man on a mission, and his unpredictable attitude casts doubt straight through me like a hot shot of electricity.

If I can’t count on him to keep it together in the face of adversity, then I’m fucking lost.

Jasper handles the blood, guts, and gore like it’s just an average day, while matching the crazed thoughts that run through my mind and spit out sarcasm like a factory-operated machine.

Tyson controls the narrative, staying strong by planning every next step, all while pushing back on the violence and wrangling our asses until we’re back on the track he creates.

Everything is upside down, especially with Tyson silent in the back seat, not even an uptick in his breathing at Jasper’s ridiculous notion of turning back toward the States.

“We’re never going to make a clean break, Carter. We were foolish to even try, and now, he’s always going to be one step behind us, lurking in the shadows until he can catch us off guard. It’ll only be so many victories before he has one of his own, and I will not let him take you. I refuse,” he states, both hands clasped around the steering wheel with a white-knuckle grip, and a shiver runs down my spine at the thought of him agonizing over our dark deal.

“You mean my father? Jasper, if we stick to Tyson’s plan, we’ll be so far away that he’ll never know where to look. Just turn the car around, please,” I beg, not ready to give up on our escape plans, fantasies, and ideas of freedom.

We deserve the life we want, together.

All I’ve lived through without them, and the shit they went through when I was gone, will not be for nothing. I won’t let my father steal our past, our progress, and most importantly, our future.

“We’re going back to California to end this once and for all. You’re getting your wish, Carter. You’re going to murder your father.”

THIRTY-ONE

TYSON

Even I'm at a loss for words, but while Carter relentlessly tries to pierce through Massi’s thick skull to no avail, I flip through the scenarios in silence, landing on the same conclusion that he’s already come to.

We need to finish this war with her father.

If there’s even a sliver of hope for that life we’ve conjured in our heads, this is the only move we have.

Our chessboard has been attacked, the scattered pieces across the board all looking for a landing space, but if we act first, we’ll be in the best position to topple the King.

“He’s right, Carter,” I say quietly, my voice falling flat against their raised voices, but my words are enough to stun them both into silence, both sets of icy eyes flicking to mine in an instant.

Carter whips her head around from the passenger seat so quickly, she may have nearly detached it from her body, but that dark stare proves how pissed she is at me for taking Massi’s side.

“You can’t be serious! You created every single step of this plan. Every checkpoint, each restock station, all the way down to our fucking bathroom breaks! How in the world is abandoning that the right move?” She screams, her chest heaving from the outburst, but I sit forward until I can reach her, pulling her petite body into my arms.

“It’s okay to be scared, baby girl. It’s alright to be conflicted, but this is the right move. We can’t run forever.”

“We can do anything. As long as I have you two, we can fucking …” her voice trails off, the anger radiating from her bones being replaced with a heavy sadness, the tears slowly slipping down her cheeks.

“I’m not going to let him take you, hurt you, or even lay a finger on you, Principessina. I made you a promise, yes, but that’s a last resort, remember? The beaches, the adventures, the matching rings and last names … those are the goals. That’s what we’re living for, and while we have a few hours of your father thinking you may be back under his talons, we’re switching to offense.”

“I don’t do sports,” she huffs, crossing her arms as she rolls her eyes, swiping the tears from her lashes like they’re nothing but an inconvenience, rather than an emotional reaction to the idea of killing her father.

Obviously, he did a number on her, but that doesn’t erase the bond they had before she was sent to Emory, sent to us.

From what she’s explained over the last few days, they used to be inseparable.

Ever since she was a teenager, he primed her to take his place on the throne, training her to be just as vicious as he is, and that was all going according to the plan – until we stumbled into her life.

If it weren’t for us, they’d probably still be on that same track, ruling the West Coast as a deadly father-daughter duo.

While I don’t think she regrets choosing a different path and falling into the unbreakable bond the three of us have created, this is something she never anticipated, and it’s heavy as fuck, resting on her shoulders alone.